Good Morning

by lucifer ravana

Another reincarnation fic. Focusing on Combeferre, his coming to terms with both lives, and handling matters in a world that's growing more unstable by the minute. Also a bouncy Courfeyrac.

College books - $250.

Education for five classes - $8,500

Dorm room - $4,500

"I hope you appreciate this."

Getting away from his parents - Priceless.

Combeferre's multiple scholarships could only pay his way so much. His parents weren't too inclined on sending him to a university so far away from his home state, but his guidance counselor managed to talk them into letting him attend. The only downside was in not being able to stay longer than the requisite amount of years. Combeferre wanted to push for longer in order to take more courses, but his parents weren't having it.

It wasn't as though they didn't support his education, only that their minds were busy on other matters. Combeferre was a forethought, and he couldn't rightly blame him. He was the seventh foster child the couple had taken in, and Combeferre remained with them throughout due to holes in the system and a lack of willing parents to adopt one of the older years.

He tried not to take offense and threw himself into his studies as a way of punishing those who didn't want him. He would become rich and successful, and vowed that he would make it known that had he parents, he would grant them luxuries. As it were, his foster parents made this a little difficult for him.

So he spent the majority of his time going from class to class during the day and settling back with his homework assignments at night, having nothing resembling a social life.

The closest thing he had to one was online. He tended to chat nightly with a friend whose face he had never seen and only knew him by his moniker of 'Uninvited Guest.' The relationship was mutual on both ends as Combeferre never gave out personal details of where he lived or his actual name.

He thought this was the best he could do with human contact for now. Once he was well on his way education-wise, he'd be able to make contacts and focus on the more personable aspects of his life.

Soaring through his coursework, achieving top grades in everything, Combeferre only had one small problem in his life.

He was being stalked.

This particular stalker didn't fit the stereotype in Combeferre's head. For one, he didn't lurk in any bushes. He did not dress in black. In fact, he walked a few feet behind Combeferre, oftentimes whistling a jaunty tune, and he dressed in well-designed clothes. He wore faded design jeans on some days, sported a leather jacket on other days, his clothes were never wrinkles, and no matter what day it was, he dressed to impress. He left his shirt unbuttoned a bit, or he rolled up his sleeves, carefully creasing them, to expose more skin. Or he went the opposite route and dressed formally from time to time.

His stalker received far more attention than Combeferre. This seemed to be an odd change of events.

And Combeferre was certain that he was being stalked. The student told him so.

"I'm stalking you," he said with a roguish wink. Combeferre, who had no idea what to say to that, tried to ignore the other boy. This was exceptionally difficult since it was a chilly day and he had hopped on one of the buses that went around the campus to get to his class.

The other student got on the bus with him and sat in the seat in front of him. He made himself comfortable by staring at Combeferre over the edge. "Aren't you the slightest bit interested why?"

Combeferre gave the boy his deepest scowl and left the bus at the next stop despite it not being his own.

He wasn't interested in the reasoning behind the other student's actions. He could easily assume that the other boy wanted to get a rise out of him, or just tease him. It was typical, really. He had put up with such matters back in high school when he was bullied for wearing glasses, for enjoying the thick tomes he carried around with him, or for knowing the answer to just about every question asked of him.

Knowledge was power, he had repeated to himself in order to get through the day. The more knowledge he had, the more powerful he would become. But memorizing dates didn't help him when he was being slammed against lockers, and knowing intimate details of certain battles didn't help him when he was being tripped in the lunch room. Certainly his ability to memorize another language didn't stave off the loneliness he felt when he returned home from school. About the only thing that did that was his computer.

And when 'Uninvited Guest' asked him about his day, Combeferre was able to get out each and every grueling detail. It helped being able to speak to someone, but the next day he would have to get up and go through it all again. He remembered counting down the days until the end of the month. And then started it all again as he waited for summer to arrive, and later on, graduation.

When he entered college, he thought his life would change, and in a few ways it had. The bullying had ceased as the students had their own life crises to concern themselves with, and Combeferre's schedule was packed with studying. He would take more courses just to fill in the few gaps of time he had, but his parents' budgets were already strained.

So to have this other kid start stalking him now brought with it a deluge of memories that he wanted to push away from his mind.

He thought that this was the cause of his sleeping troubles. Every night, he dreamed of escalating violence. History come to life for him. But it was never good history. He was never there during Martin Luthor's I Had a Dream speech. He never saw the victories Britain had over the Nazis. He never saw any of Gandhi's speeches. All he saw were battles. Bloody battles in far too many countries he could name. He heard shouts and screams. He saw civil and violent unrest. He saw bombs made of rubble on the ground. He saw old time muskets.

And when he woke up, he still smelled gunpowder.

The History Channel had long since lost its appeal to him and in the early morning hours when he couldn't go back to sleep, he lay in bed and didn't know why he was feeling more at peace with such images still running through his mind. Like the bad memories of high school, they felt familiar, and he thought he was recalling the only good moments of his education. History class had always held a fascination to him.

The student plagued his days, not allowing him to walk alone, and yet not speaking to him ever since that time on the bus. Combeferre was starting to memorize his whistles, and even worse, he was starting to dread going outside his dorm building. The student sometimes moved onto the sidewalk in full view of Combeferre's dorm. He gave Combeferre a wave before Combeferre closed his curtain.

Combeferre tried calling the police once before, but the campus police were rather lazy in their job and the student had entertained them with a flippant delight. When Combeferre checked outside to see if the cops had moved Combeferre away, he saw the three of them laughing on the sidewalk.

He hadn't bothered notifying the police after that.

So he did the only thing he could do and told his online friend about the issue.

'You should talk to him in the daylight,' he was advised. 'Bring a knife just in case.'

Combeferre was doubtful. He didn't own a knife, much less knew how to use one. So during breakfast at one of the mess halls near his dorm, he slipped out a small plastic knife, knowing full well that it wouldn't do much damage, but at least the threat was there.

So armed, it didn't take him long to find his stalker, who was sporting a university jersey and tight denim jeans. His light brown curly hair blew in the wind, resulting in an affectionate ruffle that only succeeded in making the student appear more charming.

"Well, good morning to you," the student greeted him cheerfully. This was as close as Combeferre had come to him.

"I-I have a…"

"Speak up there, Combeferre. If we're going to talk, I need to hear what you want to say."

Annoyed by this flippancy, Combeferre's anger boosted his self-confidence. "I have a knife in my pocket. If you try anything-"

"A knife? You know weapons aren't allowed in, oh wait, wait. I get it. I bet you just pilfered one of those plastic things in the mess hall that has trouble cutting butter, right? That's cute, really, but I don't think it'll work for-" The student trailed off as he looked at Combeferre's expression. "Oh, I get the feeling I've really stepped in it this time."

Combeferre had pulled away from the other student, a little afraid now that his plan had gone so awry. "What the hell do you want from me?" He asked, more out of desperation than exasperation. "All I want to do is just attend classes and graduate! Why do you need to make this so difficult for me?"

"Whoa there," the student held up his hands in a defensive position. "I'm not the one making things difficult. I don't really know who it is making things difficult. Neither do you. Last go-around we had, you were trying to figure things out between all of us."

Last go-around? Combeferre looked utterly confused and he wasn't trying to hide how he felt. "Who the hell are you?"

At this, the student's bravado fell completely. He almost looked hurt. "You don't remember that? I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. I didn't remember anything at all until I came to this place. And then I saw you and went, 'Hey, what a coincidence! That must be why I remember!' And so I followed you, but you barely said two words to me at all. I figured you were still a little mad about last time, but you need to believe me when I say that I didn't know there was a bomb."

"What bomb? What are you going on about?" Feeling like he was quickly losing control over the situation, Combeferre glanced about for an exit.

"In our last go-around. That whole bomb thing on the subway. Oh, nevermind that. You wouldn't have a clue what I was talking about if you don't even remember my name. Gods, I must have come off as another Marius of sorts to you!"

"Marius?"

"A- well, you'll remember him soon. Now let me think." The student tapped his foot, impatient with his own slow thoughts, until he took up a dramatic 'ah ha!' pose. He extended his hand. "We should shake. Introductions and all that. Maybe contact will help."

Combeferre eyed the student's hand warily.

"It won't bite," the student grinned. "And I'll even let you stab me with your plastic knife. It's so sharp that the only thing it can't cut is paper."

"Ha ha." Not trusting the other boy, but glad that it was not only daylight and people were around, Combeferre slowly put out his own hand and shook. A barrage of images suddenly flowed into his mind, as though he was having a waking dream. Only everything was far more real.

Ten seconds passed that he made contact with the student.

Within those ten seconds, lifetimes passed him by. History ran backwards up the stream of his mind and he saw each of his lives trickling down into place. Sometimes he was a soldier. Sometimes he was an educator. Sometimes an activist. All times the ground moved beneath his feet and he pushed the tide of human progress where he wanted to go, but it was so much more than that.

He felt as though he was seeing a bird's eye view of progress and humanity. He saw history the way someone would look back upon the dates, all in meticulous detail, and saw himself and the effects he had on the people surrounding him. He saw mountains being moved, saw the design of fate or chance or even destiny had in store for him. He saw his actions influencing other people's actions days, months, years, sometimes even decades down the road.

He felt both very significant and very small at the same time.

Until he finally saw his first lifetime, ended in a red tide of bayonets as he looked heavenward and prayed for another chance.

Surrounded by his friends, the dead, the dying, and the ones still fighting, Combeferre had prayed in his last few seconds not to come home, but to advance. And throughout his lifetimes, only one thing truly remained constant. He had been surrounded by those he could call family, both in blood, mind, and soul.

They totaled nine in number.

He was staring at one right now.

"I'm," the student started, and this time Combeferre interrupted him.

"Courfeyrac." The world was settling back into motion, and Combeferre felt as though his mind would explode from all the information and memories he just gained. But at the same time, he had never felt so much at peace.

At his name, Courfeyrac smiled wide and Combeferre felt as though he had finally come home at last.

Everything and nothing changed that day. Combeferre had more knowledge, but at the same time, he was learning new information every day in classes. All more aware of how the world worked, it proved to be a double-edged sword as he'd have to abandon the old ways for the new ways. Thankfully, growing up in the internet-age had taught him to not only take advantage and utilize electronics, but how to assemble and reassemble them. He coupled everything against how it used to be, and enjoyed going through pros and cons of it all in lists.

Courfeyrac found it amusing most of the time and far more tiresome when the papers cluttered their table when he was trying to eat.

"The food here is terrible. Remember the fifties? The burgers were orgasmic!" He said during one of said time. He hadn't picked up his drink after having to move around a few of Combeferre's textbooks and papers to set it back down.

"Keep your voice down. People are going to think we're mad."

"Like that time when they thought we were witches? Warlocks, they called us. Those times sucked."

Combeferre graced him with a dry look. "I see you've already become accustomed to the language."

"Mm, all part of trying to blend in. Gotta keep a low profile until we know what we're here for, and I think I know exactly what for."

This got Combeferre's attention. "It's still too early, Courfeyrac. Not everyone has assembled, and there's always the possibility that we're not here for much of anything. Just to live our own normal, boring lives."

There had been one reincarnation in which Enjolras had been nowhere to be found. The eight of them practically tore up the countryside in their attempt to find him. It had been a trying time for them all, most notably for Combeferre and Grantaire, the latter of which opted to die at a young age to see if he could find either peace in death or in a rush order to be brought back along with his idol. It was one of the precious few times that Combeferre contemplated suicide. Nothing was falling where it should, civilization was moving backwards, and he was stuck within a time that wouldn't listen to him or his friends. They could change nothing.

Four of them had been gunned down at once. Courfeyrac had been the one who decided it for them all.

"To hell with this time. To hell with this. What's the purpose of us returning only for our lives to be bought so cheaply? I hope you're watching this, Man Upstairs, or whomever the hell you are?"

And then Courfeyrac blew himself up, taking with him one of the strongholds to the group that destroyed the majority of their friends, and Combeferre joined him not soon after.

While they had been brought back, this time with Enjolras a constant among them, Combeferre hadn't forgotten that time. He didn't think any of them had.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. "Of course we were brought back here for something. Haven't you been paying attention to the news? ..You haven't, have you? What have you been doing all this time?"

"Studying," Combeferre said, feeling a little guilty but not going to apologize for leading what he thought to be a regular life. "This has always been my one true outlet."

"Maybe in your old life. Now you're awake. So now you can help me recruit people."

"For what?"

Courfeyrac dug into his bag. He carried no school books with him, but he did have quite a few magazines. At first glance, Combeferre could make out TIME and a few other political rags. Buried underneath, however, was an issue of Busty Asian Babes. He pretended he didn't see it as Courfeyrac took out a newspaper. "You remember in the sixties-ish? How colleges and universities rebeled against not only the Vietnam war and animal cruelty and a bunch of other stuff?"

"Hippies," Combeferre said.

"Sure, right, time of the hippies. Favorite era, by the by!"

"So you've said."

"Some of those universities had their labs blown up. Scientific areas in the schools were destroyed."

"I hope you're not saying we need a repeat of that."

"Not at all, but look." He flipped open the newspaper to page three and plunked it down atop Combeferre's papers. "I don't think it's a coincidence that we should meet at this university."

Combeferre moved the paper closer to himself to read. The article was small and buried other more 'notable' articles that the editor thought rather important. Combeferre hadn't taken in the idea of the university's geographical location. All he had seen was a bustling college town far away from his home state, and a chance to make a new life for himself. He hadn't even visited the nearby shopping mall. The most he got to the town was in ordering delivery.

So this was the first he had heard about a missile plant located nearby. The article went on to talk about how the President first lauded the plant being built and utilized near the university and the town. 'Nothing is more important than the safety of our new generation's best and brightest,' the article quoted. It spoke of how many missiles were produced by the plant and at the end, it stated that due to parental protests, the plant would be shut down.

"And? It sounds like the problem took care of itself," Combeferre said, looking back up.

Courfeyrac sputtered. "Took care…Combeferre, didn't you read? It's shutting down!"

"And?"

"And where do you think those missiles will go? Think they'll just be dumped into the ocean?"

Combeferre not only grasped the implication of what Courfeyrac was saying. He also felt that he had a solid grasp on his friend's mentality and impulsive nature to guess what Courfeyrac wanted to do next. "Are you insane?" He asked, lowering his voice to a hiss. "We wouldn't even know when the missiles will be transported!"

"Friday night at 7 pm," Courfeyrac replied. "Big football game. Most of the town will be there."

"And there's just two of us!"

"There's more than two. I've recruited a few guys who can drive the trucks! All we need to do is sneak onto the base. They'll be pulling out of there at 7. So we'll be there at six. We overpower the drivers. We steal the trucks. And we drive them right into the ocean!"

"Those trucks will be guarded, Courfeyrac! You know how stringent our country is about terrorism these days! We'll be dealing with far more guns!"

Courfeyrac frowned. "You used to like those odds. And if those missiles get where they're going, how long do you think we'll need to wait before Santorum fires them off? You know he would. Probably into Russia too."

"I'm not saying that the missiles shouldn't be disposed of. I'm just saying that the plan requires far more luck than even we've ever had!"

Courfeyrac shook his head. "I can plan for these contingencies! Look, all I need from you is the research. If you can try and get some form of blueprints or something on the base, I should be able to get us some weapons. I know a lot of people who want to help out on this!"

"Who? Your frat brothers?"

"Beats playing drinking games all night long."

Combeferre sighed. "I don't think this is the wisest course of action. You've been wrong before."

Another eyeroll from Courfeyrac. "Okay, I get it. Moby Dick wasn't real and there's no war on whales. I learned my lesson. Can we move on from that?"

"Besides, Enjolras still hasn't made an appearance. You know that whenever we push forward into something violent, something that people will be uprising against, and this?" He gestured to the paper. "If we succeed in this, it will open the floodgates on something I don't think we've ever dealt with before! He would be here for this!"

"I know! And that's another thing I'm working toward. See, I was able to track you down in this entire university! I should be able to find him. We're both here. He's normally not that far behind. He may even be in one of your classes, so just keep an eye out for him. And even if it takes him awhile to show, who's to say that we can't do this on our own? Hell, when we find him, he'll probably be proud of us for our zeal!"

"Or he'll berate us for being incredibly foolish. Or perhaps he can visit us in jail when we're doing life-setences for terrorism. That'll be a fun conversation."

Courfeyrac crossed his arms. "Killjoy."

"Once again, how adept you are with the language."

Courfeyrac tapped the newspaper. "Just think about it, won't you? I intend to go ahead with this. But I want your help to do it. I found you, your balls finally dropped in order to get you to come near me and talk to me about this. This is what I truly think must be done, Combeferre. We need to open those floodgates, because if those missiles get to where they're going, I just…" He paused, clenching a fist, and drew it up against his mouth, having to look away for a few minutes.

Combeferre let him regain himself while casting his gaze back onto the newspaper. Courfeyrac, while not all that keen at coming up with long-term plans, forever had his finger on the pulse of the community. Combeferre trusted his instincts tremendously.

"Let me think about this." Still, it would be a dangerous venture to pull off. One that could very well cost them this life if they failed. "I'll tell you my decision tomorrow."

Courfeyrac just nodded, still not looking at him.

True to his word, Combeferre thought about the dilemma all day. He went online to research missile plants. He tried to find blueprints to one but access was continually denied.

His IM box popped up and he typed fast and furiously to Uninvited Guest, not giving him any details, of course, but just needing to say something to someone. It helped having an unbiased opinion. So he kept it all vague and sounded it out as a morale dilemma with a chance of slight to severe personal injury.

'I think the safest thing would be for you not to do it.'

Combeferre read the words over and over again. Black and white. And while he knew the words were wise, that he should listen to it, he also felt as though something was so wrong about the whole thing.

'But what will happen to you if you don't do it?'

Combeferre wasn't sure, but he took those words to heart in a way he couldn't take wisdom and logic. He didn't fear any deity or whatever it was that brought him back to life time and time again. Any fear he had went toward the people, to civilization, to the growth of human progress.

Could he live with himself if an opportunity presented itself like this and he didn't take it? Since when did personal safety dictate what he should or should not do? If Enjolras was here, what decision would he make? Would he even need to think about it? He would certainly listen to Combeferre and Courfeyrac's point of view, but that was just it. Combeferre wasn't opposed to Courfeyrac's idea. Just the method of achieving the goal.

He couldn't, in good conscience, say no to Courfeyrac solely on the basis of a bad methodology. He would have to do the best he could with the resources they had. If a plan didn't sound right, one didn't abandon it. One changed it. The goal would still have to be accomplished, but there was always more than one way toward that goal. And the plan needed tweaking.

He thanked his online friend and called it an early night. He slept well, the dreams now welcomed and reminding him of where he'd been and how far he had to go.

The week went by in a blur to Combeferre, with his days spent skipping his classes in order to prepare for Friday night. His professors were quick to blame the absence of a few other students to the big football game.

Combeferre moved from computer to computer, starting from the ones in the university library to the ones in the basement of his dorm room for students who didn't own their own computer, so using the computers in the more public library in town. They could trace his IP address, he was certain, but they wouldn't be able to find him.

Courfeyrac surprised him on a grand scale. He always knew the man was excellent at organizing other people to action, but typically Courfeyrac adopted a more playful attitude. He would wine and dine the people into their volunteered employ, but he could rarely make them behave or be obedient for a large-scale revolt. He got them enamored on the idea of revolution but oftentimes needed help in keeping them there once the honeymoon-phase ended. That was typically where Combeferre or Enjolras would come into play.

Since it was only the two of them running the show, Courfeyrac was determined to make up for the lack. He found the people, some dropouts, some out of work men, a lot of them bitter about the way their world was changing, but mostly they were scared.

Combeferre learned a great deal about the world throughout the week. While he had been holed up in his own small corner of the world, the government had moved on, placing down more taxes on the poor, ensuring marriage equality only to those who were not only of opposite gender but who had taken the requisite tests to prove that both were fertile. The environment was currently suffering from another oil spill that no one cared to take credit for, and there was a marked interest in the selling of nuclear warheads.

There were far too many problems to list and Combeferre knew that if he spent too much time upon each and every one, he wouldn't have any time left over for research.

Blueprints were harder to come by, and he ended up having to utilize old ones left over from a bygone era.

"It's not perfect," he told Courfeyrac, "but I really don't think they're interested in updating the layout."

Courfeyrac had managed to get weaponry, so much easier to come by nowadays as owning a rifle was encouraged by many politicians, and recently they had taken away the three-day waiting period. It was a breach of morality that Combeferre and Courfeyrac exploited rather brazenly.

"And how are we going to get past the security?"

"I've got a guy on that," Courfeyrac assured him. "He knows his way around electronics."

The guy Courfeyrac managed to get was a young student trying to get a degree in computer engineering. He was nervous and sweaty when Combeferre met him. He smiled a little too much and he knew far more than Combeferre was comfortable with.

"It's an honor to meet you guys," he said, shifting from one leg to the next. "I mean, you guys are immortals, right? Like Highlander! Except you don't cut off people's heads!"

Combeferre traded a look with Courfeyrac, who only shrugged and smiled. "He's a good kid. Got a good heart."

So Combeferre accepted him despite his misgivings.

Come Friday night, there were nerves, but there was also the thrill that ran up Combeferre's spine that he always got right before setting out on these excursions. Even on the times when they failed which resulted in nearly all of them getting killed, he still felt the extreme exuberance. When he took his first step onto the barricade so long ago, there had been fear, but there was never any doubt. The hesitations he felt evaporated in such moments. The concern and strife he had been feeling for the past week were gone.

All that was left in its place was adrenaline and determination.

The large group met on the outskirts of the plant and huddled down close to the grass.

"Where's your body?" Combeferre asked, his voice a little muffled from the mask he wore. Nothing like Guy Fawkes to lead the way. Courfeyrac, who had a similar black body suit and mask on himself, searched the small crowd he had wrangled. How he could tell who was who, Combeferre had no idea.

"I don't see him."

"It's nearly seven! If he doesn't come-"

The lights went out.

The darkness spread over the town as the entire power grid was taken out in one fell swoop.

"That's our cue!" Courfeyrac gestured to the others, and like a murder of crows, the black-clad group launched right at the missile plant. When the guards attempted to use the back-up generators, the garages holding the trucks started to open up at random.

Throughout the chaos, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and several of their crew managed to get the jump on the drivers. Gunshots were heard in the distance, and Combeferre knew there was little time to waste at this point. He had told Courfeyrac that as soon as they had the trucks, they would be close to being in the clear.

"I don't think they'd shoot at their own weapons."

He was proven right. The garages were soon all opened and the electronic gates had slid back.

Through Combeferre's walkie, he could hear Courfeyrac's whoop of victory.

"I told you that kid would come through for us, didn't I?"

Combeferre scoffed a little as he led the team of drivers away from the missile plant and toward the ocean. "So what will stop them from dragging these things out of the ocean?"

"Our own little surprise," Courfeyrac answered. "See, they're affixed with an electronic timer. Something the government decided on since they couldn't always be sure a missile would explode where they wanted it to to. The timers can be hacked."

"And you think your friend can do that?"

"Hope so!"

Combeferre put the truck in auto as he unbuckled his safety belt and opened the door. Jumping out right before the ocean water swallowed up the truck, he hastily swam a bit up to the shore.

The others were quick to follow.

"We need to disperse! I'm sure they'll be sending others out for us!" Combeferre yelled. No sooner had he said as much, several police cars and black vans started pulling up near the beachfront.

A massive explosion rocked the entire perimeter, shaking the ground with its fury and causing several massive waves to form. Combeferre and the others were already running up the bank. Courfeyrac grabbed ahold of his hand.

"If we go down, we go down together!"

As it turned out, they didn't go down at all, but they did end up drenched and covered with seaweed. Courfeyrac wasn't so sure he got the better part of the deal.

The men were dismissed once a headcount had been totaled. "We're not out of the woods yet," Courfeyrac warned them. "There might be searches of homes. Just keep your heads down for now. Low profile, all of ya!"

Courfeyrac and Combeferre, for their parts, quickly settled into a dry change of clothes. "Save for the whole smelling like the ocean, I think we're all right." Combeferre didn't want to jinx them, but he felt triumphant. Courfeyrac had said that the floodgates were opening. That this move would be the first placement on the giant chess board. He knew better than to expect them all to survive it, but at least everything was now in motion.

A new game could begin.

The entire campus was still dark when they returned.

"I can't believe he managed to knock out the power to everything," Courfeyrac said, awed.

"You did choose him."

"Yes, but this…I thought it'd be a bit beyond his capabilities."

"Courfeyrac!"

The two students turned at the familiar voice. "Speak of the devil!" Courfeyrac clapped the younger boy on the back. "We were just admiring your handiwork!"

"That's what I wanted to tell you!" The kid was out of breath and he had to lean his hands against his knees. "This wasn't my doing! I was held late after class today when everything just went black! I knew you would likely start without me and thought that the town was in shutdown or something because you guys got caught!"

"Wait," Courfeyrac moved his hand off the kid. "You're saying this isn't your work?"

The kid shook his head. "I was talking to my friend online about it. I know I shouldn't have, but..but I was really excited about tonight and it wasn't about any details. Just about how to remotely access a few items."

Combeferre frowned. "And what was this friend's name?"

—-

The police came to him as he knew they would. Government agents showed off their badges as they surrounded the house.

A kick to the front door.

They needn't have bothered. He left it unlocked for them. But no one ever went for the handle.

Numerous calls of 'clear' as they searched the bottom floor.

A team went upstairs and found half of what they were looking for.

A room filled with ten monitors, three keyboards, five computers, a great deal of surveillance equipment, and two television sets awaited them.

All of the monitors showed them various programs. One was google. One was set to the default of Firefox. Another to opera.

One of the technicians was called forward. He tapped a button on the keyboard and the monitors instantly went blank save for the one in the middle.

"Ah, good. You're there." The monitor showed the upper half of a young handsomely blond man who looked no more than seventeen. "Welcome to my abode, gentlemen. As you can see, I'm not at home. This is one of a few addresses I had set up. IP addresses can be such a pain, really, but you're not interested in the particulars. Fact of it is, neither am I. Now that you've found me, you have exactly one minute to exit out of this house."

The blond man tapped the side of the screen and a timer appeared below him.

"Welcome to the Revolution, gentlemen. I remain, as ever, as always, your uninvited guest."

The explosion, when it hit, was enough to destroy the house and everything within it, leaving the policemen and FBI their lives.

"That university? You a student there?" The taxi driver asked his young passenger.

"Not yet. I've been thinking about applying. What've you heard about it?"

"Oh, good things for the most part. But it'll be tough to get through the crowd there, ya see. Town's in a bit of a jam. Something to do with a missile crisis."

The blond man moved his hand upwards and gave the driver a stack of bills with a charming smile. "I understand it'll be difficult. But you see, I'm expected."

(AN: See? More reincarnation.)