September 9th, 2030, 10:21 pm

Hal twists the keys in the ignition and his car dies with the hail of rain pounding against the roof over our heads. The excess of water washes down the windshield as he clicks his seatbelt loose. A blurred light fades into the waterfall before us.

"Well, this is it, man," presents Hal. He leans back in the driver's seat and rests his head in his hand, his arm bent on the window sill. "I can wait here, just to make sure he lets you in. If he doesn't, we'll head back to HQ. Or get milkshakes at Bentley's or something, I don't know."

I pat his shoulder and pull on the metal door handle. The scream of the rain heightens with the crack I have made to the outside world. "Thanks, man, I appreciate it."

I step out of Hal's car and am doused with the downpour. It soaks into my scalp and collapses my hair over my face. My t-shirt sticks to my chest, so much so that the imprint of my dog tags can be seen and the outline of the eagle gleams blue through the cotton. The small patch of grass between the curb and the sidewalk is flooded, and my misstep informs me with a pool of water streaming into my beat-up sneakers.

"Bro, that fucking blows," Hal chuckles from his car. I shake my head with a small grin and slam the door.

My sneakers squish on the swamped concrete as I approach the stone steps leading up to the front door. I press the doorbell underneath the flickering wall lamp, right at the moment a ripple of thunder lashes out from the sky. Considering the weather may have masked the bell, I initiate the instrument again.

As the rainstorm drenches every inch of my body, I realize that I could be sacrificing my time and well-being for nothing. This might not even work. The Colonel is most likely going to say no, according to Hal, and all I'll have is a rain-soaked shirt and disappointment.

There is a click on the door before it opens inward. Amy MacTavish stands in her house, unmoving, and glares at me from the dark foyer. The outside lights illuminate the boldness of her face, but only to an extent.

"Hey, don't you know what time it is? You're ringing my doorbell at ten pm on a school night; the kids are trying to sleep, and now they're awake. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get them to sleep these days? Lily sleepwalks every other night and Danny has insomnia with this whole Medo business," she sighs, taking her eyes away from me. "Why are you here, Slater?"

I peel my shirt off of my chest and course some air against my skin. "I need to talk to the Colonel, it's very important."

"Well, if it's an Imperial Guard matter, it would be wiser to meet him during the day at HQ, instead of his house in the middle of the night. Besides, aren't you supposed to be staying there overnight? Do your superiors know you left?"

Why so many damn questions? You need to be more upfront, Slater.

"Uh, no. Kind of. I told Sergeant Rory that I needed to come out here, and she said that was fine, but I don't know if that's exactly allowed."

Up. Front.

"Anyway," I proceed, "I'm here because I need help. The Colonel needs to teach me how to fight with a sword so that I can kill this beast that's coming to the city on Friday."

"Beast? What do you mean, beast?"

I catch myself mid-breath. I blink more than I should. "Uh, well, I don't really know where to begin-"

"Is that Slater?" A voice from inside the house mellows out to me. Through the darkness beyond Amy, no figure can be discerned. "What is he doing here?"

Amy swivels into her house, locking on to the sound of staircase descent. "He wants to talk to you. He says it's important." She gestures to me, stepping away from the door. "He mentioned something about a beast. Do you know anything about that?"

The door opens more to fit both Amy and her husband, who enters the scene in plaid pajama pants. He scans me with weary eyes before turning to Amy beside him.

"I'll tell you about it in a little bit, okay? Give me a minute to talk to him." Colonel MacTavish caresses Amy's hand as she disappears into the dark abode. When he releases her, he returns to me. "You have to watch what you say," he whispers with a hint of irritation. "This issue of yours is under our control, we can't have people freaking out when they don't have to."

I spit the rain that has collected on my lips. "You better tell her."

"What?"

"Don't say you'll tell her about it and then not. You shouldn't leave those you love in the dark about something important like this."

He bites the inside of his lip. "Okay, I will. So, why are you here?"

I streak a hand through my hair, pulling apart the sticking strands. "I've been told that I should use a sword to kill the beast. We had our firearms training today and I got cold feet, so I figured it was finally time to ask. Hal said you know how to use one, so I asked him to bring me out here." I toss my thumb over my shoulder to Hal's car that sits alone under the streetlights.

MacTavish glances past me before acknowledging my statement. "So, you're asking me to teach you how to swordfight, I'm guessing."

"Yes, I am, sir."

The Colonel rubs his jaw, the stubble itching against the skin of his hand. "Look, kid, I don't think I can help you. A sword isn't going to do you any good, especially if we don't know what we're up against. A gun is your best bet, and you ought to learn how to use one eventually."

I shake my head. "I refuse to touch a gun. I just," I pause, taking in a deep breath, "I can't do it. I'm sorry, I have to learn how to use a sword."

"Slater, there's nothing I can do for you. I'm sort of obligated to tell you to stick to your firearms training, and that's it. Besides, even if I decided to teach you, it wouldn't do you any good. I'm not that great of a teacher when it comes to things like that. I could teach you how to fight, I mean, I can't imagine Brian being any good in that department."

"But you're the best swordfighter in the Empire, probably the whole world," I proclaim. "You have to be able to teach me something, even if it's just the basics."

"Well, the only reason why I'm the so-called "best swordfighter in the world" is that no one else practices the sword. It's a dying art, Slater, it's no wonder you don't see it anymore."

"So if it's dying, how come you learned? I bet your mentor was saying the same damn thing."

"I taught myself," he says, stern. "And if you're so inclined to learn, you should, too." He begins to close the door and vanish into the endless foyer behind him. "Goodnight, Slater."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I snap, stepping forward.

He stops with a sliver of the doorway still open to him. "Excuse me?"

"Look, I didn't come down here to blow smoke up your ass, okay? I mean, shit, I'm not standing out here in this torrential downpour just for you to say "meh, I'm not interested" like a total bastard. I wouldn't be here if this wasn't so urgent." My heart pounds against my chest with so much force it might be seen through my shirt. My eyes are too fixated on the Colonel to check for myself. "The Medo says I need to learn how to use a sword to take down the beast. They told me guns are ineffective. So, I would appreciate it if you would at least give me a fucking chance."

MacTavish stares at me with his mouth slightly agape. The plain blue eyes intermingle with a golden hue, creating a basking sunrise upon him. His chest rises and sinks with the cadence of the rain. Save for the onslaught of water from above and the low rumble of thunder, the world falls silent.

Slater. Your mark.

My hand is tightened into a ball at my side. Under my elbow, the M glows a dying yellow, contrasting with the night and competing with the dim wall lights. Air tumbles within me, restless in my lungs. A warmth collects in the inner crevice of my eyes though not from the rain.

I untuck my fingers and exhale. "I'm sorry, Colonel."

He eases the door into its frame. Looking me up and down, he mouths, "goodnight." The door clicks into place, and I'm caught staring at a slab of wood; a slab of wood that stands between me and the fate of the Empire.

Well, you tried. Maybe you should go back to HQ.

"Yo," shouts Hal from the street. "Did he say no?"

All this time, I thought the Colonel wanted what was best for me. He went through the trouble of saving my life, so I fail to understand why teaching me about sword fighting is so difficult. He doesn't think I'm lying about this, does he? He never was one of those Imperial Guard assholes who doubted my truth. He almost always put stock into what I said. Why the hell would this be any different?

"Come on dude, let's head out. I told you he'd say no."

There is no logical reason he would decline to my request. Craig said it himself earlier; the Colonel's duty as a high officer in the Imperial Guard overrides any personal issues he has. MacTavish has been Guardian of the Heir, killed a tyrant General, and stood up to the other Colonels in preserving my life, yet he refuses to help me learn how to possess and use a blade because he thinks our efforts will mean nothing.

I cannot think of one reason he would go against his resolve.

My fingers dig into my palm and I punch the door with the side of my hand. "Fine, asshole! But I'm not leaving until you let me the fuck in! I'm going to stand right here and wait for you to open this door, even if it takes all night!"

I retract from the door and fold my arms over my shivering chest. The light emitting from the tip of my mark shines through the deluge. The pool in my sneakers rests stagnant as I make my mark on the front stoop. I cannot move. He will have to give in eventually.

"Slater," Hal calls, "I honestly don't know why we're still here. He said no, dude. Let's go to Bentley's and get something to eat, I'm starving."

I curl around to him with my teeth now chattering against one another. The summer air is no match for the rain that soaks me to the bone. "You can go if you want to, man. I'm not leaving."

"Dude, he's not going to cave. And Jesus, look at yourself. You'll give yourself pneumonia if you keep this up. Let's go."

"I need this, Hal," I demand, my voice faltering. "I'll do whatever it takes."

Hal shoves his keys in the ignition and cranks his beat-up, maroon sedan into a dense roar. He peers at me out the passenger side window. "Are you sure I can go? I can't just leave you here."

I wave to him. "No, go ahead. I'll be fine."

He leans back into the driver's seat. He throws a hand up at me and steps on the gas. His car screeches from the curb and becomes a blur amongst the storm. I am alone in the big city once again.

Do you really know what you're doing?

I shudder as the rain continues to cascade to the earth. "No."

If the Colonel is anything like the Captain, it would be wise to abort this mission.

"What the hell does that mean?"

Stubborn. Unrelenting. He's not going to give in to you. He has strong willpower if I could say anything positive about him. He really will keep you out here all night. Or, you know, he could be doing it to test you. Who knows?

"He'll have to let me in eventually. He has to." My words tremble as I try to believe them.

One, two, three.

I have met MacTavish before this and he was never as much of a coward. All of his life accomplishments and feats and yet he refuses to help me with an Imperial Guard endeavor. I know the Captain has legitimate reasons as to why he keeps to himself, but the Colonel doesn't. At least, I don't think so.

Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three.

I thought using the OLC was supposed to give me credible status in the Imperial Guard, now the one person who has always believed in me has turned his back on me. Where the hell else am I going to learn how to sword fight but from the best fencer in the world?

"Do I really have to use a sword for this beast?" I indulge with Grayson, a spectator to my pondering. "How is lizard skin supposed to stop bullets, anyway?"

As a creature from another dimension, we shouldn't ask why they're different from the rest. That's... just how they are. And yes; apparently it has something to do with Roarke's visions. He doesn't know I told you about that, so just pretend it was a hunch, okay?

Sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight.

Maybe they're all right: I should go home. Of course, I sent Hal away and I don't have a phone to call him on. The Bluefield bus station is only a couple blocks east. I am the proud owner of two quarters I found in the Imperial Guard parking lot, and bus tickets run a dollar a ride. It's about a thirty-minute walk to the headquarters, which is thirty minutes longer that I have to be out in this downpour.

In the same instance that a crack of lightning paints the black sky, I consider trekking home to Mom. But as the thunder bellows, the thought shrinks out of existence. As if she would be any more accepting.

One hundred six, one hundred seven.

"Grayson, do you know something I don't? Why doesn't he want to help me?"

I think you already have your answer. He doesn't have any secrets to withhold, and even if he did, I think someone would have told you them by now.

"Hal?"

Him, or the Captain, though less likely.

"So he doesn't think he can help me?"

It might be he doesn't want you to get involved in something he thinks won't help you. Maybe he's been told for the longest time that being able to swordfight is useless, and now he's starting to believe it himself. Nicolette, you met her, right?

"Yeah, she tagged along with Roarke last night when he bitched me out. What about her?"

Well, she sat in on the Imperial Guard tactics meeting this morning. She told me that their outlook on the whole situation is grim at best. With that, I think MacTavish knows the chances of success are slim, so teaching you to swordfight will be a big waste of time. He just doesn't want to tell you that because this is your issue and he doesn't want to kill your spirits. Boom! How's that for deductive reasoning?

"You should be a fucking detective, Grayson," I suggest with a slow roll of my eyes.

I mean technically I already am, if you think about it.

One seventy-five, one seventy-six, one seventy-seven, one seventy-eight, one seventy-nine, one-eighty. One eigh-

The door breaks from its frame and swings slowly into the house. Colonel MacTavish stands before the dark abyss of his house, blank-faced. He presses his lips together with a sigh, holding his weak gaze upon me.

I reciprocate the stare, the rain washing down my forehead and creating a curtain over my vision. I keep my breath steady and watch his brain do somersaults.

He nods once, not making eye contact with me. "So, you really want to learn, huh?"

I exhale but remain tense. "Yes, sir."

"What makes you think this is a good idea? Using a sword will do you no good against an interdimensional beast. I just don't want this to be a complete-"

"-a complete waste of time, I know."

His jaw tightens and he looks at his bare feet. "Yeah. I just don't want you to be here if you don't have to be."

"Colonel, I'm here because the Medo told me to. I think that if I can use my new powers to get close enough to the beast, I can be more effective than if I use a gun."

For the first time since meeting me again, his eyes meet mine. "New powers?"

"I can teleport and turn invisible," I inform with a shrug. "I don't know, I might be able to get more. But I'm thinking that if I can fight this beast with Medo powers, it can deal more damage than mortal, human weapons."

MacTavish sends two fingers over his eyebrows, stretching his skin and dragging down his temples. "Jesus." He eases his arm and rests his hand on the outer door handle. "So, you're sure that me teaching you how to use a sword is going to have a positive impact on the outcome of this battle? Because to me, it sounds like you might accidentally get yourself killed."

My teeth burrow into each other. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

He allows a laugh to escape, shaking his head. "You know, if Brian finds out I let you go out on a suicide mission, he'll kill me himself."

"I'll be sure to tell him it was my idea."

MacTavish inspects the puddles that speckle his front stoop. I stand in a pool with my beat-up sneakers that invite water to seep into the soles and soak my socks. I raise one of my feet to see the rainwater leak from my shoe. The cerulean glare from my dog tags blazes through my shirt. The hurricane does not let up on the onslaught against my body.

The Colonel steps off to the side and releases the door. He gestures into the void behind his dreary figure. A soft, tired smile surfaces from him.