Chapter 1: A Calming Effect

"Death has a calming effect on the forsaken, right?" Mike spoke, walking on the roadside.

"Is that what you use to justify your kills?" Frank replied, uninterested in Mike's machinations to justify his own missteps.

"Aye, but still. I say, when everyone else in the physical world has forgotten or forgone you, death might be awfully desirable. I would rather be floating in a void than be despised."

"Yeah. I am sure the Falcon would agree, if he was alive. Unfortunate that he isn't, thanks to you."

"Oh well."

The world was tinged red, the sun setting to give way for the dark cold. Mike would be expected to make a mission report before calling it quits for the day, and Frank would suffer a stern talking to and a two week suspension for killing a man. Even if the man was dressed in a blue bird costume. SCOPE was an organisation known for murder, but even there, cold-blooded life-taking is reprehensible. Frank wouldn't be greatly hated. Even a blind man could have seen Falcon was a devious bloke, and no one would miss him. Yet, rules transcend human understanding, and rules dictate suspension accompany killing.

Mike kicked a pebble on the pavement, "I heard James has been caught."

"I would have rather liked if he was dead, but no one wants the boss to kill his own brother."

"Some do make the observation that the director has gone soft, atleast on matters pertaining to the bull. But eh, who gives a shit? He's caught. That's all that matters."

"Aye, I don't blame the director. He just wants James to take a better path in life. I would want that, if my brother turned out rotten."

"Aye, me too." Mike nodded, in rhythm with the crash the pebble he was kicking made on the concrete.

The sun had gone down by the time they reached base. They had walked mostly in silence, barring some instances. The sky was tinged red only in the far west of the sky. The streetlights had begun to blaze, beacons for the wary walker. Frank opened the glass entrance to the massive metal and concrete building, and walked into the bustling bright environment inside. The night shift would begin soon, and the workaholics were still doing their job. The scientists would have surely left by now, and the enforcers would have taken their spots, yet many still lingered. About a thousand or so worked in this building at a time, and a ten thousand or so made it's total workforce. SCOPE made a justice enforcing sector of society, aimed at teaching those who are gifted to use their gifts to help the world. John always said that SCOPE's true purpose was not making heroes, but stopping villains before they are even villains. They reached out to gifted across the world, like Michael and Frank, and taught them to do good, before they decided to do bad. Yet, heroes were needed in the world, to be beacons to the common man, like the streetlight is for the wary, and Mike and Frank were greatly honoured, even if they did not know it, for filling that role.

But heroes are lofty goals, and not for the present. As for the mentioned present, the duo were approached by SCOPE's assistant director of operations, Raymond. "Agent Murphy, Agent Hunter. It's good to see Michael is returning for a mission report. Would be unfortunate, won't you agree, if he forgot."

Mike was not amused, "That was one time, Williams. I am not that careless."

Frank chimed in, adamant in choosing the senior's side, "Says the man who got caught by a blue goddamn bird. At some point, I must say, carelessness transcends and turns into bare idiocy. You are well past that point."

"So I can say I'm not careless."

"Aye, but you don't have to."

"Aye, but I will."

Raymond just began to shake his head, when hearing the Aye-infested banter. "Shut your mouths, you dumbasses. I have better stuff to do than hear you bicker. Frank, meet the Sir. Mike, put in your final report, and go over the file on Louis Falco."

"Do I have to."

"You killed the guy, so yes."

"Frank killed the guy!"

"Yes. But you were the one that got caught by him. You were the one he was trying to save when he busted Falco's bean. So you are the one who checks the guy's deets."

Mike breathed out, and turned away from Frank and Ray, walking towards his desk, sitting down and then promptly getting back up when he remembered he had to go to the extensive file department. He walked to the door of the department, and then promptly remembered that he had his report in a drawer in his table. Halfway back to his desk, he promptly remembered that he should maybe get the file on Louis if he was near the department. Once he promptly got the file, he not-so-promptly began his work, delated by about ten minutes or so.

Frank instead walked to the staircase in the centre of the building. They winded up to the director's office and the training centre, and down to the lab, testing centres and prison cells. SCOPE was not in all honesty authorised to dish imprisonment sentences, but it was supported by the law in imprisoning unsavoury individuals, if thought necessary. Frank found himself breathing on John's office door, a white wooden thing, simple in it's design. When he opened it, he found the director standing at the wall opposite to the door, a window into both the outside world and the training centre. The right of the huge mirror looked into the training centre, it's metal equipment shining in the yellow light used at night to save electricity. The left gave way to the bustling streets, a neon sign not even half a metre away, advertising 'Jerry's Diner'. John turned to face Frank when he heard his door open. "Agent Murphy, a pleasure. Or not so, seeing our, subject matter. I can't say I am angry, just a bit disappointed. I would have expected capture."

"Yes sir. I apologise whole-heartedly. I, I was trying to help Mike, the klutz that he is."

"Clumsiness is not a reason for cold-blooded murder. I guess that means I should suspend Michael too."

"No, no, no. Let him work."

"Clumsiness is an awful sin in our business, Frank. None of us want him dead, and who can say, maybe the next villain who captures him might not monologue for as long."

"I'll vouch for him, please, sir. Today was an accident."

"An accident that costed a life. A life we could have turned around, a life we could have bettered. A man died, Murphy."

"Men die every day."

"Yes, but this was a man you killed." John took a breath, "Very well, leave me. Your suspension begins tomorrow. Three weeks. One extra for vouching for Mike."

"Okay, sir. Have a good day." Frank turned for the door, and walked out the door. He walked down the master staircase, seeing the chandelier glimmer, hanging from the roof. As Frank walked, the chandelier spun in perspective, as he walked around the curving staircase. The world glimmered in the reflection made by the chandelier. John often said, that was what we aimed for, a glimmering masterpiece. Something that seems out of hand, but seems awfully appetizing, something that seems a dream, but all that it needs is to reach out with hopeful hands. Mike often said that John lived with half his head in the sky, the left side, reflecting his office. Frank found that untrue. John was not living in the clouds, but he lived hopeful. The director was a man with dreams, lofty ones, no doubt, but important to the world everyone in this building tried to make. Sometimes, a shimmering world might seem far, out of hand, a pipe dream. But all we had to do was reach out.

Frank found himself in front of the main door, not knowing how he had reached here. He had ruminated long, and had walked like a zombie to the exit. He walked out, and began to hail a cab. The cab he got was an old one, with a matching driver, with his white hair and wrinkled silent face. The ride home was one plagued by thoughts.

Frank's door was a cheap wooden thing. When opened, it gave way to a pristinely organised room, not a single cloth decorating any place except his cupboard. Frank removed his clothes and jumped on the single bed. He would keep his clothes in their proper places tomorrow, he decided. He hoped, prayed, that his sleep would be dreamless, but life never was so merciful. His dreams were nothing he had not experienced before, the same cabin, the same bullets, the same explosion. And the same screams.