Meeting Of The Minds [Jordan]

[Ryan D'Alteau]

Victimised, deceived!
A black veil of insanity's crushing...
...like fire beating all of our disease!
The black veil of insanity misleads.
______________________________Korn - "Victimized"

Following the weekend he'd spent in Harlingen, Ryan sincerely doubted that even his fiancée's eventual reaction to what he'd done behind her back would be able to dent the sense of liberation he felt since returning home. For three days, Ryan Alcroft had effectively been erased from existence and, in his place, had been a young, attractive woman by the name of Calla McKnight. With a combination of his own desires and the helping hand of a biokinetic, he had ramped up the usual immersion he allowed himself to experience whenever he masqueraded as his feminine alter-ego.

More often than not, he was constrained by either his working environment or a reluctance for anyone outside his close inner circle to find out what really lay beneath his disguise. However, with Ophelia's help, there hadn't been any disguise. Instead of being an assistant in a business or a platonic friend to a group of women, Ryan had intentionally ventured out into the centre of Harlingen with the plan to be a fleeting lover; to have one-night stands with women who found him attractive. Not everything had gone exactly as he'd envisioned, but he wouldn't have changed a single moment. The experience was another step towards the objective Sophie had given him eight months prior: to determine the full extent of his sexual identity.

With no correspondence from Maurelle to worry about, Ryan had spent the day almost completely alone; getting up early enough to see Adele leave for work before returning to his own devices. In the past, he had entertained the habit of lazing around the condo and generally doing very little. Without a job, he had no real reason to exert himself beyond what was truly necessary and, with Adele's salary being more than enough to pay for their lifestyle, the act of finding a job hadn't really been all that important. Of course, it hadn't stopped him trying out of guilt. He may have been something of a slacker when he was certain he could get away with it, but he had always prided himself on pulling his weight when it mattered.

When he realised that he hadn't been doing so on a financial basis pretty much ever since he'd moved in with Adele, he'd begun to make an effort. He'd sent applications to whatever local businesses he felt his skills would be a sufficient fit and, whenever they'd called for him, had attended the odd interview. He might have been a little out of practice, but he'd gone through the motions as best he could. Annoyingly, he'd managed to strike out every single time. The fact that he'd effectively dropped out of college in order to move to the United States and hadn't bothered to pursue higher education upon his arrival was something he surmised reflected badly upon him. Were his life more mundane, he could have seen himself as a college student again but, with the tumultuous events surrounding his existence as a special, he hadn't found himself with the time. Nor had he the particular inclination to expose himself in an easily-locatable environment such as a college campus.

It had been one circumstance after another, steering his life down a path which had him perpetually in lock-step with his fiancée; devoted to her as she was to him and, while he would have gladly given everything he could to keep it that way, he couldn't help but think that there were some facets of his life that were suffering as a result. The local Subway had become a popular haunt of both his and Calla's over the past few months and, once again, he'd found himself craving something to eat; just to keep him going until dinner that evening. While he could have made something back at the condo, he had grown quite enamoured with their grilled Mexican chicken, especially when coupled with Italian herb bread and as much salad as could reliably be fit in between.

He was finishing off the remnants of just such a sandwich when he caught sight of a figure in the crowd ahead. Although plainly dressed, the tall man seemed to walk with purpose, slinking his way through and around the much slower pedestrians with ease. With the two of them being of similar height, Ryan found it easy to keep track of the back of the figure's head and shoulders, watching the lengthier strands of black hair as they danced around. It had been the man's posture which had first caught Ryan's eye. It struck him as somehow familiar; befitting of a certain personality he'd previously encountered. Instinctively, his mind settled on a vision of quiet arrogance; someone who seemed almost compelled to deify themselves due to their social status.

But this wasn't that man. That man - if he could be called such - hadn't been seen in years. It had been someone Ryan had never really liked, even when there'd been a semblance of grudging respect between them. No, this man was different. Taller, too. Just turn th'fuckin' corner..., was his curious train of thought. Now that he'd latched onto this man and become... intrigued by his presence, he wanted to see the rest of his face; to see if it was someone he actually knew. It was nagging him for all of twenty seconds before the man reached the end of the block and turned to his left, just enough for Ryan to get a glimpse of the rest of the person's face.


Jordan Mercer.


The last time he had seen him had been at the condo, last Hallowe'en, when he had "suddenly" dropped eighteen thousand dollars and effectively took over the building for an evening. Unbeknownst to Ryan, Jordan had "taken over" in more ways than one. With Khalidah's assistance, he had placed a series of consuming suggestions into the minds of everyone at the party, convincing them to assume the identities displayed by their costumes. As a result, his memory of the evening had been patchy at best. The most he'd been able to discern about the night in question was that he'd needed to stop someone looking vaguely like Adele from stabbing a member of royalty with a dagger. He wasn't entirely sure why.

Ryan's ex-girlfriend Michelle had been present at the party too and, thanks to Jordan's cerebral meddling, she had spent the whole night convinced she was a female version of Loki from the Marvel movies. She'd spiked a pharoah's bottle of wine with almost an entire tin of chilli powder, ruining the whole thing and essentially living up to her mantle as the Norse god(dess) of trickery, chaos and deception. Just like Ryan, she'd ended up remembering very little. Ryan wasn't really the best at following people like they did in the movies; a practice he'd never really seen as convincing in any way, but follow Jordan he did. There had always been something about him - even back at the party - which had been a little "off" to Ryan. The only reason he'd allowed the party to go ahead - aside from the five-figure sum they been paid - was the fact that Adele had told him it had been organised a couple of weeks in advance.

He'd had no idea why Jordan had shown up on South Padre Island and made use of their home specifically and, all these months later, he was equally at a loss as to why the man was here now. He may not have been Sherlock Holmes, but Ryan couldn't help but think that there was something happening behind the scenes; something he wasn't aware of. After all, wasn't it Adele who had repeatedly told him that there were to be no secrets in their relationship? Over the course of four blocks, the pedestrian traffic gradually thinned out as Ryan trailed Jordan across the island. On the causeway side of the island, there were less shops and hotels than by the sea and, unless he had an apartment on the island, Ryan wasn't entirely sure why Jordan would be walking in this direction.

That was, at least, until Jordan began to slow down. Everything was telling Ryan that he'd been discovered; that the man he'd been following had entertained the nagging feeling that something was amiss for long enough. With hardly anyone else around, it was hard for a six-foot-two man with blond hair to reliably blend in without making more undue noise. "Scoutin' 'round for another party venue, are we?", he inquired, trying to sound friendly... ish.

[Jordan Mercer]

What, exactly, had brought him to south Texas? That was something he was not inclined to share. Jordan had become, in many ways, even more closed off since Evelyn's death, while at the same time letting others comfort him, whether they knew of his grief and guilt or not. He did not like being around others, but he was; he did not like traveling, but he was; he did not like working, but, well, here he was.

The area reminded him of the Halloween party he had thrown almost a year earlier. That had been an interesting time. Fun, even, at least for him. He was one of a very few guests who remembered how that night had truly gone, and the thought of that, and the memories of what some of those people had done, amused him to no end. Of course, he had indulged in his own share of strangeness, but at least he had known what he was doing.

He was walking down the street, headed toward a particular office. He had documents to drop off and documents to pick up. While he was not necessarily pleased with acting as his mentor's messenger boy, there was little he would not do for Gabriel. Besides, compared to some of the other dealings that man engaged in, this seemed rather innocuous. That is, he did not expect to be jumping off tall buildings or engaging in shootouts. He was here for a package, the contents of which were not dangerous and which Jordan had no pressing wish to be cognizant of. Ignorance was bliss sometimes. That much he had learned from his experience with Evie.

He rounded a corner. There was a slight breeze, and, in combination with the long, heavy strides he was taking, he could feel his long black hair brushing against the back of his neck and billowing behind him by successive turns. It was a comforting feeling of sorts. Yet the awareness of that sensation led to the awareness of another coming from behind him. He had the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Followed.

While he had promised himself that he would never use his ability again following Evie's passing, Jordan did feel that it was necessary in that moment. There was a crowd of people on the sidewalk; without turning around or giving any other sign of recognition, he sorted briefly through their minds, only scanning surface thoughts, for any hint of someone who might have been thinking about the action of following someone. Finally he came across one. The voice the thoughts occurred in was familiar to him, especially with that accent, but he could not quite place it.

He was growing irritated now. Whoever had the gall to follow him so brazenly was asking to be dealt with. In fairness, it was not completely that person's fault that Jordan was angry; in recent days it really took nothing to tip Jordan over the edge. Lilka had done so more times than Jordan could care to count. Little things, like being cut off on the road or being mistreated by customer service, quite simply pushed him near to violence, and there had been more than a few public altercations in that respect. So far, they had all been diffused before Jordan could deal his perceived opponent any damage. But one day, he had worried, that would change. In the moment, he didn't care.

To reach the office, Jordan had to make a right two blocks from the corner. He continued walking straight ahead. His priority now was to figure out who was following him and why. It might have had something to do with the documents he had now or the package he was due to pick up; whichever the case, he would not risk the office being discovered. Besides, he wanted to see who it was, and most of the crowd seemed to be wandering off after two or three blocks. Jordan walked one more before the thoughts cleared out, leaving him with just a few, including the ones that belonged to his pursuer. Turning around then, he beheld none other than Ryan Alcroft, the man from whom he had rented the space to hold last year's Halloween party in.

The young man made a dry joke. Jordan's eyes narrowed. Perhaps that had meant to be funny. "No, Mr. Alcroft. My business here is no business of yours. Despite your apparent belief that it is, as you have been following me for some time now." Without moving his head, Jordan checked for pedestrians through his peripheral visions and through surface mind scans. Soon there would be none. Good. That made fewer witnesses in case this confrontation went to seed. "I recommend that you turn around and go on your way before you vex me further. I doubt Doctor Couteau would appreciate you returning home bloodied and broken."

[Ryan D'Alteau]

Hey, you! You're saying that she's all that you desire?!
______________________________Korn - "Liar"

As he had carried himself along the street, his eyes trained on the back of Jordan Mercer's head, Ryan had wondered to himself just what had possessed him to follow him in the first place. Unlike people who were firmly on one side of he and his fiancée's collective spectrum or the other, either an ally or an adversary, Jordan was one of those indeterminate factors that irked him; gnawing away inside his head until he was better able to ascertain their intentions. His years spent with Adele had taught him not to simply let things slide by. No matter how elusive, everyone had their reasons for doing everything and, if those reasons somehow intersected with the continued equilibrium of his life, then he felt he deserved to know about them.

It was through one of these seemingly random actions that the two men had first met. Sure, South Padre Island may have been a popular beachside getaway, especially when students elected to plague it during spring break; a time which Ryan still had no idea where it actually fell on the calendar, but for a man to descend on an ordinary beachfront home and express his intent to borrow the place to throw a Hallowe'en party just didn't make any sense to him. Normally, when someone wanted to do such a thing, they rented out a hotel ballroom or some other similar public space and invited their guest list there. If he had followed the constraints of normality, Jordan would have likely paid far less than the eighteen-thousand dollars with which he'd effectively bribed Adele.

Having walked to, driven by or otherwise seen every inch of the inhabited areas of the island, Ryan was aware that, further up the street, lay a smattering of small office buildings; otherwise nondescript towers which represented the far more significant holdings of companies and corporations on the mainland. None of the companies in question really meant anything to him and, as such, Ryan was unable to fathom why Jordan was making the trip. He didn't seem like the type to be some kind of office drone, living out the traditional nine-to-five because he had nothing better to do. The fact that he'd thrown around enough money to buy a small car purely on a one-night whim proved that.

Today, Ryan wasn't even a man with hostile intentions. He had finished running a personal errand of his own when he had decided to get something to eat and found himself distracted by Jordan's face in the crowd. The man he'd decided to follow wasn't a friend of his but, as of that precise moment in time, nor was he an enemy. There was no overriding need for Jordan to die or to otherwise be maimed in order to protect his occasionally illegal lifestyle. It may not have been the best way for him to sate his curiosity but, as Jordan turned around, the opportunity for changing his choices went up in smoke.

With narrowed eyes, obviously not impressed at the dry humour exhibited by his pursuer, Jordan eventually voiced a response. "No, Mr. Alcroft," he began, his voice carried by a weary, annoyed sigh. "My business here is no business of yours. Despite your apparent belief that it is, as you have been following me for some time now." Just as Adele sometimes protected him, Ryan felt it his duty to do the same. Even if she wasn't aware of any danger, the knowledge that he could potentially quell it before it reached her was something which spurred him on.

In the midst of their silence, it became time for Ryan's own eyes to narrow. For a series of fleeting moments, Ryan could feel something flickering across the back of his mind. Both otherworldly and familiar, it reminded him somewhat of a dog in a garden during a rainstorm. They would scratch at the door and generally make a fuss until someone inside relented and allowed them in, usually to shake themselves dry near the furniture. It was a sensation which momentarily infuriated him as he worked to track down the last time he'd felt it and, once he'd finally pinned down the somewhat sketchy memory in question, he found himself getting ever so slightly worried.

It was a sensation which he last remembered feeling a number of years ago, back when he and Adele still lived in New York. Having never visited the place before, Ryan had decided on a whim to visit the Coney Island fairground. For the most part, it had been pretty much what he'd expected from a fairground - bright lights, lots of noise and never being far away from something fun - but, it was when he'd met a one-time country/pop music star that things had become strange. Jewel Maryland - now likely the subject of more than a few 'where are they now?' articles on the internet - was, like him, a special and, as she'd demonstrated multiple times, she had the capability of compelling others to do her bidding with her voice. The scratching at the back of his head had been a non-invasive precursor to the irresistable compulsions which had riddled his thought processes moments later, leading to her effectively robbing him - albeit temporarily, thanks to Adele - of his cellphone, before almost hurling him into an embarrassing situation with another man she'd happened to meet.

Was Jordan somehow capable of doing the same things Jewel had been? If that was indeed the case - as Ryan's paranoia was making him slightly more inclined to believe - then he would have to be a little more careful. To that end, he began to devote a fragment of his concentration to protecting himself. It wouldn't have been too noticeable at the distance the two stood from one another, but the ethereal blue tint to the outer edges of his sclera betrayed what he hoped he was doing: drawing on his capabilities from the astral plane to erect a protective barrier around his mind.

As of late, he had found himself able to stretch his ability to certain new extents; doing things he thought wouldn't have been possible. Stemming from his escape from Level Five, where he had managed to gain control of another person's body without relinquishing control of his own in a fit of rage, Ryan had been wondering just what the final limitations of his ability truly were. Just what could he accomplish, were he afforded the time and inclination to achieve total mastery over his genetic gift? The Company had thought him to be rather short-changed on the ability front, especially when all they knew of his ability was what they'd read. His escape had proven them wrong rather easily.

"Y'know, this is all just coincidence?", Ryan commented, gesturing with one hand to indicate their encounter. He wasn't innocent until proven guilty; not at all. He was more innocent until given an excuse to be guilty. He was sometimes a bit standoffish with unfamiliar people like Jordan, much like the alpha male in a pride of lions sizing up a potential rival. He wouldn't really have blamed Adele for sneaking a few idle glances in Jordan's direction, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Jordan, it seemed, wasn't in the mood for Ryan's presence. "I recommend that you turn around and go on your way before you vex me further," he warned; something which was only met with quiet, incredulous laughter from Ryan. Since when did anyone have the right to order him around, anyway? He'd faced down the likes of Kiros Monroe, Grace Harper and Sam Keaton and defied the lot of them. Even Adele encountered difficulty with instructing him, sometimes. If Jordan had decided to leave it there, Ryan might have given more thought on complying. But, of course, as many often did, they had to go and assert some sort of empty dominance. "I doubt Doctor Couteau would appreciate you returning home bloodied and broken."

"That sounds awfully like ye're implyin' that you're somehow better than th'men who've already tried." Ryan thought it only fair to coldly inform Jordan of what he could potentially be getting into were he to pursue such a course of action. Between his ability and his combat training, he was by no means a pushover. Stepping closer, he was almost daring the man to try breaking him. "Besides, I doubt Wonder Woman would like it much if I ended up doin' th'same to you. So I guess we're at an impasse."

When he was able to look back on today with hindsight, he'd realise that this was a poor choice of retort. But, for now, it sounded like as good a putdown as any.

[Jordan Mercer]

Dig up her bones but heave the soul alone
Boy with a broken soul
Heart with a gaping hole

Coincidence? Jordan gave a dry chuckle at that. One did not follow a man and then call it coincidence. He had never taken Ryan Alcroft for a coward or for an imbecile, but for that comment, he had to be one of those, or both. The man was hardly worth his time. Jordan was going to shake his head and return to the path he had been taking, toward the office he was meant to visit, under the assumption that the man would not follow him after having been confronted in this manner. He could hardly resist inserting a threat, though, expecting that the man would make some comment in return, at which point Jordan would walk away with another chuckle.

Apparently, Ryan was a popular man to try to harm, and the man bragged that he had faced off many times with many such men in the past. Jordan cared not one bit about any of that. All it was to him was an empty boast, one worthy of nothing more than a roll of the eyes. And, again, Jordan planned to simply leave the man to whatever his plans, unless Ryan followed him further, but the next comment smashed that all to pieces.

There was no way Ryan could know of the flaw in his argument. Jordan was aware of that. All the same, his mention of "Wonder Woman" - Evelyn - set Jordan's limbs in a position to fight. It took little to push Jordan in that direction, after all. The confrontations in public that almost escalated to full-out fights had been caused by indirect slights; this one addressed the woman herself, and the memory of her, and triggered all those emotions, the sadness, the guilt, the regret - and it manifested as pure anger.

Jordan was not one to show his emotions at all, despite Felicia's and Lilka's attempts to teach him to do so. He refused to "wear his heart on his sleeve" and let himself be used as he had in the past. And, most of all, he refused to let anything bother him, at least outwardly. And so, when Ryan mentioned Evelyn, unwittingly reminding Jordan of the conditions surrounding the woman's death - the result was a pause, almost as though time had stopped, although it had not, before Jordan, without a word in response, threw a fist at Ryan's face.

They traded blows back and forth, of course, each landing one here and there, sometimes bruising, sometimes breaking. Jordan was a fairly slight man, slender, his advantage lying in agility rather than force, being able to move quickly to duck and dodge blows. Fortunately, no one happened to be around to observe their fight, nor to break them up or call the police. Jordan let absolutely loose on Ryan, raining blows down on him whenever he could, and slipping just out of reach as much as he could when it was necessary.

[Ryan D'Alteau]

Every soul racked by chaos was filled with penitence.
We are the mere shadows of our former selves no more.
Let life take its rights again, let the monarchy be annihilated!
Be united against those who are lying to you!
______________________________Gorod - "Programmers Of Decline"

Initially, Ryan hadn't been operating with the intent to get a rise out of Jordan. None of what he'd done over the past five minutes - following the man across multiple blocks before making his presence known with a somewhat dry joke - had been with causing harm in mind. He may not have particularly liked the man, but he was by no means an enemy; not someone who threatened their very existence with his proximity to Ryan and Adele's beachfront abode. Unlike many of their actual enemies, Jordan did know where they lived; having used the house for a Hallowe'en party. Just as Jordan held no ill will towards Ryan, Ryan had no pressing desire to maim or kill the man before dumping him in a nearby alley.

Regardless of how much the slender, dark-haired individual might have disagreed, their meeting was coincidence. Ryan had been wandering the island in the just the right place to catch a glimpse of him and it was only through following him that things had become less dictated by random chance. If Ryan had simply left things well alone, they would have passed each other by like a pair of ships in a mist-laden ocean. Jordan wouldn't have known he was there and he would have been able to get on with playing errand-boy.

But Ryan had, if anything, become a little paranoid over the years. Between the government and whatever remnants of the Company still remained and were still alive, he was abundantly aware that there were people out there who were out to get him, regardless of whether they knew everything he'd done or not. Thanks to living with Adele, he had become a serial killer, a political assassin, a recreational drug user (on occasion) and, to those he didn't know, a bit of an asshole. Even before meeting the diminutive doctor, he was certainly mindful of the unfamiliar and slightly reluctant to trust people he had only just met. Once he'd been exposed to the underbelly of a life living with abilities, however, those trains of thought had only grown in prominence.

When Jordan had mentioned Adele in his sniping insult; one which he'd probably hoped would be his parting words, Ryan had instinctively thrown one back about Evelyn, not knowing the tumultuous circumstances surrounding her unfortunate demise. He had no idea how Jordan felt about the situation as a whole and, as such, wasn't entirely sure why he'd reacted the way he did. The clenching of his fists, the almost mechanical interruption in his earlier movement which signalled an emotionally-driven change of heart and, just a moment or two later, the punch sent hurtling towards the side of his face. Having diverted some of his concentration to erecting the mental barrier and the rest of his mind still lying in complacency, Ryan only thought to start defending himself after he felt the bundle of bone and muscle colliding with his cheekbone.

Realising that the assault Jordan was intent on sending his way wasn't going to be interfering with his mind, Ryan allowed the barrier to fall away and, with a bruise already starting to form on his face, began to block, dodge and parry as he deemed necessary. Annoyingly, it seemed that Jordan's slender stature lent itself rather well to the concept of agility and, more times than Ryan would have liked, the trajectory of his fist collided with little more than the ocean breeze. However, to make up for it, Ryan was able to feel the satisfying sensation of his own fists slamming against Jordan's body. While he would have wanted nothing better than to demonstrate to him the woeful ability for his nose to act as a crumple zone in a high-speed "accident", the tactician in him thought it prudent to try and knock the wind out of him and try to slow him down.

Having ventured so far away from the crowds and towards areas of the island only frequented by people who needed to venture there, there were no witnesses to the disturbance. Which meant no calls to the police or any idiotic bystanders stepping in to try and break the two of them apart. But, if Jordan thought that the fight he'd just instigated was going to be some form of honourable duel, then he was sorely mistaken. For almost two minutes - or a period of time that felt like it - the two men had been equally matched. Jordan had been quicker on his feet, able to dodge out of the way of a decent amount of Ryan's counterattacks while delivering his own assaults in response, while the more trained Ryan was favouring destructive power over agility. All he needed was one decent punch and, if he caught Jordan in the middle of his own momentum, he would have been able to lay the smartly-dressed man flat on his ass.

But, as if he knew his intentions and was actively denying him the satisfaction, Jordan simply refused to be in the path of Ryan's fists when it mattered. In a straight fight, Ryan surmised, Jordan might have actually been able to give him pause. Of course, Ryan was a member of a younger generation; a generation who had subscribed to a different way of thought than their predecessors. If they found themselves in a contest they could win fairly with their own prowess, then they would revel in the bragging rights as was their right. However, if things weren't going the way they planned, they saw nothing wrong with trying to bend a few of the rules to give them an upper hand. Provided anyone in authority didn't see it.

So, Ryan, being such a person faced with such a situation, decided to do the one thing he felt Jordan wouldn't be expecting. He cheated. Parrying a flurry of attacks from Jordan, Ryan reached forward. But, rather than grapple him so that his adversary could be thrown into something, Ryan lunged the rest of his body forward, unceremoniously driving his knee between Jordan's legs. He'd had enough of the man's bullshit and had made a split-second decision to tip the scales well and truly in his favour. While he was reeling from the sudden low blow, Ryan aimed a punch of his own at Jordan's cheek. But he didn't stop there.

Instead of literally kicking the man while he was down, Ryan began to concentrate. In the space of time it took for his eyes to slide shut and open again, the oily blue film of... whatever the hell it was spread over his eyes as he set his sights on Jordan. While he could have possessed him then and there; wrestling control of Jordan's body away and compelling him to play in traffic for a while, he decided to be somewhat merciful. The final punch hadn't been entirely impulsive. Recently, Ryan had discovered that, through physical contact, he was able to leave behind fragments of his astral consciousness behind; lodged inside people like beacons only he could really perceive.

Normally, he accomplished this through contact which was far more innocuous or socially accepted, such as a formal handshake, but he had eventually realised that anything would really suffice, provided he concentrated hard enough. Kissing Adele, accidentally brushing past someone in a crowd; it really made no difference. In lieu of hurling his entire consciousness at someone - which left him vulnerable - Ryan was able to exert a lesser portion of his will upon someone through the fragment he'd left behind. It wasn't as powerful and, annoyingly, it didn't last anywhere near as long but, right now, he felt it was enough. Finding the synaptic signals which Jordan was firing in an attempt to pick himself up off the floor, Ryan concentrated on intercepting them and, once his mind was in the way, he could quite easily block them.

"What?" As he glared down at Jordan, his voice took on an altogether darker tone; one which seldom reared its head in polite company. There weren't many people who had heard him speak like this, and even fewer who were still among the living. In colloquial parlance, this was Ryan when he was very much pissed off. "Y'thought I was gonna fight fair?" And then, as he watched and waited for the inevitable realisation to set in - the point when a victim discovered they could no longer move under their own power - Ryan allowed an almost sadistic smirk to appear on his face. Adele had changed him so very much, it seemed.

[Jordan Mercer]

Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two...
One with old wood creaking, that would burn away right on cue...
I try to be not like that, but some people really suck...
People need to get the axing, chalk it up to bad luck...
-311, “Beautiful Disaster”

Intentions meant nothing to Jordan. Everyone had the best intentions, but when it came to results, they never came through. Jordan knew he was not an exception to that. He had failed, utterly failed, Evelyn, and it had led to her death. He was a culprit, and a victim; there were family issues there too, unresolved, bubbling and festering below the surface. But none of that came to Jordan specifically in that moment, just anger and frustration over Evelyn and Ryan’s presumption - even though he was not aware of it - in even mentioning her.

Jordan was fast, and he dodged Ryan at every turn, ducking and weaving like an expert, even getting a few hits in of his own. He could wear Ryan out if he wanted, or just wait for an opening once he danced Ryan around enough and knock him out cold. Jordan clearly had enough time. Ryan could barely catch him. A smirk touched Jordan’s lips as he moved, frustrating the other man’s every effort. It was not difficult at all; in fact, it was fun to Jordan. It was a little game, a little exercise, and Ryan made an excellent object to vent against.

And then Ryan kneed him. Jordan had not seen that coming at all. Jordan yelped and doubled over, reflexively, even with the thought in his mind that he really should not to that, and, for that, in came a punch at Jordan’s cheek. Jordan tipped over and fell, unfortunately, as Ryan had something more in store for him.

To a civilian or a Special with powers unrelated to the mind, it might have gone entirely unnoticed. It might even have succeeded. But Jordan knew his mind, and his body, and, when he could not get himself off the ground, he started with the assumption that something was keeping him from doing so. He was not a clumsy man by any means. Ryan’s influence over his mind became fairly obvious then, and as the man spoke, with malice staining his every word, Jordan narrowed his eyes. He could not get up to attack Ryan - but he did not need to get up for that. Seeing the man’s smirk, Jordan slowly returned it with one of his own.

Touching Jordan’s mind, even as faintly as Ryan had, worked against him now. Jordan started with the shards of consciousness Ryan had implanted him to keep him from moving, and negated them, allowing him to move again. He traced the shards back to Ryan and quickly changed a few of his sensory perceptions - namely, what he saw, and what he heard. In the second it took him to get up, Jordan spun and elbowed Ryan in the face, then kicked Ryan down, sending him sprawling to the floor. By then, the sensory alterations would have lifted, in at least enough time for Ryan to see Jordan standing over him, then placing his slender hand over Ryan’s face. Ryan would find himself spiraling into unconsciousness, darkness at first, but that would change in a matter of seconds.

“Let’s see what’s in there, shall we?” was the last thing Ryan would have heard on the physical plane before finding himself on a metaphysical one. Jordan was in an excellent mood for screwing with someone’s head, and Ryan had just volunteered himself for the experiment. Jordan had used this aspect of his abilities before, but not nearly as often as he liked. Jordan let himself have a seat as his mind also transferred over to the metaphysical plane, rubbing his cheek for a moment as the transition took hold. Any passersby would see one man sitting with his eyes closed and another on the ground, and likely take them as hobos, which worked just fine for Jordan. He did not want them to be disturbed while he screwed with Ryan’s mind.

What awaited them on the other side of the planar barrier was a illustrative representation of Ryan’s mind. Some people thought of their minds as engines, or libraries, or wine coolers (Jordan had actually, seriously seen that happen), and he was curious to see what Ryan’s subconscious would present as, or rather, how Ryan would unwittingly and involuntarily represent his subconscious, and the things he kept hidden in there, if only to do his best to completely scramble everything he could as Ryan watched or, perhaps, tried his best to stop him. This was a game again, though, to Jordan, and he was going to have fun no matter what happened. Ryan could barely hurt him here; this might have been Ryan’s stage, but Jordan was running the show.

“So, this is what your mind looks like? I was expecting something with a turbocharged engine and butterfly doors.”

[Ryan D'Alteau]

Now you tell me you like it, you tell me you want it!
You're mine and you don't need another one!
Come on and tell me you like it and tell me you want it!
You're mine and the world will get you high!
______________________________Disturbed - "Intoxication"

With Jordan lying on the ground, presumably unable to get back up, and Ryan afforded the necessary length of time to be able to deliver a mocking remark, it was the latter's assumption that he had managed to finally get the better of the man he'd somehow got into a fight with. He'd heard of people flying off the deep end whenever someone mocked their significant others but, as with many such tropes, they were most often found on insufferable TV shows; soap operas which endeavoured to layer together layer after layer of bullshit in an attempt to create a whole which negated the far-fetched nature of the component parts. It was clear that he'd touched some sort of raw nerve by mentioning Evelyn - or rather, the costume she'd worn the last time the two men had met - but, without any enlightenment on the matter, Ryan just couldn't fathom why.

As fun as it might have felt to do so to Jordan, Ryan was actually rather loathe to beating up random men on the street. Where Adele wasted no time in righting any of the perceived wrongs in her life and doling out "justice" to the perpetrators of the aforementioned slights, Ryan went about such things with rather more humanity, simply bottling everything inside until something drove him beyond a breaking point. Marcus Grant had been the last person to do exactly that. While word of Grace Harper's whereabouts had, like many in the Company, been lost to the wind ever since his departure from the organisation, he had instead settled his wrath on a man who wasn't quite so untouchable.

Having been a one-time parter of the former Staff Sergeant, Ryan had been handed access to a portion of Marcus' personnel file just as Marcus had seen his and, from there, he'd learned that the former Marine was in fact the third man to bear the name. If the Company was focused on protecting the youngest Marcus Grant, he'd mused at the time, then there would be no such power protecting the other two. The fact the family had been in the midst of a reunion had more than made up for the absence of the men he really wanted to face and, after a slight setback, Ryan had mercilessly gunned down nine adult members of the Grant family, though not before he had sealed the children in the basement and helped them to forget the whole affair.

Jordan might have pissed him off by attacking him, but Ryan wasn't about to set out on a quest to hunt down his family. Not when the man responsible was lying right in front of him. But, as ever, there were things everyone else involved knew of which Ryan had either been ignorant or simply hadn't been informed. Evelyn had died long before the two men had encountered one another today. It was Jordan's sense of failure on that subject which had driven him to respond to Ryan's tactless remark by punching him in the face. And, as he was about to deduce for himself, Jordan Mercer was a special, just like him.

"What're you smirkin' at..?"

Ryan didn't notice it at first. Being so focused on preventing Jordan's body from moving of its own free will, he was blind to what the man was doing behind the scenes. It hadn't taken Jordan very long but, after discovering that he could no longer move and seeing that Ryan's eyes were completely blue, he had pieced the evidence together and spent a few introspective seconds in search of the cause. What he found might have been inventive, but it was also so very flawed. Being quite literally a part of Ryan's consciousness, it wasn't too difficult for Jordan to put his own abilities to work and determine the source of the metaphysical fragments lodged in the back of his head.

If Ryan had known that Jordan's ability dealt with the mind as much as - if not more than - his own, he would have made the effort to exert his control over him more completely. It had been ease and convenience which had prompted him to do so this way and, once Jordan discovered just how Ryan was pushing against him, it wasn't hard for him to push back. The fragments, being what they were, didn't take very long to buckle under the strain - perhaps a few seconds at most - but, as soon as they did? Then Ryan noticed. Even from the floor, Jordan could clearly see the realisation in the set of eyes six feet above him. As the blue film faded from them, the fact that Ryan was glaring incredulously at him became amusingly evident. But, of course, it was too late by then. By following the link to its source, Jordan was now in Ryan's head and, as he began to get up, he manipulated Ryan's vision and hearing as though he'd simply flicked a switch. The yelp of surprised discomfort only told half the story.

"How the fuck are you doing that?!", was what Ryan would have shouted at that precise moment. Normally, when someone broke free of his control, it was because he'd grown bored and allowed them the privilege. Because he had achieved his aims and no longer had a need for them. This, however, was different. Jordan had countermanded his will and got to his feet. He'd felt it. Admittedly, he'd felt it too late to do anything about it, but he'd felt it nontheless. The invasion of the unseen link between Jordan's brain and his own wasn't something he'd encountered often - in fact, only once before - and, as such, he'd been ill-prepared to stop it.

How Jordan had retaliated, however, was something which certainly warranted additional thought after the fact. It felt as though a flashbang grenade had suddenly gone off in his face. His eyes were flooded with white light - essentially blinding him - while his ears were bombarded with a cacophonous noise which certainly hadn't been there before. Unable to see or hear anything which was actually transpiring around him, Ryan was able to offer no defence against Jordan's next assault. Whirling around in order to build momentum, the more slender of the two men lashed out with his elbow, planting it perfectly against Ryan's cheekbone and, while he was reeling from Attack Number One, he kicked him to the floor.

Having knocked Ryan down, Jordan saw no point in continuing the audio-visual charade and, as quickly as it had appeared, the light faded and the noise ceased, leaving his opponent disoriented but medically none the worse for wear. Now came the rest of the younger man's punishment. He'd reminded him of Evelyn, he'd attacked him and, perhaps most egregiously of all, he had tried to invade his mind. Ryan was far from the only person capable of doing that last one and, as Jordan was now very much eager to demonstrate, certainly far from the most proficient. "Let's see what's in there, shall we..?" Ignoring Ryan's protest, he knelt down beside him and gently placed his hand on his victim's forehead.

Almost immediately, Ryan could feel an overwhelming entity sweeping across him, compelling his consciousness to slip away. No matter how he tried to fight against it, it ended up besting him at every turn. It seemed as though it knew his every weakness and shortcoming and after reaching the veil at the centre of his mind, all it had to do was step through. At that moment, less than a second after Jordan's hand had made contact with his head, Ryan's eyes simply rolled back in their sockets, plunging him deeply into an artificial slumber.

When Ryan awoke again, the world around him had completely changed. In the place of the mundane and ordered streets of South Padre Island, now sat a desolate canyon. Scything its way through the centre of what looked like a city, the chasm was flanked on both sides by an array of daunting spires. Although looking completely artificial and a lot like futuristic skyscrapers at first glance, there were elements of the buildings - if they could even be called such - that seemed strangely organic in an abstract way. Were they to house people for the purpose of allowing them to live out a daily existence, they would have been woefully unsuitable. Nothing about them seemed quite right, the least of which being the lines of bright spots being far too close together to denote the floors of a normal man-made structure.

And then there was the fact that they were an eerie shade of blue. Just like, he soon learned, everything else which wasn't him. Between the gleaming cerulean towers, Ryan could see the darkened sky, tainted an almost sickening shade of purple by the clouds as they rolled languidly towards the horizon. However, hovering almost majestically amidst them was the sun; a colossal ball of superheated gas which, in this world, was caught in a perpetual eclipse. The moon or whatever else was causing the phenomenon was large enough to cover almost every trace of the sun, leaving only the light which managed to circumvent it behind. A hoop of blazing, electric blue flames a million miles in circumference was all Ryan could see when he gazed upward, the moon reducing the rest of the sun to a lightless black circle.

The walls of the canyon were lined with thick, cobalt veins which slowly pulsated as the ethereal light from the buildings coursed through them. Without the light, they looked as though they were part of the rock; sections of unmined ore which had been left there for eternity. And, as the thunder rumbled overhead, Ryan heard an errant voice; one which brought even more confusion to bear upon his mind.

"So... this is what your mind looks like?"

Standing on a naturally formed spire of rock which elevated him twenty feet above Ryan, Jordan glared down at the man whose consciousness he'd invaded. He'd withstood what Ryan had unleashed upon him and now, finally, it was his turn. Despite the beating they'd both endured, there was no evidence on either of them that they'd ever come to blows. Jordan and Ryan looked as immaculate and untainted as they'd been before they'd met minutes earlier. "I was expecting something with a turbocharged engine and butterfly doors."

"My mind..?" Ryan asked, the thunder continuing to sound through the clouds. "What the fuck did you do to me?" Now he thought about it, it was rather lucky that the man with any real answer on the subject was in here with him.

Wherever here was.

[Jordan Mercer]

I’ve got you in my sights
Walking a thin line
-Codec, “Vociferous”

This, Jordan had to admit, was definitely the most interesting layout of a mind that he had seen, including his own… but he seldom ventured into his own; it was a touch too dark and extremely dangerous. He could not die in there, but the fear was enough to discourage too many attempts at it. Then again, it might be its own way of fighting his own demons, especially those that had cropped up regarding Evelyn. He would have to think about that later.

For now, in the moment, he was observing quite an interesting setup. Everything seemed to give of an ethereal blue glow, and a stunning eclipse clouded by less lovely clouds, and architecture of some unreal design. There was a canyon immediately next to them, though, and it was there that Jordan thought he might start. The next target, should the canyon prove fruitless, would be the strangely designed buildings beyond and among the spires.

He had an excellent vantage from his spire; he could see his subject from on high, and he could see the pulses of light in the canyon. They exposed little; this would require a closer look. He glanced away from the canyon and toward Ryan when the other man wanted to know what was going on. “Oh,” Jordan said casually, settling into a sit on the spire quite comfortably, “we’re inside your mind. Specifically, your subconscious. The place where… well, to put it simply for you, everything you never wanted anyone to know? They’re in here. All you have to do is find them… before I do.”

He raised an eyebrow and considered the canyon. It could very well be bottomless, he decided. In fact, anything in this place could be a trick. How well did Ryan know his own mind? “I’ll even give you a head start,” he told Ryan with a grin, the grin of a trickster. This was a metaphysical plane; while it was connected to Ryan, Jordan could still do what he wanted with it, to an extent. Here, time moved differently, and space was not a constant. Jordan understood that, but whether Ryan was aware of it or would pick up on it remained to be seen. They would see, of course, within a matter of minutes.

[Ryan D'Alteau]

It's gonna be okay. Can't afford another day at fifty bytes per second.
I've never seen your face. I've never heard your voice. But I think I like it.
When you instant message me with a promise...
...and I can feel it! I can tell you're gonna be just like me.
______________________________Muse - "Instant Messenger"

"Oh."

The solitary syllable; a casual noise of discovery that his adversary wasn't so cognizant of his situation than he'd thought was all that accompanied the descent of Jordan's posture, sinking into a seated position atop the spire. Unless Ryan possessed a method by which he could reach the vantage point upon which he'd appeared, he was perfectly safe from harm. Of course, that wasn't to say that this sanctuary would last for any real length of time. With the way their meeting had progressed thus far, it was likely that Ryan would have wanted nothing more than to do his utmost to tear him apart, especially after this latest escapade. It wasn't every day that someone was involuntarily pulled into the depths of their own mind, after all.

"We're inside your mind," he explained, with just enough matter-of-factness in his voice to be grating; grating in the way that a man like Ryan would have probably despised. Ryan felt that he knew all there was to know about himself; his world and the myriad facets of his existence. When he was faced with something outside his comfort zone, however, there was always going to be that little part of him - the part which craved superiority - that would always deem an explanation to be just a little bit condescending. "Specifically, your subconscious. The place where... well, to put it simply for you, everything you never wanted anyone to know? They're in here. All you have to do is find them."

With an access to popular culture unparalleled by anything which had come before, Ryan had heard the various theories surrounding the subconscious mind. These theories posed the premise that the waking mind - the part of the mind humans were actually aware and able to make use of - was incapable of accurately recalling every piece of information which filtered through the brain as a whole. Distant memories became distorted and unclear as newer ones drifted in to take their place while other formerly important fragments of a person's life were simply forgotten entirely. In the subconscious mind, however, this was simply not the case. Away from the awareness of humanity, everything was present. Whether repressed, forgotten or simply hidden, everything Ryan had ever seen, thought, said or done was here, waiting to be found.

Which begged the question: why? Why had Jordan done this? Why had he dragged Ryan into the depths of his own mind and issued him the challenge of finding his own memories? Try as he might, Ryan couldn't think of a reliable answer to his internal queries, nor could he think of what Jordan stood to gain by doing so. This entire chaotic situation had stemmed from a chance meeting in one of millions of settlements on a planet that had come into being through a series of flukes and longshots. If Ryan had thought better of his curiosity or if Jordan had taken a different route towards his destination, this entire event would never have happened. By those merits, doing what Jordan had done simply made no sense. It was insignificant, even. That was, of course, until Jordan pressed a seemingly hostile slant to the whole affair; a feat accomplished with only three words.

"...before I do."

"Before you do?!" Now what was he planning? Jordan undoubtedly had the power to bring him here - and, he sorely hoped, pull him back out again once all was said and done - but just what was he capable of doing while he had taken up temporary residence here? Ryan wasn't even certain which mind he was in. With how the two of them had coalesced, it stood to reason that either of the binary-like states was possible. Either Jordan had trapped Ryan inside his own mind before invading it to sow a few seeds of vengeful discord or this world was of Jordan's design, using Ryan's ambient thoughts as some sort of template. Either way, it was bad. "What're you up to, Jordan?"

Aside from a raised eyebrow, Ryan got nothing in response to his yelling. Just as Ryan was, Jordan was busy plotting his next moves, trying to construct his plans so that they lay ahead of everything he could expect his new adversary to do. What was the point in going through all of this effort to bring him down a few pegs for his tasteless remark if Jordan allowed Ryan to slip through his fingers and somehow break free of his grasp? No, he thought. That wouldn't do at all. "I'll even give you a head start," he called down, informing Ryan of the sliver of amiability he was willing to show him for now. Like a lot of things - such as Evelyn's life - it wasn't going to last.

Ryan, on the other hand, wasn't about to let him change his mind. If a head start was what was being offered, then it would be a head start that he'd gladly take. Deciding to forego the canyon in favour of heading for one of the colossal towers which rose into the air beside it, he set off at a run. With his legs pushing hard from the floor, it wasn't long before his strides became long and he reached the upper echelons of the velocity he could physically muster.

Or so he thought.

It was a few seconds before his mind took note of how the act of running actually felt to him. Normally, when Ryan ran at top speed, he could feel an overwhelming sense through his muscles and lungs that he had reached his limit; that, try as he might, he could not push himself to move any faster. But here, in the world he and Jordan had effectively created between them, the usual sensations were absent. Even as he felt his own exertion and the expenditure of bodily energy to make him move, there was nothing about his activity that suggested it was as arduous as it should have been. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he would have surmised that he wasn't even trying.

So Ryan did what any man in his position would have done. He started pushing. He forced his legs to push the rest of him from the ground with more ferocity as he sought out precisely where his limits now lay. And, in response, Ryan started to run faster and faster. As his pace increased, he felt the warmth in his legs accompanying the increasing blurriness of the world as it passed him by and, by the time he finally slammed into his limits in this world, he was breaking the freeway speed limit. The trip towards the tower was nearing completion far sooner than he'd envisioned and, even when he was standing before the door nearly three minutes later, Ryan had no idea just what it was he was even looking for. Jordan may have mentioned that his secrets had taken residence in this place in some form or another but, maddeningly, he hadn't gone into specifics.

Nevertheless, if this was a contest, it was one he was prepared to win.

[Jordan Mercer]

It’s odd that you would think
what’s always been a game to me
would suddenly change
-32 Leaves, “Sudden Change”

The subconscious may have been Ryan’s but Jordan knew the basic rules of navigating one. The first being that, in general, there no rules. The subconscious housed many things, not only one’s secrets, but also one’s desires. Even though he was just a visitor, if Jordan decided he wanted to fly, then he would fly.

So Jordan leaped from the spire - only to glide naturally as though he were a feather or a leaf. Meanwhile, Ryan realized that he could run much faster here than in real life. Jordan dropped the glide and began to swoop more like an eagle, not following Ryan, but circling around the building Ryan was clearly heading toward. It was a fair distance away, but Ryan made his way there very quickly, and Jordan was able to close the distance between himself and the building very quickly himself.

“Well, then. Let’s go inside.” Jordan reached past Ryan and opened the door. Then he stepped inside, and suddenly there was a small torch in his hand that gave off a sweeping circle of light. If Ryan happened to be a neat person, they would find everything lined up along the walls of the building; if he was the messy sort, then things would be strewn about everywhere. Nevertheless, Jordan looked around. There were bits and pieces from Ryan’s upbringing in London - Jordan himself was from London, so he could identify with that.

This building spoke of his childhood, it seemed. Jordan looked around for something interesting. There he found a toy, more a recollection of one than something one would actually find in a store. It bore two faces, back to back - one happy, one angry. Jordan picked it up with his free hand and examined it. Then, before Ryan had a chance to stop or react to him, Jordan raised his knee and broke the happy side of the figure.

And just like that, Ryan found his happier memories of his child shattered, fractured, broken into bits, only vague recollections that he had ever been happy, but no solid memories of that happiness left. Jordan smirked and tossed the broken toy over his shoulder.

“Well,” he said. “That was even more cathartic than I’d imagined.”

[Ryan D'Alteau]

______________________________

With each of his hasty footsteps, Ryan was kicking tiny plumes of smoky blue dust into the air in his wake. Although he could feel the limitations of his own body preventing him from moving any faster, it was the things he couldn't discern that were more remarkable. Although he was moving at the better part of seventy-five miles an hour, there was none of the whistling in his ears caused by the air he was forcing out of his way. The only reason the hair on his head shifted at all was because his head was technically in motion, bobbing up and down as his legs carried him along. He had no idea what Jordan was planning to do while infesting his subconscious the way he was but, if Ryan wanted to put a stop to him and emerge from this situation in any sort of advantageous position, then he would have to play along.

The tower was situated in the centre of what looked like a circular keep; thirty-foot high walls which encircled both the entire building and the ground for fifty metres in all directions, with only a solitary entrance for foot traffic. However, aside from the tower, there was very little else inside the perimeter except for a few long-abandoned storage huts and the skeletons of strange otherworldly creatures who had met their demise years prior. This place, he surmised, must have been a psychiatrist's dream. Were Jordan to bring this capability into a partnership with such a professional, he would have been able to make a killing. For all the bad press specials were getting, a lot of people did actually accept them and their gifts as the advancement of human genetics. With a way to visualise and even explore a metaphorical construct based around the psyche of a patient at his disposal, working against people's myriad problems would have been child's play.

Slowing down to a leisurely stroll, Ryan made his way over towards the tower's equally colossal doors. Sealed off by what looked like the portcullis from a castle, the doors were a rather imposing sight and, in the real world, such things would have deterred many from entering. But Ryan knew that this wasn't the real world. It may have been crafted by Jordan in a fit of rage, but the world was his. To him, this was no different than the astral plane which served as the fount of his considerable power. He hadn't yet met anyone capable of facing him in such a venue but, even if he had, he considered himself peerless. Four years of practice would do that to a man. As he approached, the portculls began to grind upward of its own accord as if the tower recognised who was approaching.

"Well, then." What Ryan wasn't expecting, however, was to see Jordan had elected to venture to the same location. Nor had he expected Jordan to have made his way to the tower using the power of flight. This was his subconscious, yet the interloper had fucking flown here. The lack of boundaries, it seemed, weren't just something which applied to him. And, with the doors accessible thanks to Ryan, all Jordan had to do was push the doors open with the palm of his hand. "Let's go inside." As the door yielded, Jordan strode inside, keeping his hand raised. In the doorway, and in much of the colossal hall which lay beyond, the light was, for lack of a better descriptor, woeful.

To further compound the slightly maddening concept of seeing Jordan Mercer fly, the errand boy-turned-vengeful special glanced up at his outstretched hand and watched with a faint smirk as a torch, burning with an electric blue flame, materialised in his hand. The hall ahead seemed to have taken on the form of a gallery of sorts, the walls lined with paintings depicting memories which shifted from scene to scene in a stilted manner. Like many memories from times past, they were slowly but surely degrading; the details falling away over the course of decades. Being only twenty-four years of age, many of the memories here - following a theme which Ryan quickly realised centred around his early childhood in London - were in exceptional condition, the progressing images portraying stories with the bare minimum of gaps created by missing knowledge.

Any of the walls that weren't adorned with paintings were lined with shelves, filled with imprecise and abstract representations of various points in Ryan's younger years. These, by comparison to the paintings, were a mess. Nothing seemed to be ordered in any conceivable way and seemed to have been left there by some inept caretaker to gather dust. It took Ryan a while to realise that the caretaker in question was actually himself. The items on the shelves were the shrouded memories; the visions of his past which were far too incomplete to be of any real meaning. They were the thoughts in the back of his head, the words on the tip of his tongue, the things he knew to be true because other people had shared in the experience. Most of these were either those shining moments from those days before he started attending school; the moments where he was learning the absolute basics of human existence - such as walking, running, reading and writing - or more fundamental ideas tied to emotions; evidence he had experienced them and knew what they represented.

Having allowed Jordan to take the lead as he gazed in curious wonder at his surroundings, Ryan barely noticed that Jordan had made a beeline for one of the haphazardly organised shelves until he heard his rummaging come to an abrupt end. "What're you doin'..?" There was no answer. In that moment, Jordan was far more interested in the object in his hand. It looked like a child's story book; the type of literature where everything was depicted in bright colours with simple words in order to teach them how to read. However, this was more of an ornament. The "book" was made of dust-covered wood and, in place of the cover, resided a pair of faces wrought out of what looked like tinted glass. Looking somewhat like a pair of theatrical masks, the face on the front cover was tinted with speckles of pale blue and held an expression of delight, while the other had been interspersed with a foreboding blood red and was giving the world a murderous glare.

Spreading his fingers wide, Jordan gripped tightly on the outer edges of the ornament and stared at the happy face for a moment. Ryan had seen that hand formation before. He knew precisely why a person's fingers would be arranged in such a way. "Hey!!", he yelled, beginning to storm his way over to where Jordan was stood. He was planning on smashing it. "Don't you da--.."

But he did dare. Swinging his hand down, he brought the ornament down hard against his knee, shattering the glass face on the front cover of the sculpted block of wood. To Jordan, there was nothing but the sound of breaking glass; a sound curtailed by its impact against the fabric of his pants. For Ryan, however, it was as if he'd set off a bomb beneath the floorboards. Many of the paintings silently went into flux, the once flawless images now distorted and repeating the same fraction of a second over and over like a vinyl record skipping on a machine. As the glass fell onto the floor, so did Ryan. As the effects of what Jordan had done translated into his own mind, he could feel his mind searing from the inside out as swathes of his mind were subjected to the same fate as the ornament.

It was disorienting, to say the least. "Well," Jordan sighed, tossing the toy over his shoulder. "That was even more cathartic than I'd imagined." As Ryan looked around at the distorted paintings which surrounded him, he slowly came to realise the common theme they all shared. Hardly any of them seemed to mean anything to him. He remembered how the images had looked before Jordan had waded into his head and fucked them up and, even then, the memories - if that was what they were - were meaningless. Vague, at best, but lacking any sort of real meaning. If they did hold significance, then he couldn't remember it.

But what he could remember was that Jordan was freely able to trash the place if he saw fit. He wasn't about to let that happen. Taking a glance across the hall, he could see Jordan milling around the shelves and, with an anger-fuelled diagonal push of his legs, he forced himself to his feet and rushed over to where the man was standing. When he wasn't burdened by his body, he could move pretty damn fast. When he was pissed off, the limits of his metaphysical self were, if anything, reduced even further. Ryan's whole body became an incomprehensible blur, almost vanishing completely from sight. The only point at which he became completely visible again was when he reached his destination; standing before Jordan with a look of pure contempt in his eyes. "Does this tower look like Wonder Woman to you?" He was far past caring about Jordan's feelings. He knew that mentioning his significant other had struck some sort of nerve and, like any other antagonist, he was going to keep prodding it. Prodding and prodding until something snapped. "You're not wrecking this place like you did her, got it?"

[Jordan Mercer]

Feel, damn you, feel like you’re alive again
Take ten broken limbs and make it all right for them
And I need you more, more than you’ll ever notice
But I need to do more if you’re to ever know this
-Hurt, “Et Al”

The place was nice enough. Jordan had seen worse. He would not have guessed that Ryan’s mind was so intricate, nor so colorful, but as for the neatness of the gallery, it was quite impressive. He had noticed the portcullis in the front of the oddly-designed keep and more or less avoided it, as he had chosen the air as his route. For the uninitiated, there were limits to what they could do, human limits, the sort they found in the real world. Jordan, however, had seen enough of these places that he knew what could or could not be done in each. Many were different, but they did share some similarities, just as people were the same but different.

The gallery, though, was quite nice. Admirable, even. If he were not here for more nefarious purposes, he might have taken a tour like someone at a museum. He was not here for that, however, as he demonstrated when he broke the book-like artifact against his knee. Ryan responded quite beautifully, which brought a dark smile to Jordan’s lips. The artwork stopped their natural flows and went into repetition.

Jordan folded his arms and chuckled. Cathartic, yes. He stooped next to Ryan while the tall blond was indisposed, and looked down. “You’re making this too easy.” Then he turned away and wandered the hall some more, taking his time, picking up artifacts and then tossing them aside. He was looking for something specific: a representation of Adele.

This whole fight had begun because Ryan, albeit unaware of Evelyn’s situation, had felt it necessary to mention the late young woman. Now, having been robbed of Evelyn - by his own accidental accord - he was going to rob Ryan of Adele. Not physically; Jordan had no intention of harming Adele at all. But he could do permanent damage to their relationship here. And while he had no idea what it was he was looking for, Jordan knew - as he always did - that he would know it once he saw it.

He did not see the blur, but he felt it slightly, and it registered in his mind just moments before Ryan appeared. Ah, so the blond had figured out that all of this had something to do with Evie? What an excellent deduction. This time, however, Jordan was in a much better position than he had been before, when all he could do, in general, was punch the man.

Now he could do worse. Oh, so much worse.

“Am I?” A sickening smile spread across Jordan’s lips. It might well have been the most evil expression Ryan had seen, or it had to at least rank near the top of the list. Whether Evelyn would have approved - she would not have - was no longer of consequence; Jordan just wanted revenge. The ease with which he would execute it would be such a shame.

The first hit was more traditional. Jordan roundhouse kicked Ryan in his face, then leaped over the man and landed on his knees, his fist slamming into the floor. The entire building shook, artifacts fell into even more disarray, artwork swayed and then fell from the walls, and the walls themselves trembled, the ceiling above forming cracks and fissures.

In a quick, barely perceptible move, Jordan picked up the first sharp thing he could find - a broken piece of something he could not and did not trouble to identify - and threw it in a circular motion. Normally, this would have caused nothing except for the sharp thing to maybe fall or splinter into bits. Here, under Jordan’s willpower, it slammed through the walls, bringing them down on themselves in a domino effect, forcing the ceiling to begin to crash around them, first in little bits, but then in chunks. He might not have been able to find Adele’s artifact specifically, but, well, this would take care of all of them.

Jordan stood up and raised his head as the ceiling caved in, then turned his attention to Ryan. Briefly, he saluted the blond, and then disappeared - detracting himself from Ryan’s subconscious before it crashed in on itself.

[Ryan D'Alteau]

Far from the borders of science and wisdom:
Ways to oblivion and dark matter worlds! Lost equilibrium, a cell of new evil.
Alpha et Omega! The end of all!
Free your mortal sight! Arise to frozen alien skies!
Ascend beyond your will to infinity!
______________________________Luca Turilli's Rhapsody - "Ascending To Infinity"

"You're making this too easy."

To Ryan, the taunt held little in the way of context at that precise moment. He was making what too easy? While he was aware that the world in which he stood was partly of his own design, that was the limit of what he'd been able to deduce thus far. Just when he thought he had a handle on what Jordan had done - and was proceeding to do to him - his new adversary would end up doing something which picked apart his reasoning. With nothing he could really do until Ryan recovered from the harm he'd wrought upon him by demolishing the otherworldly tome, Jordan had returned to his impromptu stroll around the colossal, library-like environment.

Being a tower, it was easy for Ryan to surmise that there were levels to the structure above him; all of equal size and likely containing more elements of himself. And, unless the laws of physics were not followed by buildings, a structure of this size would likely need a comparable foundation, something with which the spire could root itself to the ground in order to stand for eternity. If this world was, as he'd thought from the beginning, a representation of himself, then Ryan couldn't help but deem the presence of a basement within the foundations a near certainty. Were he an architect, it sounded like something he would have done; a way to make use of what would otherwise have been a lifeless slab of dense rock.

And what better place to hide the things he cherished most of all than deep underground? Close to his ever-beating heart. For those few moments spent watching Jordan's retreat, Ryan found himself dwelling on thoughts such as this and more besides. While the images and objects contained within the ground floor room meant very little - if anything at all - to him anymore due to what Jordan had done, the rest of his memory was perfectly clear. In this place, Jordan had the capability of laying waste to the past twenty-four years of his life. In this place, the havoc Jordan could wreak on Ryan's mind was nothing short of cataclysmic. He could quite easily leave Ryan with nothing.

But, right now, Ryan's grip on rationality was growing more tenuous by the minute. With the pleasant memories of most of his pre-teen years now completely wiped out, the destruction of one seemingly innocuous artifact had started a ripple effect; almost as if Jordan had travelled back into the past and altered Ryan's very past. Or, at least, Ryan's mental perception of it. Without the good things to balance out the numerous fights and arguments between him and his brother, Ryan believed that his entire life had been formed by the vitriolic abuse and physical assaults hurled between two siblings; something which was almost inevitable in any family. He was angry, bitter and - dare he think it? - perhaps even a little bit undeserving of the woman in his life.

Adele was the greatest thing that had happened to him. Meeting her, falling in love with her, going through everything they'd been through together; Ryan wouldn't have changed a damn thing. Their time as targets - and one-time employees - of the Company and even their lengthy criminal records consisting of crimes which were known to people in paygrades far beyond the rank-and-file law enforcement had moulded them into what the world knew today. They were an inseparable couple who refused to allow anyone or anything to get in the way of what they wanted to do, whatever it might have been at the time. Their respective jobs allowed them both to live comfortably and their mild paranoia allowed them to be mostly free of the prying governmental eyes.

And, rather than find whatever it was that represented Adele in this place, Ryan thought that the best thing to do was to attack the problem at its source. Unless he decided to do his Superman thing again, Jordan was not a difficult entity to outpace. To overpower though? That was another matter entirely. "Am I..?" Jordan was as much a god in this ethereal place as Ryan was and, with only a dark sadistic smile to herald his intent, he quickly set about demonstrating his prowess. While Ryan was - as far as he was concerned - an unparalleled master of the astral plane, the one thing which Ryan was gradually coming to realise was...

...this wasn't the astral plane.

He might have had the capabilities of one, but he wasn't a projection here. He was a figment of his own imagination; a representation of what he craved to be able to do in reality. In essence, he was dreaming himself. But, of course, because they were inhabiting the same space, it stood to reason that Jordan was doing something similar. By unshackling himself from the laws of physics and the general tenets of reality, he had already been able to fly. And, as he whirled around and tensed the muscles in his right leg, he was also a devastatingly proficient martial artist to boot. Whether this was a representation of his abilities in the real world or not was irrelevant. Ryan had been far too slow to see the kick coming and, with several hundred pounds of force colliding with the side of his head, he was sent spinning to the floor.

Once again, Ryan was forced to waste more time recovering from a disorienting assault while Jordan was free to run rampant inside his head. Leaping into the air, Jordan turned away from the temptation of dealing some sort of deathblow to his new enemy - given that such a thing would have been a wasted effort - and instead turned to something far more destructible. With his arm rearing back, he timed the flexing of his muscles to deliver a powerful punch to the floor of the tower. In any other circumstances, the most he would have got from the endeavour would be a set of broken knuckles but, this time, it was as if he'd set off a small bomb. The entire tower shook as a cacophony of explosive noise tore through air and stone alike.

The distorted paintings tumbled from the walls, their frames being dented and chipped as their descent ended. Artifacts tumbled from the shelves and, most worryingly of all, the tremors caused a webwork of cracks to spider across the walls; the stone beginning to split apart. It was only the sheer mass of the stone itself which, for the moment, prevented the whole tower from crumbling into rubble. Of course, Jordan was quick to change that. Grabbing hold of a shard of one of the paintings' broken frames, the former errand boy summoned up yet more of his imagined might and, in a wide arc, hurled the piece of gilded wood in a random direction. Instead of splitting harmlessly into pieces, it tore through the weaknesses in the walls as though it was an unstoppable bullet; forcing everything in its path to yield before it.

After that, nothing could keep the tower from falling. "What the fuck have you DONE?!" Nor could anything stop Ryan's rage from boiling over. As more and more of the happy memories from his life withered away, there was less and less holding back the bitterness and anger at the undesirable elements of his own past. All of a sudden, Ryan wanted to tear Jordan limb from limb. He wanted to get his hands on the man and simply allow causality to mix with his emotions and run its course. Whatever ethereal energy Ryan commanded in order to bring his power to the fore in the real world was slowly unravelling; becoming unbridled by the absence of rational thought.

He could feel it. A strange presence surging through his veins as his vision became flooded with a oily blue film. By this point, Ryan wasn't glaring daggers at the man responsible for this destruction. He was glaring mile-long, rocket-propelled javelins which had been coated in gasoline, set alight and then hooked up to a direct electrical current. To say he'd lost it was a mild understatement. The astral energy was literally seeping from his body, being given off in the form of faint wisps of blue smoke. And as he rushed forth to try and punch the head from Jordan's shoulders, the man before him did something which only served to incense him further.

He smugly saluted him with a knowing grin...


...and vanished.

"JOOOORDAAAAAAN!!"

The walls tumbled down around him. The paintings and artefacts from the floors above began to rain down upon him as, one by one, the ceilings split apart under the strain. And, as the vaguely domed roof of the spire came down to earth in a meteroic rain of rubble, the force was enough to rupture the ground beneath Ryan's feet, sending him tumbling into an unlit abyss. Not a single light was present to show just how far he'd fallen or where he'd actually fallen to. The answer to both were of no concern to the enraged projectionist who tumbled to the bottom of the mountain of rubble which had managed to force its way underground. That was, however, until he saw the chamber which had been revealed by the chaos.

For lack of a better term, the chamber was a shrine. A meticulously secured vault which deeply revered the items within. Closest to him, was a vertical tomb made of a rounded tube of a crystalline glass. Inside, suspended in a body of blue tinted fluid, was a lifeless body which looked completely identical to himself. At first, Ryan was set on dismissing it as an inferior clone but, as he clambered to his feet and made his way closer, he could see the holographic display which scrolled along the glass shell as though the device was a working prop from a science fiction film.

The display explained that the body contained inside the storage cell was Ryan Alcroft; a twenty-four year old half-Irish guy from London with the ability to bend the astral plane - what some cultures would consider the realm of souls - to his will. He was the youngest of two sons born to Rhiannon and Leo and was six years the junior of his brother Darron. He weighed the better part of a hundred and eighty pounds and, according to the readout, his DNA sequence was a mass of incomprehensible letters. Even though he was no geneticist, there was the nagging feeling that everything he could see - both inside the cell and on the display - was correct. It wasn't just a storage cell, he eventually surmised. It was his sense of self. His unabridged identity. An indelible record of what made him him.

And, in the centre of the chamber, lay the most precious treasure of all. Constructed out of solid gold and standing almost fourteen feet tall, was a statue of his fiancée, Adele. The plinth on which she stood had been engraved with a message in an elegant script.

Le préposé de la mort.
La lame du fantôme.
La maîtresse sanguine qui doit toujours être assis au sommet des épaules de l'humanité.

The fact that the engraving was in French was no surprise. He understood every word and, from beginning to end, it described her perfectly. She was the attendant of Death, the Blade of the Ghost. She was the sanguine mistress who would always be seated atop the shoulders of humanity. It sounded like something a man who revered her as a deity would say. Playing up her capabilities while making no mention of her weaknesses. Ryan wouldn't have been surprised if he had been the one to make the engraving himself. And, as he looked longingly at the statue, he gradually forgot just why he'd been angry. In that moment, he'd lost quite a lot but, like any other point in time, Adele was the unyielding focus in his life. The fact that she was there had brought him through far worse.

And, with that thought in mind, he too... winked out of existence.



By the time his mind was able to regain enough of a conscious wherewithal, Ryan found himself back on the streets of South Padre Island. He hadn't moved from the spot his adversary had left him and, with his energy sapped from the ordeal, all he could do was drag himself over to the wall and wait for the similarly unconscious man to join him.

"Didn't you... throw a party at my place..?"

Which begged the question. What was his name, again?

[Jordan Mercer]

Tonight
Tonight I stay with you right here
Safe and self-aware
-Codec, “Zeroth”

The saying had something to do with revenge being served cold, but Jordan had rather enjoyed playing around in Ryan’s mind, especially after the Wonder Woman comment. He supposed Ryan must have thought he was really cracking wise there, or had found the trigger, the berserk button, but once that button was found, who was to blame but the one who pushed it?

Ryan must have known what was coming. Un the end, Jordan realized, there was no way Ryan could have known about Evelyn’s death, or the role Jordan had played it. No matter. The way Ryan had treated the woman’s name was enough. So he did his best to completely destroy Ryan’s mind.

The thing about that was that Jordan never quite knew what the effects of his damage would be. In this case, he deemed it best not to stick around and figure it out. He had never been trapped in the debris of a man’s mind before, and he was not looking to experiment with that. So he made is way out, and was back safely in his own mind before Ryan even began to recover.

The young blond did recover however, and well, at that. He had a vague memory of Jordan, even. By this time, Jordan was already standing, walking past Ryan, because he knew exactly what it was that he had to do.

The package was in his hand. Ryan asked him whether he had thrown a party at Ryan’s house before, and this time, Jordan paused, and looked at Ryan for a moment, as though trying to place him. “Don’t think so,” Jordan said, using a slight British accent in place of his adopted American one. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

And with a slight nod, he made his way up the next street and got himself back on course to deliver Gabriel’s documents.

fin Jordan