Alastair’s eyes blinked. He was stunned that a man would exhaust such resources just to secure his ‘cooperation’. The feeling had not lasted long, as an old emotion wells up deep from within. Primal rage. A red tinted haze of heat burst through his brain and threatened to overtake his mental faculties.

“You did what now?” He manages to say as he reigns in his choler.

“I bought the company you work for so now—”

“I know that part,” Alastair growls, “What I want to know is why you did it.”

Barbas stares in apt fascination as the young man before him struggles from ripping his head off. Unknown to them, another figure had appeared in the white space as they were too engrossed in their staring contest to notice.

“I needed to secure your attention. Going by the old UN’s last edict, a Warsworn agent in Penance is charged with protecting a stretch of territory, correct? The purchase was simply to put us at an impasse so we would at least have a dialogue opened between us.” Barbas states, the crinkles in his face resting into their usual craggy form as his smile dissipates. “Besides, you can’t technically come after me now seeing as it was a business transaction and not a direct attack upon the people.”

“That edict is open to interpretation.” Alastair scowls. “And I’m retired you prick! If you place any of my coworkers in harm’s way…”

Alastair’s hands drop to his side as he begins channeling his power through. An unknown darkness dims the white room as his entire body ripples as it tightens and condenses while the whites of his eyes blacken once more.

“… it wouldn’t be hard for me to pulverize your company headquarters back into the rubble that you started with.” He finishes, his voice glowing with the undertone of unnatural energy as he spits out the anger that is boiling inside him.

Numerous screens blink in front of Barbas as he receives warning signals from the AI. It was asking him questions as to why it felt its strength being taken from it. The fact that a global AI was sending warnings, spoke of a new development. It had, for the first time, felt an altogether human reaction. Fear. Before anything else could happen however, the unknown figure steps forward.

“Papa~,” a new voice says, disturbing the tension in front of her with her singsong inflection, “can’t you carry out your agreement to Master Mavrik without pissing off an agent of the Warsworn?”

Both eyes swivel slowly to the woman standing to the side. Alastair could see the family resemblance between the old man and the new woman. Her arms were long and lanky, yet tinged with the taut and wiry shape of a professional cage fighter. An unassuming orange jumpsuit covered the bottom half below her waist while a dark ‘Hello Kitty’ training bra struggled to contain her overflowing bust line. As if that wasn’t enough, Alastair slightly hesitated as her bright blue eyes raked across his frame lasciviously while being framed by locks of curly deep red hair.

“Jenny...” Barbas sighs.

“Don’t you start Papa,” she interrupts, “you do this every time you see something you want! Do you intentionally want to re-visit the Macau Massacre?!”

The old man bows his head in shame as he accepts his chastisement from his granddaughter. Alastair, on the other hand, hears one of the few word pairings that can stop him in his tracks. His tense expression drops, his hands unclench as they release the energy back into the surroundings and come to hold his head. His mind flashes as he remembers the Massacre that had become the turning point of the Third World War.

A city leveled. Millions dead. A group of Warsworn agents on a rampage as some had their cellular structure degenerate so fast it was forcing their minds to snap into a pain induced berserker rage while others had their mental faculties break down from over use of their powers. Their own bodies turning on them, eating them from the inside out as their powers prove too exhaustive for their bodies to cope with. In the end, Alastair’s first assignment as an agent became paired with a member of a differing organization to cut the threat off at the source. He had been forced to end his friends’ lives.

Shaking himself free of the painful memories, he watches mutely as grandparent was lectured by granddaughter. Before long, Barbas turns back to him.

“So,” Barbas says, “how long do you have?”

Completely forgetting the recent actions the man took, Alastair remains silent as the one question he hadn’t wished for became laid upon the air. The old man waited, his cane resting wistfully upon the ground.

“Ten years.” Alastair sighs.

The old man remains silent as he watches the man in front of him. In response, he begins pacing around the room, his cane tapping unnaturally loud in the atmosphere.

“That is quite a long for someone like you.” Barbas whispers, his cane stopping. “Mental or physical.”

“Both.” He replies. “Earliest estimates say they will occur at the same time. Dorne says she doesn’t know what will give first, only that both will begin degrading at the same time.”

Barbas hisses in response. He knew of the Doctor he was referring to. He had wished for more time to spend with a member of the Warsworn. Retired or not, Alastair’s body housed the secrets of a now extinct science that was not shared with the world at large.

“What about the HumanEX Project?” He asks. “Would they be willing to help?”

“ . . . ”

“What?”

“You don’t know do you?” Alastair says, his hands falling away from his head. Sighing, he explains.

“The HumanEX Project fell apart last year. With so few members to even form a Council, they disbanded the group to live out the rest of their lives in peace.”

“Well… that figures.” Barbas huffs. “There were so few of them at the end of the War that it was a wonder if they ever recovered.”

Alastair watches the old man pensively. Despite all that was said, he was more concerned with the fate of his friend’s company and fellow workers. An uncomfortable silence grows between them.

“What about—”

“Papa? ~” Jenny asks. Barbas turns. “Why haven’t you followed Mavrik’s Agreement yet?”

With the last line resting upon the air and Barbas not making any attempts to explain it as of yet, Alastair still had no idea what this ‘agreement’ that the old man had made with his mentor. The very fact that it had been kept a secret from the rest of his peers did little to ease his conscience.

Then again, he thinks, Mavrik tends to play everything by ear. It’s no wonder I’ve never heard about it.

“So,” he asks, “what is this agreement that you have with Mavrik and how does it pertain to me?”

Barbas turns to gaze at him again for a few moments before opening a new screen-prompt and flinging it towards him. The screen stops to a small hover in front of Alastair.

This Contract serves as an agreement between

Gideon Barbas & Mavrik

It becomes effective as of Jan. 1st 2230 and involves

services provided to Agents of the Warsworn

which will be held on whichever date possible

from the start of Jan. 21st 2230 till

Corellec Inc.’s end

I, Gideon Barbas , hereby agree to provide the following services for the

Agents of the Warsworn in exchange for services previously rendered.

-------------------------------------------------

The service to be provided is the attempt of stabilization of the Agent’s genetic structure and physiological fortification of the lifeline of said Agent.

-------------------------------------------------

In the event that services are not rendered, all shares

that were acquired as minimum compensation, 40% of total company

shares, shall be forfeited to the nearest

competitor within the field that the company specializes in.

Vendor: Gideon Barbas Date: 02/30/2229

Client: Mav Date: 02/30/2229

Alastair stares at the contract in mute silence. He had not expected something like this to be to come to light… even then.

Why, why, why, why?! He thinks, frustration and anger flowing through him like a damn had finally broken. Flashes of memory flare up as he looks back on all of the agents that he had been forced to kill. Each memory tinged with bitterness as the weight of what he had done pounded within his skull.

Ever since the Third World War ended in the winter of 2229, there were ever increasing reports of agents feeling their inability to cope with the powers within them. And, as Alastair, or Elijiah Pierce, would come to know it, the time where he was constantly called upon to slaughter his fellow agents, his family. Super-soldiers with powers about to go rampant and his unfortunate job, seeing as he had grown up around many, if not all, of them, had him cut down those who wished to have their end occur while they were still sane enough to remember who they were.

One by one he had killed them, until all except him within the Sol system had been snuffed out. Cold drops ran down his face as he fought with the warring emotions of anger and sadness within him. He should have been overjoyed at the prospect of a possible lengthening of his life, yet the only thing he can think about is the bloody faces of his family as he held them in his arms and watched the life go out of them.

“Why didn’t you reach out?!” he manages to choke out.

The old man, not understanding the reason behind the outburst, comes forward.

“We didn’t—”

“All you needed to do was put a general message on the deep web that you were under contract to help us! Why didn’t you reach out?!” Alastair screams as he whips his head up to glare at the old man.

“Because that would have started a witch-hunt using the old hatreds within the governments who remembered the brutality of your organization!” Barbas barks, causing Alastair to avert his eyes. “Do not think that I did not try to reach you. Even though the contract has been in effect for four years, I have yet to find a single agent that was willing to come out in public. Why do you think I had put all of my resources into global entertainment?”

“But—”

“Having the resources, manpower, and popularity that I have does nothing when those who are listed within the contract won’t even come out of hiding. You try running a multi-trillion credit company with at least twenty million employees and try to find the hiding spots of the world’s most elusive super-soldiers!” Barbas barks before bringing up yet another screen.

Alastair remains silent before whispering coldly. “They aren’t in hiding spots anymore.”

The old man freezes, the words seemingly taking the wind out of him.

“What do you mean?” Jenny asks, the first words in a while that had pealed from her mouth, yet she was hesitant. Kneeling into a seiza, Alastair sighs. What little emotions that hadn’t already fled out in the past minutes came flooding out in the few short sentences he could muster.

“The reason why you can’t find anyone, is because they are all dead… Their hiding spots, as you call it, have become their graves… I am the only one that I know of that still lives.”

The pair just stares at him mutely. Alastair sits there, contemplating the reasoning for why he had said that, but found he could not. Once again, he finds the words spoken to him rebound within his head.

“Thinking back, I can only recall the last words Mavrik spoke to me before she disappeared; ‘We are the damned, the lonely, the downtrodden. We are the souls, lost to the madness of our own minds, shackled in the unhindered embrace of chaos. And for this, we have you… the Last. You are the keening blade, the executioner of our madness, our rage, our pain.

Treat your brothers and sisters with honour. Treat them with the respect and dignity they once possessed. Save their souls so they might at least die with some semblance of humanity. As it is, however, I highly doubt it.

But most of all, I weep for you. Not because of the many memories we shared, but because our fates shall soon become yours. And so it falls to you, our herald of the Warsworn. Become sworn to the War that you last made with your enemy, so that you may entreat your heart to the same dedication that I have come to admire in you after so many years.

I say again, we are the damned. And you, shall be our Keeper’.”

He finishes, and sits in silence once more. The minutes’ pass by in quiet uncomfortable solitude, neither side knowing what to say or do. After an hour had passed, Alastair decides to break the moment.

“What will happen to my coworkers?”

Barbas gives him a solemn gaze before huffing.

“They can continue their work in the real world. I might decide to have them continue their work in Neos just to see how well a company will do when they are all part of the same simulation.”

“… very well. So long as no harm, monetary or life-threatening, comes to pass, you have my word that I will work with you.” Alastair says. Standing up, he places both of his hands in front of him, as if in silent acquiescence to an officer of the law’s demands.

“Well, here I am . . . save me.” he chuckles.