by M. K. Gibson
“Okay, what are your thoughts?”
“Man, that guy really hates Ted,” Deacon said with a dumb smile plastered on his face.
“Arby, knock it off,” Cross said, walking back towards the front of the room. She kept her eyes on the screen, then looked towards Messer and the remote. “May I?”
“Yes,” Messer said, passing her the remote.
Cross brought the video back to the beginning. “Arby, New Girl—”
“Jessie.”
“Don’t care,” Cross said as she scrolled the video to just before the explosion. “Okay, what are we seeing here?”
“You tell me,” Messer said, sitting his leg up on the nearby desk.
“Subject was a nude man, Mediterranean, appearing to be in his mid-thirties, who . . . exploded,” DeLeon said. “This a test, isn’t it?”
“Obviously,” Deacon sniped, leaning forward to stare at the video. “When did this happen?”
“Day and a half ago,” Messer said, “over in Brightway, just before twenty-two hundred hours.”
“Was it a terrorist act?” Cross asked.
“We do not believe so,” Messer added.
“He was murdered,” DeLeon said.
“What?” Deacon said. “Girl, that dude just blew up. Probably suicide.”
Cross shot her partner a look, then inclined her chin at DeLeon. “Why do think it was murder, New Girl?”
“My name is Jessie,” DeLeon repeated.
“Still don’t care.”
DeLeon sighed. “Because there’s no other reason to show us this. If it’s a test, then it isn’t the obvious answer. Yeah, he blew up. But I didn’t see any explosives on him, did you?”
“Maybe he swallowed a bomb?” Cross posed.
“Maybe,” Jessie said. “But again, there’s no reason to show us this if it’s that simple.”
“Sound thinking,” Cross admitted.
“Maybe if he showed us the whole video?” Deacon said.
“Arby?”
“Come on Cass, think about it. New Girl—”
“Jessie.”
“—may be on to something,” Deacon continued. “Look at the logo on the vid. This was from the Avalantis News Network.”
“Ugh, they’re so liberal biased,” DeLeon said. “I prefer Fawkes News. It’s fair and balanced.”
“Regardless,” Deacon continued, shooting a death stare at DeLeon, “I didn’t hear anything about an exploding naked man. And that is definitely something I would have heard about.”
“I didn’t hear anything either,” Cross said with an approving nod. “That means media suppression?”
Messer smiled.
“So, there’s more to this video,” DeLeon said. “Which brings me back to what I was asking earlier, why does Transit Authority need a detective sergeant that’s investigating exploding people?”
“Easy,” Cross said, looking at Messer. “Transit Authority doesn’t exist, does it?”
“No,” he said. “And yes.”
“Who are you?”
“You mean, who are we,” Messer said, inclining his chin towards the back of the room and the seven-foot elf who had been standing there for several minutes. “Hey there, Gabby.”
“Sweet RuPaul’s ghost!” Deacon said, grabbing at his chest. “Warn a brother before you spring an elf ninja on him!”
“You were there when my partner tried to kill me,” DeLeon said.
Cross shot the younger woman a look. “Your partner tried to kill you?”
“Long story.”
“Uh-huh. This elf was also there at the Brobdingnagian’s club.”
“Cross, Deacon, DeLeon, this is Gabby. My partner.”
“Gabby?” Cross asked.
The tall elven woman smiled and waved her four-fingered hand at them, then took a seat cross-legged on one of the tables.
“Yeah, her actual elvish name is almost impossible to say and considered an incredible offense to mispronounce. The translation is something like ‘Our High Lady Who Walks Between the Shadows of the Leaves’. But considering that’s a mouthful, and of course her laconic nature, we just call her Gabby. So far, she doesn’t seem to mind.”
Gabby gave two thumbs up and a wide smile.
“You said ‘we’,” Cross said. “Who’s we?”
“What do you think, Gabby?” Messer asked his partner. “They passed my initial screening.”
The elf stood from the desk, stood over Deacon, and placed her hands on his shoulders.
“Um, what’s this?”
“Don’t move,” Messer said. “It messes with her mojo.”
“Yeah, no one would want that.”
Gabby bent at the waist and took several deep inhales through her nostril slits, smelling Deacon. As she did, her head and neck moved in a slight serpentine fashion as if she were considering a thought. Gabby then moved to DeLeon, who sat stock still, her false bravado and arrogance vanishing when a much older, vastly more powerful creature entered her space.
Inside, he laughed. His reaction hadn’t been much different when he’d first met Gabby all those years ago. The elf stood, looked at Messer, and winked her large black eye at him.
“Yeah yeah. Now do Cross.”
Gabby walked around the table to stand before the stern cop. Cross looked up at her, unflinching. “I like your hair.”
Gabby smiled as her hand went to the bright red. She then reached out and gently touched Cross’s hair and . . . frowned. She then leaned in and took a deep breath. Then a second. Gabby then leaned forward and kissed the woman on her forehead. Turning, the elf stood in front of Messer and placed her hands on her hips.
“So, are they in?”
Gabby turned to regard all three. She closed her eyes and once again took in a deep breath. Turning back towards, Messer she held up her hand and waggled it in a “so-so” motion while shrugging.
“Good enough.”
“So we passed your test?” Cross asked.
“Let’s just say you’ve moved on to the talent portion of the competition. Now follow me.”
Messer walked to the back of the room, towards the back door. He knocked on the door three times, the turned the knob. He pulled the door open to reveal an alien world of color, light, and nature. Inside, people both mundane and myth moved with a purpose amid ringing phones and screens displaying various feeds from all over Avalantis.
“What is that?” Deacon asked in a tone of wonder.
“Your new job. As of now, you are all acting agents.”
“Agents of what?” Cross asked.
“Agents of MORTAL.”
Chapter Seven
13 May - 10:04 am
MORTAL Headquarters - Location Unknown
“Mythological Oversight and Response Task-force Autonomous Legion,” Jessie heard Messer say. “Or MORTAL for short.”
“How did all of this fit into a broom closet?” Deacon asked, looking dumbfounded.
Cross gave her partner a sharp look.
“What?”
While Messer led the group through the bustling command center, Jessie couldn’t help but stare at everything in awe. The operations room seemed to be inside a dark, organic room. A cave, maybe? The smell was definitely earthy.
The only light was the glow from countless holo-monitors, and through the shadows, she saw creatures of every kind working unidentifiable projects. Voices, conversations, and obscure languages blended into a dull roar of cooperation and productivity. This place, wherever they were, was where she belonged. She felt it.
Ahead, Cross fell in line behind Messer. Jessie began to despise the woman. It wasn’t just because Cross was tall, fierce, and frontally . . . augmented, although those helped. It was because Cross had asserted herself in a position of authority.
“This is MORTAL HQ,” Messer said. “From this location, we monitor myth activities.”
“I thought that was what the APD did,” Jessie said.
“New Girl’s got a point. Ava
lantis PD’s whole job is to keep the peace for both myths and mundanes,” Deacon added.
Cross laughed and Jessie’s insides clenched. Why was she laughing? What had she figured out?
“What?” Jessie asked.
“Think about it,” Cross said, pausing by one of the desks and making flirtatious eyes at one of the men. “It’s just like any other martial organization. There’s the grunts and officers. But what else is there?”
“The special ops teams,” Jessie said, seeing the line of reasoning and mentally kicking herself for not seeing it sooner. “Is that what all this is?”
“Follow me,” Messer said as he led the group down a side passage that fed into a large circular hallway that was difficult to comprehend. Instead of straight, organized lines, the hall shifted, narrowed, and widened as they walked. The walls seemed to be made of interwoven light and dark wood that Jessie swore was still alive.
Master-crafted tapestries hung on the walls. The images depicted great battles and other moments from both myth and mundane history. As they walked down the hall, Jessie recognized several of them. The raising of the flag at Iwo Jima. The Fall of the Formori. But what were the others?
“What are those?” she absently said aloud.
“The Charge of the Light Brigade, Izanagi traveling to the underworld in search for Izanami, and the Battle of Rorke’s Drift,” Deacon said reflexively.
“How’d you know that?”
“Hmm? Know what?”
Jessie sighed. “Never mind.”
The group walked a little further until they reached a larger, more ornate conference room. Like the hallway, the room was a blend of light and dark wood, illuminated by glowing crystals set in hand-carved wall sconces. In the center of the room was a sleek, black marble table. A softball-sized diamond sat in the center.
“Take a seat,” Messer instructed.
Jessie looked at Cross and Deacon and then did as instructed. She sat in the middle on one side, while the other two sat next to one another on the other side. Deacon leaned over to Cross and said, “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you grab that diamond.”
Cross ignored her partner as she looked around the room, then back at Messer and the elf, Gabby.
“Who are we waiting for?”
“Why do you ask?” Messer said with a slight smile.
“You shocked us. You wowed us. Then you brought us to this room which, no offense, seems too nice for you. So, we’re meeting someone. Someone important.”
“I told you they were good,” Messer said, nodding towards the head of the table.
Jessie looked at the far end of the table to see an older woman sitting in what had been an empty chair.
“Aw, damn it!” Deacon yelled out, grabbing his chest. “What is WITH you people and popping in out of nowhere!”
“Arby,” Cross said with a stern tone, “dial it down.”
“No, you dial it down,” Deacon said, still rubbing his chest. “You know I have an arrhythmia. All this jumpin’ outta the shadows and shit is gonna kill me! So can I please get a drink of water and an aspirin while the leader of this shadow organization gives us her spiel?”
The older woman calmly folded her hands together on the table and shot a wink at Messer.
Jessie looked the woman over very carefully. She seemed to be in her mid-to-late fifties with high cheekbones and minimal makeup. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that accentuated her widow’s peak. She had blue eyes and wore an expensive white business suit over her black blouse. Her bearing and manner all but screamed that she was in charge of any room she was in.
“Cross, Deacon, DeLeon,” Messer said, addressing them in turn, “this is Mother-1. She is the leader of MORTAL.”
“Mother-1?” Cross asked. “Is that what’s on your driver’s license?”
Mother-1 looked at her. “I don’t drive.”
“So why are we here then?” Jessie asked.
Mother-1 leaned forward. “To help save lives.”
“I thought was what the APD already did?” Jessie said.
“And I swear we just had this conversation,” Deacon said.
“Anyone? When we first arrived? Hey Messer, you have an official MORTAL janitor out there who wants to come in so we can go over this again?”
Mother-1 stood and nodded to Gabby. The elf placed her hand on the stone table. The crystals in the room dimmed and the diamond in the table began to glow. Images flickered and coalesced into three-dimensional projections of early cave drawings of prehistoric men worshiping beings on a high mountain. Mother-1 walked around the table and pointed towards the image.
“Long, long ago, the mythological and the mundane coexisted, but their relationship was not mutually beneficial.”
The floating images shifted to scenes from Greek, Mayan, Norse, and Asian mythology. “The myths subjugated and hunted man. In time, mankind eventually outgrew, and frankly outbred, the myths.”
The images depicted angry mobs with fire and pitchforks hunting elves, fauns, werewolves, vampires, and more.
“Through innovation and technology, mankind no longer feared their former masters, and they hunted the myths to near extinction. The myths fled to various places and hid while mankind continued.”
The image changed, showing old footage of Bigfoot, sea creatures, and even captured video of people in the early twenty-first century shifting forms from human to something else.
“But they were still out there. And sometimes, they were . . . violent.”
A quick montage of bloody murder scenes, images of missing children on milk cartons, dead livestock, alien abductions, and cults played out.
“MORTAL has existed, in some capacity or another, for centuries. Our mission had always been to suppress these attacks, hide the information, and if need be, to eliminate rogue myths. But in time, technology rose to a point where almost nothing could hide. MORTAL served as a liaison for a secret entourage of myths, led by Elven elders, to make a petition to world leaders. They wanted to come back into the world.”
The images flashed again of unedited photos of elves, dwarves, and other myths at conference tables with various leaders from the U.S., Australia, Great Britain, Canada, France, Russia, Germany, Japan, China, and others.
“I knew it!” Deacon said.
“What?” Cross asked.
“These pics are from the old G20 summit meetings. I knew those world leaders weren’t actually doing anything financial.”
“How—never mind,” Jessie said. It was clear that while Deacon was a buffoon, he had some level of savant-like memory for oddities.
“Mr. Deacon is correct,” Mother-1 said. “These meetings, over many years, laid the groundwork for the great reveal. But contingency plans were also developed should mankind once again reject the myths.”
“Avalantis,” Cross reasoned. “Your organization worked with the elves to grow and construct this city with magic.”
“Yes. And the rest, as they say, is history. Mankind, in general, rejected the myths. And those refugees came here to live a ‘normal’ life. Through the Avalantis Police Department, we control the day-to-day operations.”
“But this does bring us back to the earlier question,” Jessie said. “If the APD—”
“Janitor!” Deacon yelled out.
“Shut up!” Jessie said louder than she intended. “I was going to say that if the APD does the day-to-day, then MORTAL has to be called in for something bigger, right? So, does this have to do with the video Messer showed us?”
“New Girl schooled you Arby, anything to say?” Cross said, shooting Jessie a nod of approval.
“I reserve judgment,” Deacon sniffed.
“Ms. DeLeon is correct,” Mother-1 said. “Whether operating in Avalantis, or around the world, Agents of MORTAL are called upon when events have escalated beyond our normal methods.”
“So why me?” Jessie asked, then quickly changed it to “us.”
“Because the bulk of M
ORTAL’s efforts are engaged in monitoring and delegating,” Messer said.
“The Spear of Lugh!” Jessie said, slapping her hand on the table. “That’s where we are. We’re in the city’s tree. You all are the ones who use the Eye of Balor and assign the missions.”
“Well done, Ms. DeLeon,” Mother-1 said.
“Yeah, very cool. Whatever,” Cross said. “But you still haven’t answered New Girl. Why us?”
Messer nodded. “We select our active field agents from exceptional law enforcement members. In the past it was difficult, getting people to believe in myths. Now? Well, that’s easier. We choose potential agents who aren’t afraid, show exceptional problem solving skills, improvise, and can think on the fly.”
“Fair enough,” Cross said. “So, what is it exactly that you want us to do?”
“Gabby, if you please,” Mother-1 asked.
Gabby nodded and once again placed her hands on her desk. The holographic image became that of the video they’d seen in the smaller briefing room. But as Deacon had observed, there was more to it. Jessie and the rest watched the full replay of the events. She saw the man come out of the warehouse and she heard the police call out his name.
“Wait, that’s Hermes?” said Deacon.
“Was,” Cross said. “Remember how this video played out?”
“Oh yeah.”
The video showed Hermes turn cops into pigs, then begin to glow brighter and brighter until he exploded. She saw a man—no, a god—die. After the video had ended, the room was quiet, as everyone processed the information in their own way. Or perhaps, Jessie reasoned, out of a sense of respect.
“I stand by it,” Deacon said. “That dude really hated Ted.”
“Arby,” Cross sighed.
Mother-1 looked at Deacon from across the table. She gave him the oddest of smiles, then walked through the table to stand directly in front of Deacon.
“Ahh! Ghost! My heart!”
“You are here,” Mother-1 said to Deacon, who was gripping his chest, then looked to each of them in turn, “to solve a murder. The murder of a god. Messer is my top agent. He has chosen you three as his new team.”
