Date: Sun, 12 Jan 2003 15:44:08 -0000
From: Gymnopedies <gym@softhome.net>
Subject: Task Force - Prologue

The usual disclaimers apply: don't read if you are prohibited by location,
are under legal age, or if you are likely to be offended by explicit
descriptions of gay sex. The story is pure fiction and is not based on any
actual events.

Author's note: This story is a sequel to my earlier story "The Corps" and
features the same characters, including the same celebrities. Though I have
tried to write "Task Force" as a stand-alone story, but you might find it
easier going if you have read "The Corps" first. The main focus in "Task
Force" is the story - there will be a fair amount of sexual tension, but
actual hardcore sex takes a back seat, though it will appear from time to
time. The Prologue will begin to set the scene for the story and Chapter 1
will introduce a new character (a "celebrity" of sorts, who some of you may
just recognise - if you don't then don't ask!). The original Corps
characters will reappear in chapter 2. This story is a very big
undertaking, and any encouragement you give along the way will be very much
appreciated.

Gymnopedies   January 2003
gym@softhome.net


The Corps - Task Force: Prologue
--------------------------------

"Step closer to the light, boy, so that I can see you properly. My sight
isn't what it used to be." Merilla screwed up her eyes and tilted her head
forwards as if to demonstrate her alleged visual impairment. In truth there
was nothing wrong with the woman's vision. Eighty-seven years old, her skin
clung to her fleshless frame like wrinkled parchment, but she still had
eyes like a hawk and a mind as sharp as a winter frost.

The air was full of the smoky smell of burning wax and the flickering
candles caused shadows to perform a ghostly dance on the rough walls of the
the airless cavern. Merilla felt a tickling in her chest and a small cough
forced it's way out through her lips before she was able to suppress
it. She muttered a silent curse; pretend infirmities were one thing, they
put people off their guard and could sometimes be used to advantage, but
she hated to show even the smallest sign of any genuine weakness. The damp
atmosphere of the cave was hardly good for her age-weakened lungs, but it
was something that had to be borne. Many things had changed in the forty
years since she became High Priestess; the Sisterhood now used telephones,
computers, even the internet, but one thing would never change, their
rituals and cermonies would always be held in primitive caves below the
life giving earth; the old places held the power.

The boy stepped forwards as ordered and stood with his hands on his hips
glaring defiantly at the old woman. Merilla cast her eyes up and down this
seemingly unremarkable youth who was destined to change the future of the
world. He looked to be around 16 years of age, a little shorter than
average height and of medium build. There were a few bruises and smudges of
dirt on his face and his brown hair was an unruly mop; obviously he'd put
up some sort of struggle when he had been taken. His brown eyes were filled
with contempt. He glanced briefly at the two men who stood one to each
side, towering over him, before meeting Merilla's gaze, eye to eye. This
earned him some grudging respect from the woman; very few were able to meet
her penetrating stare without looking away.

"You are gonna be in so much trouble." The boy spoke softly but with a
confidence that belied his situation. "When my parents hear about this you
are gonna pay, big time!" Getting no apparent response, he continued. "I
really don't think you understand what you've gotten yourselves into. My
parents have power and influence. My father has friends in the Justice
Department. You won't ever see daylight again when he's finished with
you. In fact, my father..."

"Enough of your babbling, boy." Merilla's voice cracked like a whip. "I
don't even know who your father was and neither do you and I can assure you
that the people you erroneously believe to be your parents will be dealt
with as easily as swatting a fly should the need arise."

The youth looked shocked, but only for a moment. "You're out of your mind,"
he said, shaking his head, though his voice had lost some of the confidence
that it had held mere moments before.

Mirella smiled enigmatically. "No, boy, I am not out of my mind. I may be
old, but I have held onto my sanity. In my time I have seen things that
would freeze the blood in your veins, things that would leave you screaming
and gibbering in terror. Others who have seen these things have lost the
tenuous grip they held on that oh so delicate state we call sanity. But I
survived every test with my mind intact. I hope for your sake that you are
able to prove as strong as me."

The boy was looking steadily more uncertain as time went on. "What is it
you want with me?"

"What I want, what I intend, is to give you that which is yours by right of
birth. To awaken in you the powers handed down to you by your mother. Not
the man given powers she wielded at the end, but her true powers; powers of
nature, raw and untamed, the powers of the earth." As Mirella spoke her
voice rose in a steady crescendo. At the end she thrust an arm upwards and
the earth shook around them causing the candles to flicker even more.

"I don't understand any of this." The boy was now much more subdued. His
voice trembled a little and some of the colour had drained from his face.

"It's not necessary that you understand. For the moment all that is
required is your presence. Your role in what is to follow will become clear
at the appropriate time." Moving aside to reveal an intricate pattern drawn
in sand on the floor of the cave, Mirella turned her attention to the two
guards. "The time draws near. Prepare him for the ritual."

The old woman watched dispassionately as without ceremony the two men tore
off the boy's clothing. He put up a valiant fight, struggling, kicking and
screaming defiance but either one of the powerfully built men would have
been much more than match for him and against the two of them together he
had no chance at all. In little more than a minute every stitch of clothing
had been removed and he was standing in just his skin. Unshed tears of
anger and frustration glinted in his eyes and he used his hands as best he
could to cover himself from the woman's gaze. But only for a moment. Then,
with a sneer on his face, he drew himself up, standing straight even if not
tall, and let his hands fall to his sides. "Go on then," he snarled, "have
a good look. You dried up old bitch. Turn you on, does it, now that you
have me naked?"

With a great effort Mirella suppressed a smile. The boy had his mother's
spirit and arrogance even if he had not inherited any of her looks. In
spite of her amusement she managed to keep her voice cold. "Boy, it would
take much more than a pathetic specimen of manhood such as yourself to
'turn me on'. I could have had better than you even when I was a lowly
acolyte more than seventy-five years ago. You flatter youself if you think
you have been stripped merely for me to look at your puny underdeveloped
body." Again Mirella forced down a smile. Suddenly the boy didn't look half
so arrogant now that his precious ego had been bruised. "It is necessary
that you be naked when you are consecrated to the goddess."

A look of pure fear appeared in the youth's eyes. "Consecrated? What're you
going to do to me?"

"Step into the pattern." Mirella gestured with her hand to indicate where
the boy should stand.

"Tell me what you are going to do to me." The boy was on the verge of
panic.

"Step into the pattern," Mirella repeated, more forcefully this time.

With obvious reluctance, the boy moved slowly to obey, one trembling step
following another until he was standing in the very centre of the intricate
design.

Mirella gave a satisfied nod. Raising her arms wide above her head she
began to chant in a low, guttural voice. Her chanting echoed eerily around
the rough walls. More voices took up the chant, but to a different pitch
and rhythm, creating a disturbing counterpoint. Into the cavern filed five
women, dressed completely in black, even their faces were hidden behind
pitch black veils. They took up places at regular intervals around the
pattern. The chanting increased in intensity and the air itself seemed to
be throbbing in time with it's irregular beat. The boy, standing alone in
the centre of pattern was shaking with fear. Beads of perspiration had
appeared on his face and chest. He glanced around, wildly, his eyes
wide. Louder and louder the chanting became and the atmosphere in the
cavern became thick and oppressive as the temperature began to rise.

Suddenly, flames appeared out of the rock floor at the edges of the
pattern. Small at first, they rapidly became bigger. The boy began to
panic. He would have bolted but he was now completely surrounded by a
circle of fire. An agonising scream erupted from his lips as the searing
flames made contact with his skin. Still the chanting continued. The boy
had now been completely engulfed by the blazing inferno, yet, impossible
though it was that anyone could survive in such a conflagration, his
tortured screaming continued. The chanting had reached an almost deafening
level. Some of the women around the edge of the pattern began to sway
erratically as if with exhaustion, Mirella herself remained upright only by
sheer force of will. There was a tremendous roar and a blinding flash. The
solid stone around them shook and cracks appeared in the cavern walls.

Then, it was over.

The flames had vanished and a sudden intense silence descended. Two of the
women had collapsed, their bodies forming black mounds on the bare rock of
the cavern floor. Mirella took long, deep breaths, willing strength back
into her limbs. As never before she felt every one of her eighty-seven
years, pulling on her like lead weights hung around her neck. Silently she
preyed to the goddess for the strength to see her through the coming
weeks. At least the worst was over, for now.

The youth was on his knees surrounded by now randomly scattered
sand. Mirella, moving cautiously on her weakened legs, approached him and
lay a cool firm hand on his naked, trembling shoulder. "It is done, boy,"
she said, almost gently.

He looked up at her, his eyes wide with fear and pain. Quickly he passed
his hands over his arms and chest, clearly expecting to find charred, burnt
flesh. But his skin was as before, pale, smooth and unblemished.

Mirella gave him a dry, tight-lipped smile. "You have undergone the ordeal
of fire. You now belong to the goddess. Stand," she ordered.

On trembling legs, he rose to his feet.

Briefly she embraced him and then holding his head between her hands she
kissed him on the forehead. "Soon your powers will begin to appear. At
first they will be weak but over time they will grow stronger. When you
reach your full strength you will be ready to perform the task for which
you were conceived."

"I still don't understand what any of this is about." The boy's young face
was a picture of confusion.

"Things will be explained to you when you need to know them. While your
powers grow you will instructed in the ways and rituals of the goddess. As
soon as you are judged ready you will be sent back out into the world. Your
first task as a servant of the goddess will be to seek out and kill the one
who murdered your mother."

 

 

 

Karl sat alone at the round table. It was approaching the allotted time of
the meeting. Soon his fellow Sentinels would begin to gather, taking their
seats to discuss what was undeniably the most dire event in their entire
history; the death of one of their own.

The origin of the Sentinels was a matter of uncertain debate even amongst
their own Circle. Twelve in number, they possessed incredible powers and
were charged with using those powers for the protection of the Earth. One
of the side effects of those powers was an extended life span; Sentinels
could expect to live at least several times longer than ordinary
people. However, the powers did not stop the ageing process completely,
only slowed it, and there came a time when a Sentinel began to feel the
weight of years pressing down upon his shoulders and had to find a
successor on whom he could lay his burden. The successor would then take
his place in the Circle and the old, former Sentinel, now once more just an
ordinary human being, would quickly fade away as time at last caught up
with him.

At this moment, Karl could feel the years pressing down on him like never
before. Already he had given thought to his successor, he even believed for
a while that he had found a suitable candidate, but he had underestimated
the power of that strongest of human emotions, love. He felt no resentment
towards Dayle, he even believed the boy had made the right decision; some
things were more valuable than almost limitless power. But it did now mean
that Karl had little choice but to soldier on. Besides, in the light of
recent events, maybe it didn't really matter anymore anyway.

No. He dismissed that thought. Somewhere, somehow, there was a solution to
this problem, he just wished he wasn't the one who had to find it. Though
of course he had to bear some responsibility for creating the problem in
the first place.

Circe. He shook his head. For more years than he cared to remember they had
faced one another from opposite sides of this round, darkly polished,
wooden table. They had faced one another and despised one another with an
intensity that defied words. Circe had been the eldest amongst the Circle,
first amongst equals, old even by the standards of the Sentinels, yet at
the same time eternally young. Her fellow Sentinels had often marvelled at
how she never seemed to grow older, but she had always managed to hold onto
her secret. Until, that is, Karl had stumbled across the abhorrent
truth. Circe kept her youth by stealing the life energies of others;
certain young males, born with the rare gift of healing. She would leech
away their healing energies leaving their bodies just empty shells without
even the strength to support life. But she had met her match when she
tangled with a group of young men and boys possessing a range of mental
powers, who called themselves The Corps. A desperate, but compassionate act
by two Corps members unexpectedly resulted in a boy being given powers to
rival even a Sentinel. Karl had taken personal charge of the boy, Tristan,
giving him a crash course in how to use and control his powers. In the
meantime, Circe went after the boys who had previously saved Tristan's
life. In order to save his friends, Tristan went head to head in a
climactic battle with Circe which resulted in the boy losing his powers and
the Sentinel losing her life.

Never before, in the entire history of the Circle had a serving Sentinel
died. Circe had been unable to pass on her powers and so they had been
irretrievably lost. Where as before there had always been twelve Sentinels,
now there would only be eleven. Karl silently prayed that eleven would be
enough, though in his heart he already knew that his prayer would receive
no answer.

Voices heralded the arrival of other Sentinels. Cassandra Taylor entered,
deep in conversation with Natalie Merriman, though both fell instantly
silent on seeing Karl already there before them. Karl watched them take
their seats. They seemed a mismatched pair. Cassandra was one of the
younger Sentinels, tall and elegant, she was somewhere around her sixtieth
year, though of course she appeared much younger than that. Outside of her
Sentinel duties she held a cast-iron control over several multinational
companies, all done from behind the scenes. Natalie, on the other hand, was
much older. Short and little plump with an almost permanent smile, she
looked the typical kindly old grandmother. She was also living proof as to
just how deceptive appearances could be.

The two women were closely followed by Ksubi Ngomo, a tall, proud African,
his skin the colour of darkest ebony. The descendant of warrior chieftains,
he spoke little, preferring to sit back and observe, his intelligent mind
analysing and recording every tiny detail. When action was required he was
capable of an efficient ruthlessness that few of the other Sentinels could
match.

And so Karl watched them arrive, filing in alone or in pairs. Dafyd
Llwellyn, only half Karl's age yet already looking old. He liked to give
the impression of being absent minded though this was just a mask for an
finely tuned intellect. Andrew Kylemore and Haydon Masters, both American,
these two were often in each others company. A large proportion of the US
legislature was under their direct control. Andrea Constantine, a handsome,
strong featured woman. Her prominent nose and dark, almost black hair
streaked white at her temples gave her a strong willed, almost regal
appearance. Ranjan Bhattarai, a short, nervous looking Nepalese with a
quick wit. Lukas Kostecki, Polish, not yet thirty, he was the youngest of
the Sentinels by quite a wide margin, only joining the Circle to replace
old Marcus McBride a little over a year ago. There had been rumours that
Marcus and Lukas had been lovers, probably based on Lukas' extraordinary
good looks and almost feminine grace, but Karl dismissed these stories out
of hand; he had known Marcus for a long time and he was certain the randy
old goat only had eyes for the female of the species. Last to arrive was
Nicholai Chemerin, a tall, darkly handsome Russian. Always immaculately
dressed with his short, black beard, trimmed to perfection, Nicholai's
incredible mind, sharp political skills and sheer unpredictability made him
one of the most dangerous people in the room.

All the seats were filled bar one. Opposite Karl, Circe's empty chair
provided a stark reminder of the main purpose of this meeting. With a
start, the old man realised that with Circe gone he was now the eldest; he
was the new "first amongst equals". Willing his voice to be steady he spoke
the ritual phrase used to open every gathering.

"The Circle is complete."

There were subdued murmurs around the table. Cassandra Taylor sniffed
loudly and tapped her fingertips impatiently on the table top.

"An inappropriate statement considering the circumstances." Nicholai's
voice was soft, almost mocking. "Though I suppose the formalities must be
met."

"You take formalities much too lightly, Nicholai." Andrea Constantine
raised her head and fixed the Russian with her steely gaze. Nicholai
smirked, but quickly looked away, unable to meet Andrea's stare for long.

"Can we just get on with it?" said Cassandra, impatience clear in her
tone. "Distasteful though it is even to think about it, one of our Circle
has been murdered and we have to deal with that fact."

"From my understanding of the situation, she died in a duel," observed
Dafyd. "And a duel with a young boy at that."

"Whether it was a duel or murder, it really doesn't matter," Cassandra
replied. "It is a plain and simple fact that this boy is responsible for
the death of a Sentinel."

"I agree," said Natalie Merriman. "Such an act cannot be allowed to go
unpunished. The boy must die."

Several others spoke up, also agreeing. Andrew Kylemore even went so far as
to offer to carry out the execution.

Karl felt his temper begin to rise. They were only minutes into the meeting
and already things were going badly. Rising from his seat he crashed his
fist down hard onto the wooden table. "No! Can't you people think of
anything but killing? The boy was simply defending himself and his
friends. Circe brought her fate upon herself. Some of the vile practices in
which she was involved..."

"Circe's 'practices' were her own affair and no one else's," Cassandra
broke in, interrupting Karl in mid sentence. "She kept within her vows as a
Sentinel, and that is all that matters. Though it appears to me that you,
Karl, have not kept within yours."

Karl fell silent and once more took his seat. He had indeed skirted very
close to the edge by helping Tristan prepare for his encounter with
Circe. Karl also knew that this was too good an opportunity for his
opponents on the Circle to pass up. He was in for a bumpy ride, though he
hoped not a fatal one.

Cassandra stood, her face like stone as she spoke. "Karl Renner, I accuse
you formally, before the Circle, of breaking the first of our vows, namely
that no Sentinel shall at any time use his abilities in the opposition of
another Sentinel."

"At no time did I use my powers directly against Circe," Karl replied,
shaking his head.

"A pretty subtle distinction," said Natalie. "You cannot deny that you were
instrumental in her death. I propose to the Circle that you be forced to
resign as a Sentinel and pass on your powers to a successor of our choice."

Before Karl had chance to say more Nicholai broke in, ostentatiously
coughing into his hand to gain everyone's attention. "Before this silliness
gets out of hand allow me to point out that such a punishment would require
the unanimous approval of the rest of the Circle. And I for one would not
support it. So ladies, I think that we can consider this particular topic
closed. Please sit down Cassandra, let's at least try to remain civil."

For a moment Karl was left speechless. While he had hoped for and even
expected some support from fellow Circle members, the direction from which
this support had come left him taken completely by surprise.

It appeared though that Nicholai had not quite finished. "Now that that
little matter is out of the way, perhaps we can backtrack slightly. We
reached no decision concerning the fate of boy responsible for Circe's
unfortunate demise. I agree with Natalie that his actions should not go
unpunished and so I propose that the boy be found and executed without
further ado."

Karl groaned. The Russian had first saved him and then stabbed him in the
back both in the space of a few moments. What game was Nicholai playing?
Tristan's life now hung in the balance, a simple majority vote would be
enough to seal his fate and there was nothing Karl could do about it.

The vote went around the table, each Sentinel giving a simple yes of
no. Andrew Kylemore, yes. Cassandra Taylor, yes. Natalie Portman,
yes. Ksubi Ngomo, no. Karl Renner, no. Lukas Kostecki, no. Haydon Masters,
yes. Dafyd Llewellyn, no. Ranjan Bhattarai, no. With Nicholai's yes vote
the Circle was tied, everything rested on the decision of Andrea
Constantine.

Karl held his breath as he tried to read the Greek woman's expression. He
might as well have been trying to read a lump of stone; Andrea rarely
showed any emotion. Her stern manner and the forceful, direct way that she
spoke had earned her the cautious respect of most of her fellow Sentinels.

Andrea looked straight ahead, her eyes blank. "The world is in more danger
now than at any time in more than two thousand years, yet we sit here
bickering over the fate of a single young boy. The world is full of
fools. I vote no. Let that be an end to the matter."

There was a few moments stunned silence at Andrea's words. Some possibly
considering her statement that the world was in danger while others no
doubt wondering exactly who she had referred to as "fools". Karl understood
only too well what she meant by the former and thought he had a pretty good
idea about the latter.

Nicholai, though appeared as unflappable as ever. The fact that the vote
had gone against him did not appear to matter to him at all. "The world is
in no more danger now than it ever was," he said, calmly.

"You are wrong, Nicholai," Karl said, sadly. "The Circle is broken. We are
no longer able to fulfil the primary function for which our fellowship was
created."

Nicholai gave a condescending smile. "Primary function. Bah! Do you mean
you actually believe all that gibberish about 'keeping back the darkness'?
The 'goddess' is nothing more than a myth; a story to frighten
children. Our sole function is to make sure the people of this world do not
destroy themselves. Eleven of us are just as capable of doing that as were
twelve. Circe was hardly rational, anyway. I cannot ever remember her
making any useful contribution to the Circle. It is no great loss that she
is gone."

A snort of anger came from Cassandra. "It would have been less of a loss it
it had been you instead of Circe, Russian."

"Madam, my apologies that my presence offends you so," Nicholai replied,
mockingly.

Karl tried to ignore the sniping. "The Circle is broken," he repeated. "I
don't think any of us fully understand the consequences of that. I suggest
that every one of us turns his attention to finding a solution to this
problem."

"What possible solution could there be?" asked Ranjan. Circe is dead, her
powers are lost. Do you know a way to get them back?"

"No, I don't." Karl shook his head. "But I do know a little of the history
of the Circle. The Sentinels were created by the Founder. If he could be
found then perhaps..."

Karl was interrupted by a loud laugh from Haydon Masters. "This really is
too much," chuckled the American. "First you worry about battling a
mythical goddess, now you want us to waste our time chasing another
myth. Personally I don't believe the Founder ever existed. But even if he
did, he would have been dead for two thousand years or more."

"Oh, I think we can say that he existed," Dafyd broke in. "I have done a
little research on this subject and many of the stories about him cannot be
easily discounted. Though I agree of course that he would have died many
centuries ago."

"You could be right," admitted Karl. "But if there is even a small chance
then we must take it."

"I don't have time to waste chasing legends." Cassandra rose from her seat
and stepped away from the table. "If any of you have any sensible
propositions then you can call another gathering. Until such time, I have
work to do." A moment later she was gone.

"On this it seems both myself and the beautiful Cassandra are in
agreement," said Nicholai, getting to his feet. "It has been quite an
interesting session even if nothing was actually resolved. Until next
time." He too vanished.

One by one they took their leave. Soon only three remained.

Both Karl and Andrea stared intently at Lukas. The youngest Sentinel
squirmed under their gaze but refused to be cowed, meeting the eyes of
first one and then the other. "I would like to hear more about your plan to
seek out the founder," he said.

Karl frowned but Andrea nodded. "He can be trusted," she said, speaking to
the older man.

Allowing his smile to be replaced by a wry grin, Karl turned to look at the
woman. "Yes, I think he probably can be trusted," he said. "But just how
far can I trust you, Andrea, my old friend."

For the first time since she had entered the room a trace of emotion
crossed the woman's face; just the hint of a smile. "As much as you ever
could, Karl. As ever, I work to my own agenda and do what I think is
right. As long as our aims are the same then you can trust me. As soon as
they differ, well, then we go our separate ways."

"I shan't ask for more than that," said Karl.

"You won't get more than that," Andrea replied. This time the smile was
much warmer and there was a definite twinkle in her eye, though it vanished
as quickly as it had appeared. "They are wrong you know, our fellow
Sentinels. The goddess is no myth. Now that the Circle is broken the door
left is unguarded. There is nothing to prevent her entering this world."

For the second time that day Karl pounded his fist on the table. "I've been
a fool. I should never have gone against Circe, however indirectly, however
justified I felt at the time."

Andrea placed a hand over Karl's fist. "It would have made little
difference. In fact I believe that we would be in a much worse state had
Circe still been alive. The Sisterhood are stirred up like never
before. Circe was about to go back to serving her old mistress."

"You're not serious?"

"I am deadly serious." The expression on Andrea's face was evidence enough
as to just how true this statement was. "Circe was about to retake her
place as head of the Sisterhood. Though in truth I don't think she ever
really left them in the first place."

"You mean Circe used to be a servant of the goddess?" There was a horrified
tone in Lukas' voice.

"She was," confirmed Karl. "That was before she became one of the original
twelve."

"One of the original twelve? That can't be," said Lukas. "That would mean
she was over two thousand years old."

"I suspect she was muchn older than that," Karl said. "According to the
stories, she was a high priestess of the goddess but she turned against her
mistress to join the Founder when the Circle was first created."

"Circe always remained a part of the Sisterhood," said Andrea,
grimly. "Once you serve the goddess there is no turning away. The
Sisterhood jealously guard their own. Had Circe indeed turned against them
her life would have been ended long ago; however great her powers as a
Sentinel, they would have found a way." She gave Karl a long, considering
look. "You had better hope that your search for the Founder bears fruit,
and quickly. As I said before, the door is unlocked and I think the
Sisterhood has some plan in mind to open it. Without a full Circle of
twelve there is little we can do. If the door opens then we have failed in
our vow to hold back the night. This world will belong to Hecate."

 

  

 

Something prodded at the edge of his conciousness. He ignored it. His mind
had long since learned to ignore all external stimuli. What was the point
of sensations when you couldn't react to them. He slumbered on, cocooned in
warm, dark, dreamless oblivion. Again, the intrusion. This time it was more
insistant, sharper. It briefly penetrated the barriers and for the first
time in a long while the man actually felt something; pain. A small part of
his mind awoke in response to analyse what was happening. The pain was now
constant, jabbing, destroying the protective walls he had built up and as
the barriers came down memory began to return. He remembered there had been
a time once before when he had been able to experience pain. Yes pain and
smells and sounds. Fleeting images appeared and then disappeared again,
none of them making sense. Had he ever been able to see? Yes, he was sure
he had, once. Gradually the memories came together. He remembered feeling
trapped inside his head, all his senses working, sight, sound, touch,
smell, taste, but being unable to move or communicate in any way, not even
able to blink his eyes. No wonder his mind had closed down to protect
itself from madness. He could remember feeling frustrated and angry; more
than angry, he had felt an all consuming rage. Why had he been so angry? A
brief image appeared, disappeared, came back more substantial. A youth,
handsome, pale face, long dark hair, slim, dressed in dark clothing, and
with the image the full force of his anger returned. This youth, this mere
boy, had done something to the man, was somehow responsible for his
condition. The boy's name eluded him, but he knew he would recall it
eventually. Seeing the image of the youth had triggered other memories of a
time when he had been able to move, a time when he had had full control
over his now useless body. A flash like a streak of lightening seared
across his mind and he remembered the boy's name. Dayle. And everything
came flooding back.

The man's name was McCray, Walter McCray, and he had been the head of the
FBI's special psychic investigations unit. Had been, until a certain
vengeful teenager had decided to put an end to it. Dayle had been a member
of the Corps. A group of super-powered boys playing at being men and
interfering in things that they should leave well alone. McCray had
arranged for Dayle, a powerful telepath, to be "loaned" to the FBI to help
in their investigations. McCray's real intention was that Dayle would help
in other much more secret investigations. McCray arranged for the boy to
"disappear" by faking his death and then, with the help of a scientist,
Dr. Sylvia Weston, he had attempted to find the source of Dayle's
abilities, putting the boy through unimaginable agonies in the
process. Even though her experiments had not been entirely successful,
Dr. Weston did manage to make some progress and was able to give McCray the
power to build a mental wall in his head which would effectively repel any
sort of telepathic incursion. After three months of torture, and close to
death, Dayle had mysteriously disappeared without trace. Nine months later,
out of the blue, he had returned, apparently far more powerful than he had
been before, and intent on revenge. McCray's comparatively flimsy mental
abilities hadn't stood a chance. Dayle had ruthlessly and vicously taken
McCray's pychic barrier and effectively turned it inside out making the man
to a prisoner in his own head.

The pain had now receded to a dull ache. McCray opened his eyes. For a
moment he didn't realise just what that meant. Then it hit him. He had
opened his eyes! He could move his eyelids! Tentatively he tried to move
the fingers of his right hand and slowly, stiffly, they responded. He could
move again! His feeling of joy was impossible to describe, just for a
second he even felt like he might cry. Taking control of his emotions he
raised his head a little and looked around.

The room slowly came into focus. It was stark and clinical, a hospital
room. No comforts, just bare necessities. Standing perfectly still,
watching carefully with an amused expression was a man.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, my friend." The man's voice was
soft and cultured, he spoke with a strong Russian accent.

"Who...?" McCray's voice was little more than a croak, just that one word
had been a struggle.

The man gave a cold smile. "You may call me Nicolai. Do not worry, your
voice will return with time as will everything else. I have unlocked the
door to your mental prison because I want you to come work for me, for a
while at least. You have talents that I can make use of. If you cooperate
fully and help me, then in return I may aid you in getting the revenge
which I know you crave. Of course, should you choose not to help me it
would be an easy task for me to return you to the state you were in moments
ago. Do we undertstand each other, Walter McCray."

Slowly, McCray nodded his head. He'd felt a thrill of pleasure at the
mention of revenge, but he could not dispel the sense of foreboding brought
on by this sinister Russian. He couldn't help but wonder whether his life
had suddenly taken a turn for the worse.


End of prologue.

Next: Chapter 1 - Tadeusz


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