Treville hadn't a clue what was in store for him when little arms wrapped themselves around his legs and a man, a very angry man, clicked his tongue and ordered the little figure back to him with a loud bark. A dark head of curly hair was all he could spy as he looked down in concern, but the little arms wrapped tighter the closer the angry man got. The man stalking his way towards them was short and stocky; his build was good, probably went to the gym a few times a week. He was a dirty blonde, from what little hair was left on his head after a sharp buzz cut. His cheeks were turning red from the agitation and sharp movements—of Nordic descent, most likely.

There was a strange sort of buzzing in his head, Treville noticed—the kind one gets after a thrill ride.

"Herman, that's enough." A voice ordered behind him, echoing slightly in the drafty, well lit hallway. "It seems he's not so fond of you."

"Director, my apologies." The angry man, Herman, was flustered, red face changing emotions rapidly. "He won't sit still and he keeps—"

"We can't have that, now can we?" The director was old, but not so old as to be out of touch with the happenings of the world—the latest technologies and views of the younger generation. He held himself well and there was a wise look to his eye. He was certainly a man of prowess. "Treville, the boy has taken a liking to you. Mind him well."

That was all that was said and the click of expensive dress shoes on tiled floor echoed down the hall until the man was gone, leaving the still flustered Herman to stare back at him.

"Thank god." Herman breathed. "They dumped this kid on me two weeks ago. He's nothing but trouble. Sorry, but I'll happily give him to you. He's needed in lab four in ten minutes and if you're lucky the scrubs in there will only yell at you a little for being late."

"Wait—hold on a minute." Treville looked back down at the boy's unruly hair and he hadn't moved an inch. "I just got transferred; I don't even know where lab four is. And who is this kid?"

Herman frowned. "Look, I know the director likes you and all—hell, a lot of the big wigs around here were talking about you, but don't expect me to believe you don't know what's going on. No one gets in without being debriefed and trust me, it's one hell of a debrief. I didn't believe it at first either. What kind of world is this that they believe some kid can give people super powers?"

"Super—hold on, what did you just say?"

"Is this a test? Really?" Herman huffed, handing him a manila folder over the kid still tightly wrapped around his knees. "You've sure got guts. I transferred here four months ago so if you're looking to screw with another new guy, it ain't gonna be me. Just get him to the lab."

With that the man stalked his way down the other side of the hall, opposite of the director, muttering under his breath about "privileged newbies". Once he was gone and it was just Treville, dumbstruck, with a kid wrapped around his legs and a manila file awfully close to being dropped and the contents spilled all over the floor of the hallway.

"What the hell was that?" He asked, to himself mostly. Frowning, he stared down at the kid. He hadn't moved and Treville was wondering if he could shake off the little guy. "Hey, he's gone now. You can get off of me."

The mop of hair snuggled further into his thighs and two legs curled their way around his. A monkey climbing a tree is what it looked like. Heaving a sigh, Treville dropped the folder, uncaring of its contents at the moment and struggled to remove the human parasite that had attached itself to him. It wasn't easy; the boy's limbs were strong, but no match for his well trained muscles. He picked the boy up from underneath his armpits and stared at the round eyes glaring back at him.

"Who are you?" He asked, as if the boy was just another adult walking around the facility.

The boy kicked out his legs, narrowly missing Treville's tie, before sticking his tongue out at him.

"I see. You don't have a name, is it? I suppose I'll have to make one up for you."

The boy blinked at him, surprised. Scrunching his face into one of displeasure, he kicked out again. Treville merely held him out further from him. It was an awkward movement and the boy nearly slipped from his hands.

"Perhaps a girl's name. Babette, is it?"

"No." The boy answered, squirming. "My name isn't Babette!"

"Ah, it can speak." Treville teased, swinging the boy around in a quick circle to disorient him. "Although Babette is a good name. If you have no name, I'll give you that one."

"Aramis!" The boy cried. "It's Aramis!"

Smirking, Treville put him down and ruffled his hair. "Well then, Aramis, you're supposed to go to a lab four?"

"I'm not going." Aramis kicked out again, landing a hit on Treville's shin before booking it towards an exit. "You can't make me!"

Reaching out, he snagged the back of the boy's shirt and tugged him back hard. The boy gagged a bit as the collar of his shirt wrapped around his neck. Catching him back up into his arms, though held far from him as to avoid any more kicks, Treville looked the lad in the eyes. He was scared, Treville realized.

"Alright, listen," Treville spoke softly, remembering the yelling Herman had done before. "I'm new here. I don't know who anyone is, or where anything is, or who you are. I don't know why I'm supposed to mind you or even how to do that. So maybe we could work together, yeah? Instead of going to this lab four, why don't you and I sit here and you tell me everything you know."

"Why?" the boy—Aramis, he corrected, asked. "All the other grown ups know things."

"I'm new, remember? I need your help."

"You're not gonna make me go?" There was a twinkle of hope in his eye and Treville couldn't bear to see it snuffed out. "You won't drag me when I stop watching you or pick me up?"

"I promise I won't." Slowly, Treville lowered Aramis to the floor, crouching down to eye level. "How about you lead me? You show me where you want to go?"

Aramis thought about it a moment, eyeing him jadedly. "I can't."

"Why not?" Treville frowned, doing his best not to get frustrated. Of all the things to be landed with, it was a child. How long was he supposed to watch him?

"Cause I wanna go home, but they won't let me." Aramis wiggled his toes against the cold tiles and it was only then that Treville noticed what he was wearing. The kid was barefoot, wearing a white tee and what looked like hospital issued shorts—a thin cotton covering a thin frame.

"Why?"

Aramis snapped his head up, confusion written on his face. "They think I'm special. I can't do what they want me to do and it hurts when they poke me with the needles."

He recalled what the man, Herman, had said earlier; a kid who could give people super powers. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

"Are you special?" Treville asked, out of sheer curiosity. The answer he got surprised him.

"Only when I want to be."

A door opened at the end of the hallway and Treville stood back up. Aramis leaned down and picked up the file, emptying the loose contents to the floor. Immediately the boy set to work gathering the loose papers and piling them back up again. The director reappeared, having looked a little put out.

"You'll have to excuse me, Treville, for my earlier rudeness." The director came closer, giving Aramis a quick look before meeting Treville's eye. "I was unaware that they hadn't given you the usual welcome. We aim to fix that. I see you and Aramis are getting along. Good, yes, very good. Aramis?"

The boy stopped gathering papers, looking up at the director from his hands and knees on the floor.

"Ninon needs to see you in lab four, now. Treville and I need to have a talk."

"I don't want to go." Aramis huffed, continuing with his work. "This guy is nice and he promised I didn't have to go."

"Did he?" The director gave a look before coughing gently. "I suppose you'll miss out on your family visit tonight."

That caught the boy's attention. "Mom is here?"

"I'll let her know you're busy. She came a long way to see you."

"Fine, I'll go!" He agreed hurriedly. "Number four?"

"Number four." The director confirmed. "Don't run and be good for Ninon."

Aramis stood and gave the two of a conflicted look before walking quickly down the hallway where Herman had left previously. Treville couldn't help but feel guilty. Was emotional manipulation the only way to handle the boy?

"Now, Treville, if you'll follow me." The director led him out the other door, the manila folder forgotten on the tile floor and the once scattered papers lay in small, neat piles next to it.

The walk was long and Treville felt antsy. For such a large place, there seemed to be so few personnel. The facility seemed cold and lifeless, and it was for lack of a better word—chilling. Quiet had never been a good thing in Treville's experience. Quiet meant a hidden danger and the way the director walked so rigidly, Treville wasn't sure he could rule out the man as harmless.

They arrived in a small office—one not nearly as big as Treville expected for the director of a facility not many knew existed.

"Welcome, Treville, to the Source and Inheritance Program." The director took a seat behind a desk, bidding him to do the same. "This facility is top secret—only a handful of people working outside of the facility know what and where this is. It should be said that we like to keep it that way."

The underlying threat did not go unnoticed.

"This facility houses currently 31 medical staff, 42 of the best trained guards the world has known, 6 kitchen staff, 7 administrative staff, including myself, and 13 of the brightest minds we know of."

"And the kid." Treville supplied helpfully.

"No," the director answered coldly, "Aramis does not exist. He is not here, we do not know of anyone by that name, and this facility is simply to test out classified genetic theories that could benefit mankind in the future. We know nothing of anything outside of our research."

A moment of tense silence, and Treville sat back in his seat with a sigh. So they had sent him to one of those facilities. The next information to be revealed to him was going to get ugly. It always did and this was not the first time he'd been sent to guard some dark hidden blemish in France's history of experimentation—be it with torture techniques, bombs no one knew anything about, or a new energy resource.

"I assume you brought me here because I've had experience in these types of facilities."

"It helps, but no." The director leaned forward on the desk, hands folded. "You were brought here because you've got something you don't know you have."

"A proper explanation would be appreciated." Treville answered tightly. Enough with the riddles and the mind games. He knew how this worked; he wasn't going to jeopardize any secrets—Lord knew he knew too many already.

"Two years ago there was a rumor in the countryside of a young woman who could make it rain. Most waved it off as some hoax to improve tourism in the area. Funny enough, someone took a closer look. They brought the woman in, tested her so-called ability, and it yielded no results."

Interesting, but what did it have to do with him?

"They released her, called her a fraud, and left it at that. Two days later the rumors came back two-fold and it seemed there was a little more to the story. The woman was so angry at being accused of fraud that she threatened to flood the entire town. The next day it rained so hard it flooded the town; twenty dead. Needless to say, her claim was taken more seriously the second time around. All they got out of her was a looping apology. "I've taken too much." She said. "I'm sorry Corinne, I've taken too much.""

"Is there a point to this tale?"

"The woman was never able to do it again and was thrown into jail. Three weeks later, there was a rumor in Germany of a man who could grow things instantly. Much of the same thing happened, this time, only one casualty and it was his brother. Over the past two years we've had over 37 reports of people with abilities—powers if you will."

"Super powers." Treville furrowed his brow. "You think I can do that? I can make it rain or grow things?"

"Yes and no." The director leaned back in his leather chair and it squeaked a bit as he moved. "This program has been formed to study those who can do things they aren't supposed to. Our research has come up with rather interesting results. Every single case of someone using powers of some sort has had someone close to them die. Why?"

"Misuse of power?" Treville guessed.

"A sound theory, but incorrect. It turns out people aren't suddenly born with powers. No, something far more mysterious is occurring. A power source is needed to generate a power. There are two kinds of people out there with abilities. One who can use the ability and one who can supply it."

The director let it sink a moment, Treville's mind racing to catch up. "A power source… what happens when it's used up?"

"They die." It was said with such surety, a cold and calculated truth. "I've taken too much, that woman said over and over again. She's repeating it to this day as she rots in a jail cell. There are Sources, Treville, and then there are what you are; Inheritors. Not everyone can use a Source and fly or shoot lightning bolts. No, this world is anything but easy."

There was a bitterness there, and Treville realized the director was envious of him. He wanted to fly. He wanted to shoot lightning bolts.

"You can't?"

"No," the director let out a short laugh, "no, I'm not an Inheritor. I'm not a Source either; just a regular man walking this earth with the fascination of it all. To think what the world could do with this power—both destroy itself and turn it into a utopia of wonder. But we aren't there yet, no. We are a long, long ways from that."

"I don't understand. You brought me here because you think I'm a… what? Source?"

"Inheritor." The director corrected, leaning forward once again. "So far we haven't had a single match last. Curious things, these Sources. Every one of them ends up dead. They are a battery that doesn't know how to turn itself off. Rare, to boot. We've only got a handful and we've been searching for a very long time."

"That kid—Aramis—he's being experimented on? A child?" There was accusation in his voice he didn't even try to hide. To mess with a kid was sick.

"His mother brought him to us, believe it or not." The director answered with a hint of a smirk. "She was smart to do so. We aren't the only ones who have noticed something odd happening in the world. Sources and Inheritors, while they don't know what they are, have been causing trouble and gaining a bit of attention. Not everyone looks at them as people. Many seek to use them for their own gains."

"And you don't?"

"As far this facility goes, no. What happens to them outside of this facility is no longer my control. There are many powerful figures who agree with my stance to keep a lid on things. We don't know much about them, and without further knowledge, it's dangerous for them to be set loose."

"Human guinea pigs then? And I'm supposed to agree to become one?" Treville stood, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I'm not interested."

"If you would sit down, Treville, and hear what I have to say you may change your mind."

That tone again—dangerous with a hint of amusement. A sickening feeling down in his gut told him he'd regret walking out without hearing everything. Besides, they'd already told him too much for him to refuse them. If he left, went home to forget about such a god forsaken place he'd end up disappearing off the face of the earth. A tragic accident, perhaps, two days later when his body would be found in a river or planted in a crashed car. No one in one of these facilities got to walk away with the truth.

He'd been lucky enough to have walked away after guarding a few of the less… extreme ones. Hesitantly, he took a seat.

"That boy, Aramis, was brought to us nearly six months ago by his mother. She came crawling to us after her home was blown up by someone who had noticed her little boy acting a little bit strange. Aramis is a Source. He can give powers to Inheritors, like you, and he did. His school friend suddenly found himself with the ability to speak another language. Harmless, curious, but even more so that little Aramis is still alive and kicking."

"You said his mother brought him here." An explanation, more than anything.

"Yes, she did. I'm afraid you haven't been paying attention. Not one Source has survived. Not a single one, and here that boy has survived giving another child the ability to speak another language."

"What makes him different?"

"Precisely." The director stood, now, and walked around his desk to lean on it. "What makes little Aramis different from the rest? We've tried to match him with another Inheritor. Nothing."

"Can they only give to one person? Like a soul mate?"

"Good," the director praised; "now you're thinking. No, we've had other Sources able to give to other Inheritors."

"Perhaps he isn't a Source."

"He knows he can do it. He hates this place and I'm afraid most of the medical staff hasn't the patience for children. Six years old and already he's had more exams and tests than one man has his entire lifetime. I believe he doesn't get along with the Inheritors we've sent him."

"You want me to do it."

"We picked you for a reason, Treville. Most Inheritors we let lie. We haven't enough Sources to bring them all in and they are far more common than you might think. We can't risk losing the boy either—he's the only one to survive. He's special and he knows it. He just won't let us see."

"He wants to go home." Treville said flatly. He saw the scared look in that kid's eye. He'd be damned if they wanted him to be the one to go in there, force him to give him some sort of freaky magic powers and then die.

"He can't go home." The director answered just as flatly. "Aramis no longer exists to the rest of the world and it's not safe for him to go out there. Someone wanted him, Treville, and his mother came to us to protect him. Nothing will happen to that boy as long as I'm here to oversee this facility."

"What you're asking of me…"

"I'm asking you to befriend him. Talk to him, watch over him. You're a damn fine soldier and the stats match up far too perfectly. If he trusts you—if you are able to form a bond and do something extraordinary, it'll be the best thing that's ever happened to you."

"And if he dies? If I kill him because you want to see me with super strength or laser vision?" Treville stood. "I won't murder a child because someone wants to see a freak show."

"I have no intention of letting him die." The director clapped a hand on his shoulder. "He's a survivor. He survived once, Treville, I know he can do it again."

They stood for a moment, looking into the other's eyes. Treville could sense the curiosity, the wonder of it all more so than the devious threat of using people—using what they could do to promote their own gains.

"One condition; I want out at anytime. I won't kill this kid."

"Fair enough. You have my word."

Treville held out his hand for a shake. "If this kid gets hurt…"

The director took his hand, shaking it firmly. "I'll see to it whoever caused it is buried, even if I have to bury myself."