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When he opened his eyes he thought for a moment that he was completely blind. The darkness was total. He was sure that his eyes were open, but whatever was over his head made a certainty questionable. For a man who took the name Dark Mateus, one would think that he would be comfortable with the darkness, but it made him uneasy. Or was it the fact that the covering blocked out all sound and he was being restrained in a chair? DM knew that the chair was the kind that seemed to hold him like a cupped hand, his head was supported by a long, nearly horizontal, back. The fake leather seemed to mold to his bottom and legs. His arms were on the armrests, but his wrists were being held fast by metal or wood clamps with thin padding where they touched his flesh. His ankles were also clamped, but with less padding. What was more disturbing was the fact that whoever was holding him fast knew about what he could do, for whatever was over his head also held what was in his mouth. A wedge of plastic was shoved between his teeth, and kept his mouth open, but prevented him from speaking.

He had an idea who they were. The thing over his head also held a black and white monitor, which was turned on hours before to show a United States general of some kind. He had the traditional crew cut on dark hair, and his uniform looked real, even if the smug smile on his pale face seemed out of place. He looked short, and compact, making the uniform fit like cardboard over a fire hydrant. His nose had been broken, and reset, his jaw also looked like it had been broken, and reset poorly. At the time there was a young man next to the General, and this guy was the equivalent in shape, face, and attitude of an old friend, a friend who had been dead for a number of years. How it was possible Thrust was still alive?

DM sat for a long time thinking about how his life was about to change, would he ever be allowed to leave, and if so, for how long, and with what restrictions. Nasty evil thoughts went through his head of what they might make him do. For that matter DM was not excited about what they might do to him. DM was no stranger to pain, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

Time held no meaning for him. He counted heartbeats until he reached five hundred, and then lost interest. Something pricked him in the neck, and flowed into him. It was subtle, like the feeling of a mosquito landing on his neck, but feels it he did. What was it that they had injected into him? Was it microscopic bombs, so he had to do what they said or they would blow his head off? Was it their attempt to try and kill him? He decided to count heartbeats. As time passed his heart seemed to slow down, but also he felt very limp. What was in that injection?

His head covering moved, he could feel it in his teeth. The dark hellish that had encompassed his head was suddenly turned into the bright heavenly expanse of a the room which held him. DM blinked a few times to make his eyes stop hurting, or at least stop watering. He was indeed restrained on a comfortable curving chair, made of fake green leather, and the helmet that had covered his head was made of black plastic. The chair was pushed back to the middle of a wall, and to the left, in a corner was a rolling table full of monitoring equipment, including a camera, with cables going to the helmet of the chair. The left wall had two illumination boards, the kind doctors put x-ray photos up so they can see with the light from behind. Next a solid looking door with a large metal latch. After that, in the corner, was what looked like a stand up x-ray machine, complete with lead walls, and a monitoring station. Then it was like someone didn’t want a ninety degree corner, and chopped it off to have a small wall with a one way mirror in the middle, and a small intercom box next to it. The last wall had sinks made of metal, and above the sinks cabinets made of wood, and they stretched all the way to the corner where a small table full of operating instruments sat.

What also sat with the operating instruments was Thrust, of course it couldn’t be Thrust, but his reduplicate a century later. He had the straggly brown hair, which wanted to point strait, if it could. His head was round, almost like a ball with a nose and mouth. His neck was muscular, and his lips thin. He sat with an aura around him of quiet distant anger. His eyes spoke volumes like he was just waiting for DM to do something stupid, something that would give him a reason to kill the man held in the chair. In the man’s hands was a manila folder that had something in it, but that was pushed back into DM’s mind. DM couldn’t help but stare back, in more than a little shock, and even more desire to know who those medical instruments were intended for.

DM swallowed hard, under the unblinking stare of the young man. Finally with his throat sufficiently moist DM said, “Release me.” Or that’s what he tried to say, but the words came out week, and garbled. It was like someone had placed powdered glass in his throat, and he didn’t know it.

The man watching DM raised one hand. High in the air he pointed a finger up. He held it there, not saying a word, and then put his hand down again into his lap. Was that a signal? What did it mean? Were they about to start dissecting him? All these questions flooded DM’s mind. The only answer that came out was, yes that was a signal.

DM tried to speak again, “Release me, please.” He sounded even worse. They drugged him, with a muscle relaxant. That was why he felt limp, and why he couldn’t speak correctly. A knock of two raps came from the one way mirror. The young man with brown hair raised his hand again, and again extended one finer into the air. This time thou his lips twitched for less than half a second he almost smirked. Even if his face didn’t show it, his eyes told DM the idea, he was good as dead.

“You’re not Thrust,” DM gargled out. Two more raps came from the one way mirror.

“You’re right, but I have an idea why you’d think otherwise. I’ve see his picture. My name is Pierce McKullen. If you hadn’t guessed by now I was the one who caught you,” He said enjoying this taunting. To DM, he had heard it before, people enjoying this little finger hold on power. Pierce McKullen continued. “Do you recognize this woman?” From the folder Pierce pulled out a photograph. It was a very good picture, professional, of a stunningly beautiful blond woman. Her blue eyes had a look to them which spoke, ‘I know you want me, and you can have me, if you can get to me.’ Her body was slim, and her breasts, although cut off by the bottom of the picture, were well formed. “Her name is Casey Hopewell, and up until two months ago, she was a model. Then for some reason she decided to take a live in job as the driver of this man.” With that Pierce put the blond woman’s photo back in the folder and pulled out another picture. It wasn’t a professional photo, and it was taken with a zoom lens, and from rather far away, and it looked like the picture was touched up on a computer. The man in the picture had short gray/white hair, wrinkles around the mouth and at the corners of his eyes. This man looked like money, and a few of the thousand words were, ‘I spend more money in a day than you make in a year.’ “This is Herbert Alamayn, and he has more money than I’ll ever earn,” Pierce said and then added, “legally.”

Pierce put the photo back in the folder. “Casey gave one week’s notice that she was moving in with Herb. She cancelled her credit cards, paid off any debts, kissed her parents goodbye, and left a note for her boyfriend, after that nothing. It was like she disappeared, and so did Herb Alamayn. The address that she was suppose to be at was up for sale, and no forwarding address was given. Herb had closed out most of his bank accounts, at least the ones in his name, and fled before the IRS got their hands on him.

“I didn’t enter the picture until a month ago when Casey’s boyfriend, an old high school friend, was desperate to find her, so he called me. Mind you I found Casey for free. Why she suddenly became the driver for an old coot is costing Ethan.”

“Don’t call me that,” A voice from the intercom next to the one way mirror squawked.

Pierce smiled, and continued. “It seems Herb didn’t want to pay his taxes, so he went into hiding. I have to say it was damn hard to go through the airport’s security tapes, for hours, looking for a single woman and man. Of course it turned out to be a whole troop of women, and a single man, but I’ll get to that. I found Casey, dragging a large suitcase, get on a plane with Herb and fly to Cheyenne, Wyoming. Of all the places I would never have looked for a guy and four models from Chicago would be Cheyenne, Wyoming, but that’s me. I even had to go to the city, and track them down.

“With a name and address I was able to get into Herb Alamayn’s bank accounts. The guy was quite frugal until about a month before, and he transferred two million dollars to someone’ account. Imagine this, that someone was you. What’s more I just loved how he suddenly was spending a great deal of money on bondage equipment. That gave me a little pause, but not much, because I was curious as to your identity. You were easier, because I could narrow down who you were to one seat, and got your picture.”

Pierce took a deep breath through his nose, like he was getting ready for something unpleasant. “If I had waited one day, only one day mind you, I could have saved myself a great deal of time and effort. It seems that a certain female only gym suddenly turned into a hotbed of lesbian sex, with a massive orgy at the front door. This just happened to be on the day that OSHA, the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, was coming by for a requested inspection. Now my girlfriend’s mother happens to do the accounts for that business, and she asked me to figure out what happened. Wouldn’t you know it, there were five home made music CDs turned to slag in the microwave of the place. But,” Pierce exaggerated for effect, “there were also five empty standard jewel cases near the empty sound system for the gym. Imagine who’s fingerprints I found on the inside of those jewel cases?” Pierce pointed at DM with both fingers, almost letting the folder slip to the floor, and gave a lopsided grin.

Pierce wrapped up his story. “Granted I would have caught you sooner, but I’ll be damned if those college finals got in my way. I mean seriously you’d think that a pitiful art history professor would let one little grade slide if he knew I was after one of the most powerful man in the world, but no. Seriously I’m majoring in chemical engineering, what do I need art history for? Oh and for your information that chef that you were panning to set up for arson, never killed anyone, at least not with his car, his cooking maybe, but not his car. I just needed you to walk down that alley, and into that cloud of gas. Dragging your carcass all the way here was Ethan’s job.”

“Damn it I told you not to call me that,” squawked the intercom next to the one way mirror again.

“So,” Pierce continued, “the question I have for you is this. Do you love this country?”

DM shook his head. For a moment he thought that the drug was affecting his hearing. “What?” He choked out.

Pierce cleared his throat and asked slowly, “Do you love this country?” He accented the ‘you’ and ‘this’ like he was speaking to a child.

“Yes,” DM said with furrowed brow.

“Good,” Pierce said jumping to his feet. “Then you are about to take on a part time job. You’ll be working with the office of homeland security, or just OHS for short.”

“Why should I?” DM said quickly without thinking.

Pierce stopped and turned back to look at him like his IQ matched his belt size. “You just said you love this country.” Pierce became more animated like a car salesman, “Well guess what you’ll be helping this country thrive by, in a part time basses, helping out whenever you can. You’ll make sure foreign countries don’t take over California, no great loss I know but keep up. You’ll help terrorists see the errors of their ways, and not kill Americans. You’ll keep politicians honest; oh what no one can do that, never mind.” Pierce was really enjoying himself. “For that reason you’ll be working with Ethan.”

“Damn it I told you not to call me that! That’s it this is over,” Ethan said from the intercom.

Pierce suddenly became serious, “Okay three things. One Ethan will try to blackmail you with something, just remember he can only do whatever it is once, and then he has no hold on you. Two you’re the one with the power, not him, use that. Three Ethan would much rather work with you than against you.” The door opened.

In walked a man who had the look of being a soldier his whole life. He had a flat thinning blond crew cut on top of his pink head. Wrinkles in his face made him look like he was permanently scowling. His shoulders would have been square, even if his uniform didn’t have pads. There were so many rows of so many colors of insignia on his chest; even an open palm wouldn’t cover them all. Three stars were visible on his shoulder. His blue eyes seemed colder than any winter on record, and looked like they could bite you if they wanted to. “Take a hike Pierce,” Ethan said jerking his thumb to the door.

Pierce smiled and slapped the folder into Ethan’s chest. “Just be sure he does what I need.” Pierce was at the door before he turned back and said, “And if you could wire the money to my account before Friday I’d much appreciate it.” Ethan growled and Pierce opened the door. “Hi Frank,” Pierce said with a smile and wave when he was letting the door close behind him.

“My name is General Sanders, and if you laugh I’ll hurt you. If you call me Ethan, I’ll hurt you,” Ethan said. He took the seat that Pierce had been sitting in. He looked old, or just worn out, or a little of both. When he spoke it was like a person off the street trying to make friends. “You heard what Pierce told you, about working for me?”

“Yes,” DM said. There was a long pause. DM took the hint and continued, “I’m thinking it over.”

“Of course I could make life very uncomfortable for your girlfriend Rachel Dodd. I could make it so the IRS can’t find her statement, or her social security number is invalid, or hell I could even make it so she’s declared dead, that’s a real hassle to prove you’re alive,” Ethan said temptingly.

“I thought you wanted me to work for you, not against you,” DM spoke softly.

General Sanders’ eyes narrowed and he turned his head to look at the door Pierce had left by. “Bastard,” Ethan said under his breath. “Right,” Ethan said turning back to DM, “I’ll just throw you into a shipping crate full of concrete and toss you into the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. You may not be able to die, but I won’t let you live either.”

“How generous of you,” DM said softly, but getting stronger, “or you could just let me work for you.”

Ethan’s face screwed up and he realized he might have over stepped his bounds. “I could do that, if you’re willing to do what I tell you to do.”

DM cleared his throat, “I’ve been a solider before, I could again.”

“Oh God no,” Ethan said in a shocked expression, “nothing like a soldier. This job is more like special agent status on a contract by contract basis. We call, you come, or we come by, and you follow, that kind of job. You can still have the job you currently have, the make people do stuff thing, but when I call, you devote all attention to me, got it.”

“Got it,” DM said and added, “sir.”

This made Ethan smile. He stood up and asked, “Would you like something to drink, you’ve been in that chair for six hours.”

What DM really wanted was his two fisted, two liter mug in his apartment in Chicago, filled to the top with Mountain Dew. “Water please,” he said softly.

“Right,” Ethan said. He opened the door and spoke to whoever was outside, “George get me bottled water, and a coffee for me. Frank make sure Pierce has left the building. I don’t want that kid lurking about.” Ethan shut the door and resumed his seat. “Oh let me get these off of you,” Ethan said jerking back to standing. He turned something under DM’s right wrist, and then his left and DM could move his hands out of the restraints. Then Ethan took off the leg restraints.

“Thank you,” DM said rubbing his wrists. DM was still dressed in the black shirt, and black pants that he had on before Pierce had captured him, even if the back of his shirt was a little damp from sitting in the fake leather for too long.

“We take care of our own here,” Ethan said. “I know you might feel a little weak from the shot, but I have to ask you this question. What are the full extents of your powers, and how did you get them?”

DM cleared his throat and put his head back. All those memories and all those years were in a fog of memory, and all the mist parted as he recalled what happened. “Seven hundred eight years ago I was a thief, but not a very good one. I heard there was a magician just beyond the city where I was, and well magic items go for a good price if I could find a buyer. I stopped by the magician’s tent and he had a mound of magical items, so I took one that looked like a straw doll. That’s when I was spotted. He cast some spell of a wind creature, and that creature chassed me. When I ducked behind some rocks I started to run back to the magician’s tent, and the wind creature chassed me into the tent. The magician was concentrating on the spell that created the wind creature, which he didn’t realize I was hiding behind him until the creature came into the tent. Then I had an overpowering urge to take a nap. When I woke up the only thing around me was a scorch mark.”

A knock came from the door. Ethan got up and opened it. “Here’s that water and coffee.” A man’s voice said.

“Thanks George,” Ethan said taking them. “Where’s Frank?”

“I don’t know. I guess Pierce is being difficult.” George said.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from him. Go get me the paper work for a new employee and put them in my office.”

“Sure thing,” George said letting the door close shut.

Ethan came back to DM and gave him the water. Ethan took a sip of his coffee and winced. “They can never make a decent cup of coffee around here.”

DM smiled. He took a long pull on his water and said, “I’m seven hundred twenty-eight years old, and I have never developed a taste for coffee. I’ll drink it in a pinch, but I hate the taste.”

“Back to how you got your powers, and what they are,” Ethan said taking another sip of his coffee, and wincing less. “You said you were surrounded by a scorch mark and nothing else.”

“That’s right,” DM said taking another pull on his bottle water, “and I mean nothing. I walked back into the city naked except for my hair.”

“Where was this again?” Ethan asked.

“It happened in what is now Turkey in a city that no longer exists,” DM said. “It took about two days to be stabbed in the heart. Imagine my surprise when I woke up in the death house about five hours later. That’s when I learned that I couldn’t be killed. I figured that would make me a good warrior. I can’t tell you how many times I was killed right at the beginning of a battle, and woke back up in time to finish the battle. It was also when I learned that if I spoke just the right way I could make a person do what I wanted. That also came in handy during a battle. If I get a limb chopped off it will grow back in a few weeks, sometimes months. I have been killed in just about every way imaginable, and every single time I have come back.”

“Every single time?” Ethan asked dubious.

“Have you ever been burned at the stake?” DM asked serious.

“Can’t say that I have,” Ethan replied with raised eyebrows.

“I have,” DM said, “five different times. I’ve gotten clawing my way out of a casket down to a science.”

“So what else can you do?”

“Can’t die, if I am injured I heal completely, I don’t age, and I can control people with my voice. What can you do?” DM said in a joking fashion.

“I can throw this hot coffee in your face,” Ethan said.

“Point,” DM said, “so now what?”

“We need to secure your apartment,” Ethan said standing up and dropping the empty coffee cup into the waste basket.

“What else?”

“We’ll get you a phone that is secure. They’re really cool hand held satellite phones that we can call you anywhere on the planet. When we need you we’ll call or stop by, and you’ll go on a mission that we need your particular talents for. Other wise just live your life the way you have been,” Ethan said acting like the interview is over.

“That’s it? You’re giving me a phone, and telling me to keep doing what I’m doing. I was honestly expecting more,” DM said confused.

“We’re giving you a new name. From now on you will be known as John Doe. You’ll need to stay out of sight for a while. It will need to be someplace with a lot of people and where faces change often?” Ethan said. “You still don’t look convinced.”

“General Sanders,” DM began, “you know that I may do some unethical things.”

“And I know you do ethical things, like some requested jobs for General Walters. He’s being reprimanded for not making a file on you, by the way. Anyone in the United States who has super human powers has to have a file, but General Sanders didn’t make one on you. That’s why when Pierce told me about someone who can control people’s minds with his voice I requested he bring you in to me. He and I agree that what you do is your business, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the way this country is run, it doesn’t matter. As long as you leave the government alone, I don’t have a problem.”

“I was a statesman for a while,” DM said with a shake of his head, “and the way things have changed I think I’ll stay out of politics. So all the money I have is safe?”

“All seventeen bank accounts are yours to do with as you wish. You can spend that money on this little vacation we’re sending you on,” Ethan said with a smile. “What are you planning on doing with all that money?”

“Retire,” DM said as a joke without smiling.

“Good man,” Ethan said with a smile. “Have you ever been to Las Vegas?”

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