Pvt. Slater J. Tross, No. 305

September 8th, 2030, 10:23 am

CJ drives his finger into the dirt of the driveway, plowing a ravine next to his thigh. He draws his opposite leg toward himself and hugs it with his free arm. "So, you got some superpowers from Rodney Roarke or whatever his name is? You aren't turning into one of those crazies, are you?"

I scoff, planting my hands in the dirt as I lean back. "Yeah, I sure hope not. If I do, promise you'll shoot me in the head."

"I don't know if I could," he laughs to himself. "How about you, Hal? Would you shoot Slater if he turned into one of those psycho murderers?" CJ gestures upward above my neck. "I mean, come on, how could you hurt an ugly mug like this? It'd be senseless!"

Hal sneers while tugging at the lonely blades of grass that sprout apart from each other. "Slater, I would shoot you if you woke me up early on a weekend. You know, like you did this morning."

"Hey, you chose to come over. Nobody forced you to be here," I explain with assertion.

The Corporal shrugs. "The things I do for my friends."

It was CJ who arranged for us to hang out this morning, but he suggested that we meet at my house because his parents are disappointed in him for going out on Friday night. He didn't even have a sip of alcohol but they expect their son to be an outstanding, perfect citizen who never breaks the law. He claims to be grounded and says his parents believe he locked himself in his room. Instead, he escaped confinement and made his getaway in Hal's car.

The last time we spoke to each other in our collective presence was when he relieved Craig and I from the car on Friday night. He saw Craig and I together and did not seem pleased as he barreled down the driveway to the street. I don't blame him; the attitude toward the Sergeant could be much, much better. If my best friend suddenly jumped ship and befriended his enemy, I would be upset, too. But this is CJ Martin; the one whose forgiveness shines through without fail.

Hal was too inebriated to witness Craig and I's fondness for one another after we left the club. Good thing, too; there's no one who he hates more than the Sergeant. I doubt his animosity would even spread to a given member of the Medo based on the way Craig once treated me. Maybe he'll never have to know about our relationship, short-lived as it will be.

The thought of talking to Craig births a demon in my stomach. I understand the circumstances for which I have to speak to him, but I dread it. Not for my sake, but for his. It's not going to be what he wants to hear. These past few days, learning more about who he is, I know that this could hurt him. What's worse; he might return to hating me and wanting me dead.

But what would I rather have? A close companion that may compromise my fragile, status of freedom or a disappointed acquaintance?

CJ shuffles in the dirt. His shoes stamp the baby blades of grass, leaving a mark on the earth. "So, show me some your powers. What did he give you? Super speed? Time travel?"

Man, if only I had time travel.

I press off the ground, brushing the dust from the back of my pants. "I can go invisible. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't."

"Why wouldn't it work?" CJ stares at me, enthralled. Hal merely observes.

"Apparently it only happens if I want it to happen. If I really need it."

"When would you need it?"

I hold my tongue between my teeth as the Medo spears through my mind. The only people who know of Roarke's deal are three Imperial Guard officers and Celestine. Nobody else shares the burden of comprehending the chaos that may descend upon Oltima. To extend this crisis to two of my closest friends would be irresponsible. It would worry them as it worries me, and I never want that.

CJ has been through enough, carrying my burdens. The M-shaped gash on his arm has faded into his flesh. Luke Bradley tearing open his skin in the form of the Medo's insignia still burns brightly within me; makes me furious. CJ did not deserve to be caught in the crossfire, but some people's hatred surpasses our expectations. I'm glad Luke is gone; gone for good.

If I were to continue to shed my problems onto CJ, what kind of friend would I be to him?

I blink, turning away from them to pace the dirt. "I don't know."

"Do you have any other powers? Kinda want to see some," Hal sighs.

I remember the teleportation power, though I resist the urge to display it. It received a rousing and troublesome reaction yesterday when I used it on accident. The difference is that they're expecting to see it this time. I just don't know how I can pull it off on command.

"Yeah, teleportation. I vanish from one spot and appear in another, but I haven't practiced. I might fuck it up, though."

I aim my sights at a rough patch of dirt behind where they are seated. Okay, Slater, you can do this. Just focus on the spot and picture yourself standing there. One, two-

My body jolts forward and I stumble. Three. I catch myself and my breath before glancing at my mark. The golden emission of light blends into the sunlight above, yet I know that either Grayson or Roarke is laughing at me being an amateur.

I pivot to see them gawking with eyes wide. Hal grins for the first time since he has been sitting on the driveway. He scans my entire body, nodding. CJ's gaze jumps between where I once was and where I am now. His mouth remains agape.

"That's sick!" CJ exclaims while jumping to his feet. "So can you teleport anywhere you want to?"

"Only to places I can see. I could go up to the roof if I really wanted to." I look atop the Manchesters' house, but I try not to overthink it.

"You know," Hal announces, "I don't think having those powers are going to do you any good if you can't defend yourself."

"Hah!" My volume soars, twirling my head in disbelief. "You think I can't defend myself? I beat you in the combat tournament, dude. I think I'm perfectly fine having only my powers, thank you very much."

He peers out past the shallow treeline to the infinite ocean. His eyes find the dirt buried under his sneakers before searching the sky for the impossible puff of a cloud. All that, and the only thing he refrains from seeing is me.

"Slater, I gotta tell you something," he mumbles with a swift turn of his head. His hands lay limp on his sides yet I can see them fluttering against his shorts. "I've been trying to keep this kinda quiet but now I think it's been long enough that I can tell you. I know you're going to be mad at me, but please, just listen."

CJ and I shoot each other a look of disarray. I bring myself back to the Corporal. "Woah, woah, wait, Hal, what do you mean? What happened?"

He frowns, squeezing his palm in the space between his eyebrows. Air tumbles from his nose with the softening of his chest. "Look, this isn't going to be easy for me to say, and if you hate me, I get it, but-"

"Hal," CJ cuts in, "just tell us what happened. Whatever it is, we can talk about it."

A rough scratch shreds the floor of the porch and the Manchesters emerge from their home. Hal twists his head and devotes his attention to them. Anything to strip the force of our questioning from him will suffice. He deliberates as they approach the Captain's truck in front of the garage.

Brian recognizes us in the dirt path. "Hello, boys," he calls. His uniform dress shoes for office attire crunch the beads of dust on his way toward us. "What are you guys up to?"

Hal turns to CJ and I again, staring past his feet. His eyes twitch to his right as the Captain gets closer. The Corporal seals his lips once he arrives by his side. Funny how the Manchesters can get me to open up but they close others.

"Slater was just showing us some of the powers he got. Did you know he can teleport?" CJ wheels to me, backhanding my collar. "Dude, show him!"

I don't give it a second thought. "I'll do it once Hal tells me what's up."

"You know what, I changed my mind," Hal sighs, slipping away from our group. "I'm not going to tell you. It's no big deal."

"Oh, come on, Hal," groans CJ. "You can't lead us on, telling us that we'll hate you then not say anything."

The Corporal curls back to us with a stomp in his foot. "Look, I said I won't tell you. Leave it at that, will you?"

Brian looks to me with a frown that soon mutates into a light smile. "Well, Slater, I'm taking Celeste over to her friend Lance's house and I've got some work at the office to do. I probably won't be back, so ask one of these guys to take you to HQ tonight, okay?"

Hal liberates his tension on a moment's notice. "I'll drive him, Captain. I'm taking CJ anyway."

"Thank you, Hal." The Captain pats the back of my shoulder. "I'll see you around, kid. Stay out of trouble, you three."

"Oh, wait, Captain," CJ exclaims while extending his arm to him. "Slater, do your teleport thing!"

Hal's attitude leaves a lack of satisfaction with me. He sat on the verge of spilling his guts to CJ and I, but once the Captain showed up, he denied himself the chance. I want to know what the hell eats at him, as he is one of my best friends, but he's a sturdy brick at this point. If I can't get him to crack, I guess I could make at least one person happy.

What is the limit to my power? Better yet, what is the extent? The major principle is that if I can see it, I can go there. By that logic, I could look to the south and stand at the roundabout of the lighthouse within seconds. Going to the lighthouse would be dramatic, but it wouldn't have the same effect as moving somewhere they can see me. Perhaps the roof isn't that bad of an idea.

I sharpen my focus on the steel-gray shingles atop the great window that exposes the foyer. As my expressions roll over my tongue, a soft grin spreads. "The roof."

My body shifts from the dirt of the driveway to the coarse, slanted rooftop of the Manchester household. I throw my hands onto the bristled shingles and fall to my knees in an effort to collect my composure. My breath sweeps from my lungs as I take a seat, overlooking the driveway where I once stood.

The air this high up captures the gentle wind and retains rays from the sun above. My t-shirt struggles against the gales as my hair sways across my forehead. The ghost of a city lays idle past the flush of trees that shield the outskirts. To my right, the ocean shimmers in accordance with the eloquent light coating the world. What lies beyond, I may never know.

The vast forest on my left has a dark mysticality to it, aside from who occupies its space. I haven't ventured into those woods since my encounter with the Medo during my weeks of training. Of course, there was the time the cult drew me in to observe the death of another kid with a similar affliction. Never willingly, though. I wonder what that encampment was doing so deep in the forest. Why are they hiding? Better yet, what are they hiding? One day, I will gather the courage to explore once more.

"Thinking about the Medo, huh?"

I buckle myself to inspect the source of the voice behind me. A young man, seated on the opposite slant of the roof surveying the field, reaches into his pocket and reveals a pack of cigarettes. He shakes it before pulling one out and snapping his fingers. A single puff expels a billow of bright smoke. The man brings it to his lips again.

I crawl to the other half of the roof and rest beside him. "You can read my thoughts?"

"Hell yeah," he replies with a cigarette in his teeth. "The higher up you get in the Medo, the more powers you get. You, you're just lowly little beginner."

My elbows collapse onto my knees. The breeze from the sea tickles my cheeks as I watch Grayson give his regard to his clouds. "Well, I won't be for long. What are you doing here?"

"What, I can't bother you whenever I want?" He holds his cigarette by his side and acknowledges my attention. "Roarke finally decided to let me tell you what's going on with these beasts, so listen carefully." His free hand bares itself to the air. A glare of flame contorts itself above his palm and from the warmth births a still lizard.

The diminutive dragon lies perched on Grayson's fingers. Its golden eyes catch the sunlight that accentuates the rainforest hues within them. Unlike those of our Sergeant, whose resemble a similar landscape, this creature retains an unfailing intensity. Two of the upper legs are pointed sharp instead of webbed. The jagged edges of these daggers force a cold rush over my skin. The juniper scales that coat the lizard flicker as I inspect every inch of his tiny body.

"This little guy?" I mock, sneering. "He's so small! I sure hope the Imperial Guard has enough manpower to step on him!"

No part of Grayson's face moves. "Don't worry, the real beast will be approximately one hundred times larger. But he will look pretty close to this. This guy has bipedal capabilities as well as normal, four-legged movement. He has the ability to latch onto walls and is extremely fast when crawling, so keep your guard up for when he transitions from two to four. When standing up, he's not nearly as quick. Take advantage of that."

I peel my gaze from the reptile and scan Grayson. He does the same. "Are you allowed to help me? You know, it seems a little counter-intuitive; burdening me with killing these beasts and then giving me tips on how to defeat it like you can't do it yourself."

"Look, just be grateful I'm doing this in the first place." He plugs his mouth with the cigarette and transfers the lizard to his opposite hand. He flips the arm closest to me, though what I expect to be there is absent. "I set what's called an oblivion block. Roarke can hear everything through my mark, so I close it up, and he can't know what I'm saying. It's to keep confidentiality."

"But if you're in the Medo, why would you want to hide things from Roarke?"

"He doesn't want me helping you, just providing information. I don't think it's fair that he stuck you with this shit without any say. The same thing happened to him so he thinks it's fine to take out his issues on you." Grayson studies the sea of green stretching far to the south. "I'm sorry you have to go through this. I want to help you."

Someone from the Medo assisting me is hardly fathomable. After all the shit I've been put through at the power of Rodney Roarke, forgive me if I'm reluctant to take an open hand. I haven't known Grayson for as long as the leader of the Medo, though there is something about his carefree yet attentive demeanor that puts my mind at ease.

I shouldn't trust him. But it's the best I'm going to get.

"Thanks, man," I say, observing the lizard on his palm. "So, what about the beast? Anything else you can tell me?"

Wisps of rancid smoke curl from his lips. "Standing on his hind legs, this guy can be up to fifty feet tall. His arms can swing just like our's can, but watch out for those talons. One bad look and it's over for you. This guy is like two different creatures in one; remember it can crawl around and stand upright."

"What's the best way to take him down?" I ponder while hugging my hands together.

Grayson sucks on the cigarette and pinches it between his free fingers. He flicks his head to the side to tame his hair in the breeze. "Well, that I'm not sure of. If you had any Medo abilities you could use those. All I know is that most firearms will not work." A nearly transparent cloud streams from the crevasse of his mouth. "A sword, maybe?"

"Ok, well, I don't know how to use a sword," I speculate, twisting in my seat to peer over the house. The Captain opens the door to his truck while Hal and CJ are witnesses to my appearance. "I don't think I know anyone that does."

"Slater, what are you doing? Get back down here!" Hal shouts from the driveway below.

Grayson leaps to his feet with the jaded lizard twirling into the sunlight before it is nothing. He takes one last draw of the smoke, nodding at my friends who await my return. "I think you do." Roarke's right-hand vanishes through the space and leaves a cloud darker than the one he ousted from his mouth. The hairs on my arm perk up once he is gone.

I should be concerned that Grayson knows more about my life than I do. There was no lie in that I don't know any sword-fighters. I find it hard to believe that this stupid reptile is bulletproof yet the use of a blade is totally fine. Makes sense, right? Now I have to seek out the one person I know who knows how to wield a sword, whoever that may be. Grayson told me just about everything else except for that.

All that, and it is still a mystery when the damn thing is going to show up on our doorstep. Damn it, Grayson.

I step over the roof corner, fixing a position beside Hal and CJ by the porch. My body swims through the air and I collapse onto the dust of the Manchesters' driveway. I pull my face off the ground and scrub the dirt from my cheek.

Hal kneels beside me. "Smooth," he mocks with a grin. One of his hands hides beneath my arm and raises me. "Decided to chill out on the roof for a while and leave us behind, huh? Show off."

CJ leans against the railing of the front steps. He digs at his fingernails but stares at me as I brush the muck from my pants. "Well, I don't blame you. If I could go anywhere I wanted, I wouldn't want to come down either. Hal is just acting like a salty bitch."

"If anyone here is a salty bitch, CJ, it's you," Hal taunts.

CJ blows a kiss to him. "Thanks, I love you, too."

Should I tell them about what Grayson said to me? If I need anyone to share my knowledge, it should be an officer who holds the power to help me. Giving this information to Hal or CJ will only lead to them saying I need to tell a higher-up. The Captain is at the end of the driveway by now, heading for the Imperial Guard base for the night, and Celestine tagged along. Once I get to the headquarters tonight, I need to request a meeting. I think I can do that now that I'm a private, right?

This is my problem. To apportion this knowledge to my friends would be selfish of me; they don't deserve to share this cruel weight.

"This is going to sound like a weird question," I begin, "but do either of you guys know someone who knows how to use a sword?"

"A sword?" CJ snickers. "They haven't used swords in the Imperial Guard in forty years. Against a machine gun, a little sword would do nothing."

Hal sticks his hands on his hips, glaring at the dent I left in the earth. His eyebrows squeeze together, trying to match, but he loosens his face. He removes his eyes from the ground and meets mine. "Well, the Colonel does. Why?"

"I need to learn how to use one." I conceal my hands under my biceps. If the Colonel could teach me about sword-fighting, I would be a step ahead of what I need. I'm convinced that mastery of my Medo abilities would suffice for taking down this beast, though they are minimal, according to Roarke. Perhaps I could beg him to lend me more powers; if he wants me to kill the lizard, he should give me what I ask for to do it. I know, however, that I'll have better luck imploring MacTavish to aid me.

CJ clicks his tongue, defecting from the railing. "Slater, what could you possibly need a sword for? The Imperial Guard uses guns because our enemies use guns. It's way more effective than a sword. Longer range, you know?"

"Yeah," Hal chimes. "The Colonel doesn't use a sword for anything in the Imperial Guard." He and CJ ease toward me, sharp stares pinching the skin of my cheeks. "Why do you need it?"

Without a robbery of attention or twitch below my neck, I swing my gaze between them. "To save the Empire."