Disclaimer: I do not own TDI. I am not making money off of this.

TDI: Heroes

Agents of Fortune

"In this world most people aren't lucky enough to survive without a steady stream of income. In other words, people need jobs if they want to live. Doing what you do in order to exist becomes routine. But in certain positions, to certain people, a job becomes a career, and a career becomes an obsession." Noah King

--

Trent Moretti

Unknown Location

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It was dark, and he was tired. Incredibly tired. Unnaturally tired. He wanted to sleep, but he was forced awake by that noise, that incessant beeping. He blearily blinked his eyes open. He bolted up in the bed as he took in his surroundings.

He was in what looked like a hospital room, except grayer and more depressing, there was some kind of machine hooked up to him, and it was monitoring his heart rate, which explained the beeping. He was dressed in the clothes he had been wearing in the cab, which was funny. He had been expecting to be in one of those hospital gowns and tied up.

Suddenly, Trent picked up on footsteps and voices coming up the hallway towards the open door. One of the voices was kind of familiar. As the voices came closer Trent dove back under the covers and snapped his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

The voices became legible and Trent realized where he had heard it before, it was D.J. the taxi driver who (he assumed) brought him to this place!

"I mean, shouldn't he at least be tied up?" D.J. was at the door now, and Trent could feel his stare.

"No can do." This voice wasn't familiar, but it was in fact the voice of Duncan Devon, the agent who apprehended Gwen, and he was also D.J.'s partner. Trent decided to commit his voice to memory. "Bossman told us not to hurt him. Said that he would be out like a light either way. He's not gonna get up."

"You trust that freak?" D.J. asked, and Trent could feel the surprise in his voice. Okay, that freaked him out a little, just because he was actively trying to feed on their voices, didn't mean he had to acknowledge it.

"No way, but he knows this dude, at least." Trent imagined the other one was pointing his thumb at him. "Man, if he means this much to Bossman, I can't wait to clear him out."

"Speaking of, can we get started? I wanna get back home to Bunny."

Trent's eyes snapped open as he felt a hand moving towards his face.

--

Geoff Garrett and Izzy Montecito

Burnt Toast Diner-Odessa, TX

"Mornin' Isa!" The voice of the retired Texan, Eli James, stuck out sharply among the hustle and bustle of the Burnt Toast Diner, Home of Texas's best waffles.

"It's Izzy, Eli. Iz-zy." Izzy laughed as she rolled up to one of her favorite customers. She was wearing an apron with BURNT TOAST DINER printed on it in large, maroon lettering. The Burnt Toast Diner, Home of Texas's best waffles, wasn't a rolling diner, but Izzy wore them anyway. Even if roller skates shaped like bananas didn't exactly match with her uniform. "The usual, Eli?"

"You know me well, Isa." Eli smiled as Izzy rolled over to the next table where a blonde young man wearing a cowboy hat with a pink suit shirt and tie leaned in his chair lazily.

"Good mornin' what can I do for you today?" Izzy droned out the normal greeting, watching the young man, who quite obviously didn't belong in the Burnt Toast Diner, Home of Texas's best waffles.

"Just coffee." The young man, Geoff Garrett, replied, as he returned his chair to the ground and flashed Izzy a friendly smile.

"Alrighty." Izzy put on a fake cheerful southern accent for the man as she poured him a cup from her personal jug, on which she had plastered a sticker of an oddly adorable snake head. "You're not from around here are you?"

"Nope." Geoff replied cheerfully as he took a sip from his mug. "I'm just here on business."

"And the sooner I bag and tag this Marshall kid, the sooner I can get back to Bridgette."

Izzy's eyes widened in surprise for a second, and she rolled back a few feet into the counter, where she braced herself, breathing quickly.

"Are you okay?" Geoff looked at his waitress curiously.

"Yeah, yeah!" Izzy choked out. "I'm fine. Vertigo, you know? I get that sometimes. I just have to go lie down and I'll be fine! Sorry about that!" She rolled her way out through the kitchen, leaving Geoff in the diner.

Geoff smiled and flipped open a cell phone, dialing a number. After a few seconds someone picked up the other line.

"There's no doubt about it, dude." Geoff said quietly into the phone. "Izzy Montecito is one of us."

--

Bridgette Jones

Costa Verde Public Library

Mrs. Elena Thorpe had been the head librarian at the Costa Verde Public Library for twenty years. With all her experience, she had learned who looked like they fit in the library or not. She had learned that a single glance could tell you what someone's intentions were, if they were there to check out a book, to browse, to research, or something else.

So when a young blonde woman, dressed sharply in a business suit and aquamarine tie, with eyes that Helena knew was searching for something that certainly wasn't a book, walked through the doors of her library (it had been twenty years, she deserved to call it her library) she knew that it wouldn't be a normal day. Helena sized the woman up as she made her way towards the counter.

There was silence for a few seconds as Helena watched the woman, and the woman pretended to leaf through some fliers advertising an embroidery class being held in a week or so (Helena herself had taken this class herself a few years back) though Helena knew she was glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. Helena coughed impatiently and the woman cast a bright smile at Helena.

"What is it, young lady?" Helena asked brashly. "I've got quite a lot to do and very little time in which to do it, so please, make this quick."

The woman, obviously stunned by Helena's bluntless, and breathed for a second before regaining her composure. "I'm Bridgette. Bridgette Jones." Bridgette introduced herself politely, sending Helena a smile, which she ignored. "I'm here on behalf of the Marina Foundation."

"The Marina Foundation? What does a hotel chain want here?" Helena asked. She was quite suspicious, and for good reason. The Marina Foundation might have well have been called a gang for all the rather unsavory activities they were reportedly involved in.

"Oh, we're looking in on a…prospective employee." Bridgette answered pleasantly. "Noah King. I'm here to request his library records."

"Why would you need those if you want to hire him?"

"We always take very extensive background checks, ma'am."

Helena's eyes narrowed, but she couldn't argue with the Marina Foundation. Begrudgingly, she called up the records and sent them to print.

"It's done. The printer's over there by the computers."

"Thank you. I'm sure Ms. Marina will be very pleased to know you've been so cooperative." Helena smiled as Bridgette grabbed the documents and moved to make her way out."

"Oh, I'm sure she will," Helena replied as Bridgette passed by the front desk. She had a smile on her face that quickly melted as soon as the younger woman slipped out the doors.

"Oh, Noah," Helena said softly. "What have you gotten into now?"

--

--

Gwen Grayson

Unknown Location

New York City. Her home. But it wasn't. It was empty. Cars were abandoned in the streets, papers floated in the wind. Three stood out.

WANTED-TRENT MORETTI. It was that man in the picture, with the thoughtful smile and the bright green eyes. His name was Trent. It was familiar.

A newspaper. Folded up, tattered. She grabbed it. LAS VEGAS COVERED IN ICE-MILLIONS DEAD.

The last one. EVACUATION NOTICE-NEW YORK CITY.

The dream changed. New York again. Kirby Plaza.

There was Trent. He was worried, yelling. For her?

A beautiful young woman with blonde hair was desperately dragging an unconscious young man over her shoulder. She was running. She was crying.

The girl and the boy from Homecoming. They were running too. She was excited. He was afraid.

Then, it was cold. The ice came. And she saw no more.

Gwen's eyes snapped open, clouded and white. She looked around rapidly, breathing heavily.

"Looking for this?" A woman's voice came, and the sketchpad flew towards her.

"Sweet dreams, little goth girl." The door closed, and Gwen kept on drawing.

--

Unknown

"I propose we send Agents Cavanaugh and Cooper here."

"New Orleans? Aren't we tracking someone there?"

"Yes, but right now she's still human. She hasn't exhibited any abilities yet."

"Then why New Orleans?"

"The Grayson girl drew a friend of ours heading there sometime in the future."

"You think we can rely on her?"

"God no. But her drawings have been accurate this far, let's see where they take us?"

"You gambling? Isn't that a little ironic?"

"No. Not at all. You just don't understand irony."

"I understand enough."

"Just stand there and look pretty and we'll take care of the rest."

"You think I'm pretty?"

"It's a figure of speech."

"Oh. Okay."

"Shut up you two. So are we agreed?"

"Sure."

"Whatever you say."

"All right! Operation: Thunderbird is a go!"

"…"

"Operation: Thunderbird?"

"Why do we even keep him around?"

"His ability's useful…for now."

--

"Careers. Obsessions. Secrets. Intrigue. In the end, those are all just means to an end. In the end, we are all bound to one thing. We are all bound to the wheel of fate, and all we have to do, is wait for it to start turning."-Noah King

End.