Mission Control: Chapter 3: What's Past the Portal?

   The dance ended well, with both of us yawning and grinning and periodically kissing for no reason at all. It seemed like the incident in the janitor's closet had slipped her mind. Of course, I knew she hadn't forgotten, but it seemed like a good sign that she didn't want to dwell on it.

   A few times that night, I had an itching feeling that I was going to regret putting my phone on silent. But honestly, I was tired of being at James' beck and call. I could only take so many calls before 'oh, it's my teacher, um, no, he doesn't want to talk to you,' stopped seeming like a good excuse. 

   Amanda drove me home in her dad's red car, and we kissed one more time before I hopped out. Just afterward she opened her mouth like she was going to say something hard, then bit her lip and said only,
    "Bye, Matt."
     I pretended I hadn't noticed her slip.
    "Bye, Amanda. Love 'ya."

    Just outside my door, I stopped and checked my phone. Twelve voice messages glared up at me.
    I frowned as my thumb hovered over my screen. Should I play back the messages, or just call him? How much time did I have? My mom had said she'd wait up for me, but she hadn't heard up pull up, or else she would've answered the door.
    I checked the times on the messages. The most recent was two minutes ago.
    I turned my back to my house and, for the first time I could remember, I called him.
    As I waited for him to pick up and stared emptily across the street, my mind wandered to a common worry of mine; how was I going to help James' team when Summer came? I'd been taking their calls for years now, but until recently he only needed help every two or three months. Now, it was almost every week, sometimes twice a week. He'd never said why, but I could guess.
    Every mission was essentially the same: get to the location, fight the monsters, and get through the portal. I could find locations from coordinates in my sleep, and I knew everything there was to know about every monster we'd ever found. But I had no idea what happened after that. I'd gotten them into a hundred portals, but I knew nothing about what happened inside. All I knew was that somehow, they stopped the flow of monsters and got the coordinates for the next portal.
    At first, I bluntly asked James several times what was past the portal. It was a sort of game we'd play, back when the whole thing seemed like a game. 'The next portal is in Texas, middle of nowhere. Speaking of which, what's past the portal?'  'Texas, huh? Always wanted to go there.' That sort of thing.
    But now the speed of their missions had multiplied, and it obviously had something to do with what was in the portal. I resolved that I had to ask, one more time, what was in there.
   He picked up.
   "Matt? What the hell, man?"
   I pulled up short. I had been so busy working up courage, I'd forgotten to feel guilty.
   "Sorry, dude, I just-"
   "You just what?" He demanded. I'd never heard him so worked up before. "What could you possibly be doing in your stupid life that is more important than Dale?"
   I was silent for a long time.
   "You had better be there. If you hung up- again- I will fly over there and wring your fat neck."
   "I'm here," I said, rubbing my forehead.
   I don't know why I said what I did next. I knew it would lead to problems. But I felt that it had to be mentioned.
   "You don't even know where I live."
   "What do you mean?" he asked, still angry, but now baffled as well. "I lived there for, like, most my life. I'm not an idiot, Matt. No matter what you think."
    "I don't think you're an idiot," I lied. "And we moved."
    Silence. No, not silence. Heavy breathing, static, and outside the phone, footsteps from inside the house.
    Without thinking much, I walked around the corner of the house, leaning on the siding where my mom couldn't see me if she opened the door. It was a lot darker over here.
    As the almost-silence stretched out, I felt the distance between us as I'd never felt it before. Not only was he on the other side of the country, but in many ways, our lives were alien to each other. He didn't know where I was, but I had a GPS tracker on him. There was something profound there, but I didn't care to think what it could be.
    James broke my contemplation.
    "You moved? When- wait, no, this is stupid. Did you listen to my messages, at least?"
    "Not yet," I admitted.
    "Well... We lost Dale."
    I pressed my lips together. Guilt washed over me. If I hadn't been so selfish, if I had done better... Now Dale might be dead.
     But I had trouble imagining myself simply brushing off Amanda, turning her away. That would make her curious, and if she found out... Well, I wasn't sure what the consequences were, but every time in the past when I'd suggested they go to the police, James had insisted their powers be kept a secret. 

    "Did you hear me?"
    "Yeah, I heard you. I'm just thinking."
    "Think faster."
    I saw a light fall across the sidewalk that indicated the door was being opened.
    "Matt, honey? That you?"
    Crap. Not again.
    I lowered my head and crept towards the backyard. I knew that latch on the gate was too high, so I could reach over and let myself in. Our backyard stretched into a huge, unkempt field. I could get away that way.
    I tried to think of a good question to ask James, to show I was still listening. 

    "Have the monsters stopped yet?" I whispered.
    "Yeah, but what's left of them are still milling around in the cave. I've gone down there a few times, alone."
    "Where's Mal? Where are you staying?"
    "A coffee shop. That's where we're at right now. Mal's at the counter buying food with the last of our money."
    The implications were serious. Most missions were in-and-out. James would fly Mal in, while Dale followed in bird form. They would deal with the portal, then move on to the next location. They'd eat McDonalds and sleep wherever they could. I knew it was hard, and that was just another reason I felt bad for still being jealous.
    As for money... James and Mal graduated last year, and Dale dropped out just before the missions got a lot more frequent. As far as I know, all three of them had money saved up for after school, but James had a football scholarship, Mal's parents were going to help with college, and Dale was planning on joining the army, or some such vague plan.
    Bottom line being, none of them had a lot of money saved up to take with them. But... what was different this time? Why were they at a coffee shop, and not some more run-down, cheap establishment?
    When I asked such, his voice dripped with venom.
    "We needed the wi-fi to look up rescue techniques."
    That stung. Usually, they'd call me for any information they needed. If I didn't know, I'd look it up for them. I'd left, and so they'd replaced me.
     But it still didn't make complete sense. After all, couldn't they sit in the coffee shop and still buy food someplace else? Maybe, I figured, they were tired of living on the run, just like I was tired of having my life constantly interrupted by their calls.
     "Okay. So, is there anything I can do to help now?"
     "Well... what the heck was that green thing?"
    I'd almost forgotten about that. What was it? I could go get the laptop out and examine it tomorrow. Finally, a problem that was easy to fix.
    "I'll get back to you on that."
    I was silent for a moment. I realized my mom had gone back inside.
    "And, James, I'm, uh... I'm sorry."
    "It's okay."
    I felt ridiculously relieved.
    There was a small click as James hung up.

Mission Control: Chapter 1: Matt: Accepting the Call to Heroism, Again

    The dance was beautiful, I thought for a moment. No, wait, the dance sucked. I was having a good time because she was beautiful. My ears hurt from the music, and my eyes ached from the bright moving lights, but I was having trouble remembering ever being this happy.

    I'd been waiting so long for this moment, moving my body to the music next to Amanda. She looked up at me, and we both smiled. She tilted her head up, and her brown eyes shone. It had taken forever to work up the courage to ask Amanda to prom, but I'd finally done it! And now we were alone in the crowd, and-

    Over the sound of the music, my phone in my pocket beeped at a pitch and timing I recognized. It could only mean one thing.

    While I danced, my friends were in mortal danger.

    Probably from monsters, but honestly, who knew with these guys?

    Groaning inwardly, I smiled and shrugged at Amanda, keeping up the act that I was just some awkward kid, embarrassed that his phone had gone off- which in some ways, I was.

    But, sadly, I was also much more.

    I turned off the alarm, shrugged again, and shouted 'medicine' over the beat.

    Amanda frowned, but nodded. She, like everyone else I knew at school, thought that the alarm was my signal to go take my meds at the Nurse's office.

    Over my shoulder, I heard her call, "Be back soon, Matt."

    I ducked out of the busy gym, and walked as quickly as I could to my regular spot- the janitor's closet. It was hard to keep from running, and as always, I feared what would happen if I was too late. 

    With the door closed behind me, I finally accepted the call. James' urgent voice came over immediately.

    "Oh, thank God. Quick, those monsters we fought four weeks ago, with the bug legs- what was their weakness again?

    I hesitated, blinking at the shadowed cleaning supplies that occupied the closet with me. Lets see, four weeks ago...

    "Water. In the mouth," I finally remembered.

    Meanwhile, as I tried to think, I was standing on a bucket to reach a loose ceiling tile. With practiced hands I pushed the tile aside to pull out my laptop. It was easier to keep it here than to have it with me at all times.

    I turned it on, and while I waited, I asked James to clarify on his situation.

    "We're retreating from the portal location- the monsters are just streaming out. Even worse than last time."

    I sighed very quietly to myself, pulling the phone away from my mouth. Why did he always complain about how much worse they were? Couldn't he see that they got worse every time?

    Into the receiver, I said, "Right, right. What are you guys doing?"

    "I'm getting an areal view on it, Mal is spewing fireballs at the things, which isn't doing any good, and Dale is as small as he can get- a cockroach, I think? And he's trying to wriggle his way in past the monsters."

    "Got it," I said, nodding to myself. "So, do you see or hear any water, where you are?"

    My laptop was on. With one click, I opened up a window with two video streams- one from a camera on James' shoulder, and one on Mal. When we first set up the system, I'd tried to find a camera that would work for Dale, but every time he shape-shifted, it would fall off, so I was content with two eyes.

    Just as he'd said, James was hovering about two stories off the ground. Looking at that image, I felt an all-too-familiar twinge of jealously at his abilities.

    Abilities that won't do him much good if you let them get killed, I reminded myself. 

    Shaking my head to clear it, I focused on the monsters.  

    The monsters were similar to others we'd seen, but seemed to be moving faster. The best way I can think to describe them is 'centipedes with bat heads and wings'. Strangely, despite their promanate, leathery wings, they never flew into the air. They just ran from the portal, letting out shrill calls, something like a anxious cricket. They made little effort to attack my friends, but would try to defend themselves when they approached. 

    I held the phone against my ear with my shoulder, tilting my laptop at the same time so I could still see the battlefield. It was hard to see too much, because the only light came from Mal's fireballs, and the blue glint of the portal the monsters were coming through. 

    James finally answered my question about the water. I could tell from his camera that he'd probably just finished turning around in mid-air, where he hovered above the battlefield. 

    "Uh, we're in a cave, and yeah, I think I can hear some water past this wall."

    I rolled my eyes because he'd felt the need to let me know they were 'in a cave'. Even if I didn't have two cameras pointed at the location, I had been the one to figure out the coordinates in the first place.

    "Go check it out," I said, thought I didn't really think that was necessary. 

    "Yes sir, Mission Control," James replied. 

    "Don't call me that," I complained. 

    James thought it was funny to call me 'Mission Control'. I thought it was inaccurate. For one thing, if I was a part of mission control, I'd probably get paid a lot more than the nothing I was currently earning.  

    Despite his jibe, he was already examining the wall, and he started to call out for Dale. If they were going to smash through the wall, they were going to need something big. Dale couldn't get as big as an elephant, but we'd seen him do a mule before- that might work.

    Dale didn't come. I realized the problem before James did. 

    "Dude. He's a bug. He can't hear you."

    There was silence, and then James started to turn away from the wall, probably to go find Dale, and get his attention. 

    "Wait. What's that?" I asked suddenly, and he stopped turning in mid-flight. 

   "What is it?"

    I ignored James' inquiry, frowning deeply at what I was seeing.

    I zoomed in on the image, and I thought I saw something glinting green off the cave walls. Were those scales? Or eyes?

    "Are you seeing that green thing? Kinda to the left?"

   There was a pause, and then he said, "Yeah, I'm seeing it."  

   The camera started to move towards the green thing instead. 

    And then the green spot moved, flashing across our field of vision faster than either of us could track. I vowed to examine the freeze-frame of that later, but for now there was a more pressing issue. 

    Someone was knocking on the janitor's door.

Inanimate

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11Y6Tqw17BM

Looks just like that guy^^


   Blade had never taken 'inanimate' as an insult, not really. He knew that was how people meant the word, when they spit it at him as he crossed the road or whispered it as they pulled their children away. But Blade had always figured that lots of good things were inanimate- blankets, for example, or toys. It was just that his kind of inanimate was... different.

   Blade's dad had been a great swordsmith. This much was evident in Blade himself- or at least, half of him. 

   You see, Blade was a Twain Soul; one living soul tied to one inanimate one. This process wasn't well understood, because it was 'corrupt magic', and thus feared. 

    When Blade was just a baby, and called Jacob instead, his father had been commissioned to make a sword for the king. The king had been warned of grave trouble by his spies and oracles, and his exact words to Blade's father were as follows:

     "Make me a sword that can cut through breastplates like butter. Make me a sword that will save my life. I don't care what magic you use, or what laws you break. Just build. That. Weapon."

    And then, almost as a afterthought, 

    "If I die using your sword, those still loyal to me will kill you, and your family."

  Terrified, Blade's father remembered a technique he had theorized about in his early career, but had deemed too dangerous. 

   He cast his mind back to Twain Souls, recalling that adding a human consciousness to an already-effective inanimate tool would strengthen the tool a thousand times over. 

   As he thought this, his eyes fell on his newborn son. 

   Blade had no memory or knowledge of any of this. All he knew was that sometimes he was human, and sometimes- specifically, when his hand touched the hand of someone he trusted- he was a sword. 

   Unfortunately, it wasn't quite that simple. Bits and pieces of human leaked into his sword, and the other way around. The sword's blade had an intricate human body etched onto it, which resembled Blade turned away. 

   The sword-to-human spillover was more annoying. His teeth and fingernails were as sharp as steel, and the same color. Anyone who knew what they were looking for could recognize him immediately as an Twain Soul. More often, though, people simply called him inanimate.

 
  Blade was about sixteen, by his count, and it had been years since he'd been a sword. Something deep inside him itched to take that form again, like an artist who had been away from his brushes. He'd even woken up like that a few times, as his sleeping mind tried to compensate for what he purposefully squashed. It scared him. People had only seen him in sword-form twice, and neither time had ended well. A few people knew he could be a sword, but knowing he could and seeing him do it were two different things.
   Blade had only been used in one fight- the assassination of the king. He had been young, very young, but he remembered the feeling of blood running over him like sugar in the mouth. He wanted to spill blood again. Some days, he felt that he needed to spill blood again. When mobs drove him out of town, when drunk men attacked him, as if fighting a Twain Soul was a thing to brag about, he wished he could wield himself. But there was no one in the world who would.
    Until he went to the freak show.
    Blade was driven to the traveling show for the same reasons anyone would- curiosity, boredom, the need for a laugh in a dreary world. Blade had been picking apples for a month or two, and had saved some money. He didn't know what the money was for, but spending some of it on a ticket to a freak show seemed as good a reason as any.
   Blade wore work gloves and a tight-liped smile to the show, both in place to hide his steely aspects.
   Blade gawked along with everyone else at the unicorn, cripples, bearded women, dwarfs, and other curiosities. Determined to get his money's worth, he lingered a long time at every exhibit. Perhaps his favorite was a skeletorn with a eerie mix of animal and human bones.
   Almost at the end of the row, one of the presenters explained the creature in the cage labeled 'The meaningless oracle of Vice City'.
   Blade didn't pay much attention to the presenter, but caught that the oracle had been cursed to speak only in prophesy, and all of it meaningless.
   At the end of his shpeal, the guide asked if anyone was willing to pay to have the oracle predict their future. Two men stepped forward with coins, and the presenter picked up a pole to knudge the oracle in the back.
   Until this point, she had huddled at the back of the cage, hidden in shadow. Now she turned around, standing hunched over and frightened. Everything about her was weak and dirty, from her whisp of hair left on her head to her bare, calloused feet and hands.
    Her eyes met Blade's at once, and he shivered. He felt like she was seeing straight through him.
    He turned to leave. This was creepy.
    "Grand tool of heroes!"
    Blade froze. He somehow knew she was talking to him.
    "Not him!" Snapped the man with the pole, jabbing at her again. "He never paid!"
    The girl ignored the pokes in her side and continued to stare penetratingly at Blade.
    "Tool of heroes," she repeated, "At home on the cot, at home in the sheath."
    The girl took on a regal position in her raggy clothes, and her eyes burned with passion. The presenter stopped poking her, though out of respect or because he thought it was a good show, Blade didn't know.
    "Blood will spill. Can't you taste it, tool of heroes? Blood. Innocent, guilty, evil or good- you care not!" She hesitated, then shouted louder. "Tool of murderers! Tool of spies!"
     She pointed a finger at Blade. It shook.
     "You will kill. No one really cares who. Don't you agree?"
     Blade shook his head. Why was he even taking this crackpot seriously? But even as he said this, he realized his mouth was watering at the talk of blood.
   "All right, that's enough of this," the guide said, looking very nervous. "Let's close this up," he said, pulling a curtain across the cage.
    Undettered, she shouted through the curtain,
   "Find me tonight, grand tool. Find me, and you shall get your blood."
   Blade stared at the frayed curtain in horror. His heart pounded, and it was all he could do not to drool. Blood. His own, someone else's, whatever. He was about willing to just sink his metal teeth into his neighbor spectator's shoulder, when the guide's apology pulled him out of his trance.
   "So sorry, sir, she isn't usually like that. Usually much more- calm. I hope you feel better. No refunds."
   And then Blade found himself being shepherded out of the show, possibly to cool off, but more likely so he wouldn't cause any more disturbances.
    As he stood there panting, he knew one thing.
    He was coming back to this show tonight.