Arik rapidly looked around him for the other person that he was expecting the man to bring next time they met. And while he didn't see anyone else in the room, he did see a lonely kitchen knife on the kitchen counter beside some sliced up lime wedges from the night prior. He looked back to the man with teeth gritted in tension.

The man looked to the knife and back to Arik as well. He put his bowl of cereal gently down on the carpet before standing slowly.

"Now hold on," he said, concern in his voice.

Arik didn't have time for listening. He turned and darted for the knife, picking it up with violent intent without hesitation. He pushed hard with his legs and flew in the air toward the intruder, the tip of the blade trained on the man.

Just as Arik had closed the distance to his enemy, with knife pointed directly for the man's frostbitten eyes, a flash of arms spun around Arik like practiced choreography. Without a moment's notice, Arik's body was easily directed the opposite direction from the man, crashing onto the ground with a rug-burned slide.

Arik's face was shook with surprise when the man held up the knife that had once been in Arik's hostile possession.

"I hate being stabbed. You ever been stabbed?" He snapped the blade in half with his bare hands as if it was a plastic toy. "Makes one hell of a mess. Not to mention you sit there for 20 minutes waiting to actually die."

"Shut up!" shouted Arik ferociously.

He stood back up and darted for the man again, this time with a right arm cocked back. Every ounce of his mind, body and soul wanted to knock the man through the wall behind him and shut his talkative mouth. He wanted answers, and he couldn't risk asking them when the man was standing. Fighting with everything he had was his only shot.

The familiar surging heat of energy churned in his body once again. Like the time prior, it found settlement in his tense and flexed arm, rupturing it with crackling sparks and embers of energy. The glow from his arm lit up the room like a vibrant and explosive torch, deepening the surrounding shadows and lighting up Arik and the villain's silhouettes.

'This is it. Let's see him redirect this one!'

Arik lunged forward with his fist, putting the full weight of his body into it. His arm moved with insane speed. It moved without drag like an arrow in the air, surprising Arik and almost pulling him forward off his feet. The fiery light emitted from his arm was blinding. And if the bright light wasn't enough to temporarily force his eyes shut, the sparks shooting off in every direction shrouded everything he might have seen otherwise.

A loud thud smacked his opponent and he could feel the hot energy in his arm drain away almost instantaneously, along with the sparks. What was revealed from the blanket of energy was a looming bear, THE bear, undulating and rippling about as Arik's knuckles sank into its surprisingly soft chest. The waves of distortion on the bear's body dissipated as it quickly grabbed the dumbfounded Arik's arm before he could properly recoil.

The fingers of the large quasi-bear were sharp and metallic in nature, a menacing juxtaposition to its rather innocent and stumpy teddy bear arm. Just as last time, the other arm didn't have any claws, but came to a blunt end like a spiked club. Arik pulled against the bear's grip to no avail. The claws cutting into his arm with each tug.

"What the hell are you?" yelled Arik.

"You got it a little twisted, pup. I'm not here to fight." The voice of the bear was that of the villainous man. "And even if I was—" The bear twisted and threw Arik into the couch that the man was once sitting on. "I wouldn't want to fight a man who didn't have pants on. Not if I don't have to that is."

Dark blue jeans waited beside Arik on the couch. He stared at them, not sure what to feel, do, or even think about this situation unfolding before him.

'This bear— this man, he's like me. But he is much stronger. That punch that sent him flying last time didn't even faze him this time. What am I to do but constantly run away?'

As if reacting to Arik's very thoughts of intimidation, the horrifying bear costume before him began to deflate. Or perhaps melt is the right word? It's body shrank in volume and melted away as vapor and steam arose from its mass, revealing the imposter inside. His face was cold and serious as always, which rarely matched the words that flew from his mouth.

However, there was something more catching to the eye than his dramatic entrance from the bear. The man's arms were no longer metal. At least his hands weren't from what Arik could see with the man's coat on. They were typical flesh and bone, albeit covered in tattoos and rings. Arik was so adrenaline pumped that he hadn't even noticed earlier that the man's arms were so much softer.

The man pulled a box of cigarettes from his back pocket.

"Put your pants on. I'll be in the backyard. We can talk there." He began walking to the sliding glass window to the backyard while flicking a lighter out.

"And what if I just decide to leave again?" Arik snarled, trying to keep his pride in tact while standing up with his pants in hand.

The man lowered an eyebrow as if lost by Arik's words. "I suppose you could. But that would be a mistake in more ways than one. Besides, you want answers don't you?" He walked outside before Arik could reply.

'Dammit. This guy thinks he has my number, doesn't he?' Arik agitatedly conversed with himself while hopping to put on his pants. 'He was just trying to kill me yesterday and now he wants to talk like we are long time pals? He must really have a screw loose.'

Arik looked through the blinds of the back window at the man standing in the backyard, peacefully enjoying a cigarette and staring at the clouds.

'But still, he is right. I do want answers. And I unfortunately don't know anyone who can give me them besides this guy. He's the only one who knows what I am; what we are. And what of the friend he talked about bringing?'

About 30 more seconds went by when Arik waltzed out of the house with a nice red leather jacket on. The uncertainty in the air stiffened his stride and he payed attention to his expression as to not come off as weak. But he was afraid.

He distrustfully stopped about 10 feet from the jean jacketed man and waited for the man to speak.

"I don't blame you," he said, smoke billowing from his mouth and nostrils.

"Pardon?"

"Last time we met, I beat the shit out of you— so bad that it seems you up and died on me from the look of your wounds. Or, lack thereof. So if you're too scared to get close to me, I don't blame you." He snickered and took another drag.

"I'm not scared of you," Arik's voice raised.

"Yes, you are." He flicked his cigarette and began slowly approaching Arik. "And you are right to be. But you really don't need to be. I'm seriously not here to fight. I'm here to help you. I'm here about my note." He tilted his head as if searching for something in Arik. "You did get my note, right?"

"Yes, I got your damned note," Arik replied with frustration.

"Good! Then how about we get to the nitty gritty already, huh?" The man walked away to one of the chairs outside and sat down.

Arik stared, puzzled and apprehensive.

"Okay guy. How about for starters you explain why the hell you assaulted me in my own home yesterday? I think that's a good place to start."

"That's a simple one. It's one of my jobs. I locate and test others for my partner in crime. I'm like the intel gatherer I suppose. And I was simply gathering intel on you."

The man threw up an interrupting finger. "My name's Cyanide by the way. Apologies. I took a shot of the whiskey in your kitchen and now my brain's a bit funny." He patted the seat beside him. "Sit down, kid."

Arik followed suit and sat down reluctantly. "Well, I cant say I'm a fan of the way you extract Intel. And my name's Arik, not kid. But you already know my name somehow."

"I know a lot of things, Arik. I've been to a lot of places, seen a lot of things, know a lot of people, and have lived a lot of years."

"What? You're not a day over 35."

"Oh, why thank you. But as it turns out I'm actually closer to 85," he said matter-of-factly.

"That's impossible," Arik doubtfully replied.

"Is it? Anymore so than you flying or me having metal arms?"

The thought staggered Arik briefly. "Is that one of your powers? You're immortal?"

Cyanide held his hands up as in to pump Arik's brakes. "No. Nobody's really immortal. Tricky to kill permanently, yes. But that's no different from you."

"Are you trying to say that I'm immortal too? Like, I don't age? Cuz I've definitely been aging my whole life."

"And now that you've obtained an echo you will age much slower for the rest of your life."

"An echo?"

"A death echo. An echo. It's what us deathless refer to our powers we get after we die."

"A deathless?" Arik mimicked back unintelligently.

"Okay—" Cyanide rubbed his fingers through his shiny platinum blonde hair and sighed. "We need to start from the beginning."