Invisible Man
"Dreams Are Nothin More
Than Wishes..."
Darien woke with what felt like a hangover. His head ached and the room was spinning. He picked up the clock that sat next to his bed and forced his eyes to focus; 10:53. He was surprised that Hobbes wasn't pounding on his door, giving him grief for being late to work again.
He slowly sat up and tried to stand. As he got dressed he tried to remember what caused his head to feel so awful, then left for the agency.
He headed towards the Officials office, thinking of a story to tell him to explain his tardiness. As he rounded the corner he saw some blood splattered on the floor outside the Official's office. The door handle was ripped off and he could just barely see inside. He slowly opened the door, cringing at the sight before him. The Official was sitting in his chair, his eyes rolled back and a a knife protruding from his chest. Looking around the rest of the office, Darien saw a broken window with Eberts hanging thru it.
His stomach jumped to his throat and he doubled over. Even with all the murder he had seen, he wasn't even close to being prepared for a site like this. Darien backed out the door in fear. Who ever had done this may still be in the building; he had to find Bobby.
He ran to the basement and to his Keeper's lab. Suddenly he began to wish he hadn't. He found Claire lying beside a chair, strangled by a computer cord. In her hand was a syring, half empty of blue liquid. He knew it had to be Counteragent, but why would she be holding it.
A moan from behind him caused him to jump. He spun around and saw Bobby slumped beside the doorway. Eyes fixed on Darien and gun in hand.
"Hobbes, what happened," Darien questioned.
"Keeper should never have trusted you to give yourself Counteragent," he rasped.
"What?" Darien was so confused, but everything suddenly came barreling down on him and he knew what happened. He lost his balance with the realization that he had killed his friends. As he sat on the floor he grabbed at his sleave and stared in disbelief at his tattoo. It was half red, the half of Counteragent Claire hadn't been able to give him.
"Why," Bobby asked weakly. Darien looked at him, unsure of what to say. Then he noticed the gun in Bobby's hand, trained on him.
"Don't do that, Hobbes. I-I'll get an abulence; you'll be okay."
"You don't give me much choice, Fawkes. You killed innocent people, now you gotta pay."
"But it wasn't really me, you know that, Bobby," Darien pleaded, but it was futile. Bobby cocked his gun and pulled the trigger.
Bobby flinched as his partner, his friend, fell lifeless. "I'm sorry, Darien," he said with a rasp, then fell motionless.
Darien jumped as Bobby slammed the door.
"Sleepin on the job again, Fawkes?"
"Huh? You're alive?" Darien was confused.
"Contrary to popular belief, but yeah," Bobby said. "Why? You figurin otherwise?"
"No, I just had the weirdest dream."
"What, you go Quicksilver Mad and kill everybody?"
"Yeah, actually." Darien looked at Bobby, slightly bewildered.
"Ah, get over yourself, Clear-boy. You're always dreamin that." With that Bobby started the van.
Darien looked at himself in the mirror on his door. His eyes were perfectly clear, and his tattoo was a bright green. He smiled to himself.
It was only a dream this time, but when will it be real? I'm always hoping these dreams are just me wondering what could happen, but like a wise woman once sang, "A dream is a wish your heart makes."
"Dreams Are Nothin More
Than Wishes..."
Darien woke with what felt like a hangover. His head ached and the room was spinning. He picked up the clock that sat next to his bed and forced his eyes to focus; 10:53. He was surprised that Hobbes wasn't pounding on his door, giving him grief for being late to work again.
He slowly sat up and tried to stand. As he got dressed he tried to remember what caused his head to feel so awful, then left for the agency.
He headed towards the Officials office, thinking of a story to tell him to explain his tardiness. As he rounded the corner he saw some blood splattered on the floor outside the Official's office. The door handle was ripped off and he could just barely see inside. He slowly opened the door, cringing at the sight before him. The Official was sitting in his chair, his eyes rolled back and a a knife protruding from his chest. Looking around the rest of the office, Darien saw a broken window with Eberts hanging thru it.
His stomach jumped to his throat and he doubled over. Even with all the murder he had seen, he wasn't even close to being prepared for a site like this. Darien backed out the door in fear. Who ever had done this may still be in the building; he had to find Bobby.
He ran to the basement and to his Keeper's lab. Suddenly he began to wish he hadn't. He found Claire lying beside a chair, strangled by a computer cord. In her hand was a syring, half empty of blue liquid. He knew it had to be Counteragent, but why would she be holding it.
A moan from behind him caused him to jump. He spun around and saw Bobby slumped beside the doorway. Eyes fixed on Darien and gun in hand.
"Hobbes, what happened," Darien questioned.
"Keeper should never have trusted you to give yourself Counteragent," he rasped.
"What?" Darien was so confused, but everything suddenly came barreling down on him and he knew what happened. He lost his balance with the realization that he had killed his friends. As he sat on the floor he grabbed at his sleave and stared in disbelief at his tattoo. It was half red, the half of Counteragent Claire hadn't been able to give him.
"Why," Bobby asked weakly. Darien looked at him, unsure of what to say. Then he noticed the gun in Bobby's hand, trained on him.
"Don't do that, Hobbes. I-I'll get an abulence; you'll be okay."
"You don't give me much choice, Fawkes. You killed innocent people, now you gotta pay."
"But it wasn't really me, you know that, Bobby," Darien pleaded, but it was futile. Bobby cocked his gun and pulled the trigger.
Bobby flinched as his partner, his friend, fell lifeless. "I'm sorry, Darien," he said with a rasp, then fell motionless.
Darien jumped as Bobby slammed the door.
"Sleepin on the job again, Fawkes?"
"Huh? You're alive?" Darien was confused.
"Contrary to popular belief, but yeah," Bobby said. "Why? You figurin otherwise?"
"No, I just had the weirdest dream."
"What, you go Quicksilver Mad and kill everybody?"
"Yeah, actually." Darien looked at Bobby, slightly bewildered.
"Ah, get over yourself, Clear-boy. You're always dreamin that." With that Bobby started the van.
Darien looked at himself in the mirror on his door. His eyes were perfectly clear, and his tattoo was a bright green. He smiled to himself.
It was only a dream this time, but when will it be real? I'm always hoping these dreams are just me wondering what could happen, but like a wise woman once sang, "A dream is a wish your heart makes."