(AUTHOR'S NOTE) So, here's chapter two, and the story's progressing, with quite a significant character turning up. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. By the way, I forgot to mention in the notes on chapter one, thanks to Kaylee Tam for beta reading services. Now, enjoy the story! (END NOTE)
CHAPTER TWO
An alarm rang out, its steady, electronic wail cutting through the air and giving the technicians headaches. Dr Anghelides glanced at his screen, confused. The system had shot up to full alert, for no apparent reason. He punched a few keys, searching for the source of the computer's tantrum. He located it in London, just outside Enfield town. A small anomaly in the atmospheric composition. He hit a button to access details, and hopefully work out why the computer had flagged it. A large red box popped up, reading 'SECURITY PROTOCOL 241F-19AB-C453-3C18. PLEASE ENTER AUTHORIZATION CODE.' Anghelides sighed, and punched in his twelve digit code. As head technician at Archangel, the surveillance applications had been his responsibility to oversee – audio and visual surveillance, phone taps, e-mail taps and the maintenance of the Milnet. But he didn't remember programming in an alert about atmospheric anomalies, unless a climatologist had done so without telling him. Mentally, Anghelides added checking that to his memo list.
The computers hummed as they processed Anghelides' code, before flashing up 'ACCESS DENIED – SECURITY LEVEL: α-SUPER'. Anghelides stopped, staring at the security level. Alpha-Super. That security level meant it was for the eyes of the Supreme Pope himself, and for no-one else. Why would his holiness need to be alerted to the presence of an atmospheric anomaly? Painfully aware that he had just stumbled onto sensitive information, Anghelides reached for the phone that sat next to his computer.
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Griffin jerked awake, his alarm beeping irritatingly. He groaned and hauled himself out of bed, whacking the alarm clock as he passed to switch off its shrill screams.
It was Wednesday, which was a shit day. Griffin swore several times as he realized that he had double RS, Physics, Critical Bloody Thinking at College, and Compulsory Explorer Scouts in the afternoon.
He splashed cold water onto his face from the wash basin, pausing to look at himself in the mirror. He needed to work on his chest. He noticed the bags under his eyes, possibly a sign of stress. He sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. Two whole hours in a lecture theatre with the Paladin. What fun.
He washed, dressed and shoved his school books into a bag before grabbing a bread roll on his way out. He chewed it on his way up to the bus stop, not really noticing the taste. When the bus arrived, he dropped his bag onto one of the seats near the middle, and sat down next to it. Nobody greeted him, and he returned their lack of interest with sullen silence. He stared idly out of the window as the bus ground its way towards the College, not noticing the kid a few rows back who was intently gazing at the back of Griffin's head.
The bus rumbled round a corner and jerked to a stop. The driver swore, crunching the gears as he struggled to manoeuvre the ungainly vehicle past a large black SUV parked just outside an alley. Griffin watched the car with interest – SUVs were vehicles reserved for Paladin officials, their doors engraved with the double cross. The interesting thing was the skull positioned on the left of the cross' vertical shaft, and a series of hexagons forming the letter T on the right. That emblem had never been mentioned in an RS lesson. The alley behind the car was cordoned off, a large, silent man in dark glasses standing guard. Griffin wondered what was behind the cordon, but he could only speculate. The kid behind him, however, did not even try to speculate, because he didn't care. He had a job, which was to watch Griffin O'Conner, and, by God, he was going to do it.
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Anghelides sighed. He'd reported the anomaly, and sent details to the head of the Secret Intelligence Service, then been told to forget all about it. Anghelides had the sense not to ask why, although he wanted to know why. He'd called in a favour he was owed, and been given one word: Torchwood. Throughout the Paladin departments, there were whispered rumours of an organization separate from World Central Government, Outside the Paladins, Beyond the SIS. A group who could do anything they pleased, and were answerable only to the Supreme Pope himself. Torchwood. Gossip said they were ruthless, unforgiving and refused to give up in pursuit of their goal. But why was such a group interested in an atmospheric anomaly?
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Several hours later, Griffin stared vacantly at a passage from the Book of Atrus (The twelfth book of the Fourth Bible, Chapter Six, verse two) whilst the Paladin at the front of the lecture theatre spoke aloud.
"'Fear not the Lord; fear the darkness that would conceal the knowledge of the universe. Believe in the truth of all things, and you too may find the path to enlightenment.'" The Paladin paused, surveying the mass of humanity before him. "What Atrus is attempting to say in that passage is that pure faith is the only true path to Heaven, to join the ranks of the angels and bask in the glory of the Lord." The paladin paused again, allowing the college bell to ring. When it had finished, he called over the commencing hubbub "Complete the analysis of the Messages in the third and fourth chapters of the Book of Marrim by Monday." Griffin swore under his breath. Another essay. "Griffin O'Conner, a word in my office," the paladin added, as if it was an afterthought. Griffin glanced up to find himself staring straight into the eyes of the Paladin. The man beckoned, then turned and walked into the small office off the lecture theatre.
Sullenly, Griffin gathered up his books and walked towards the office, his feet dragging slightly. No doubt the religious propaganda-filled bollocking he was about to receive was not about his consistently poor grades.
He entered a neat, tidy office furnished with a desk, a few filing cabinets and lots of candles. The five volumes of the Bible lay on velvet cushions on separate lecterns in what looked like a shrine area, close to a lit brazier filling the air with the pungent scent of incense.
The Paladin pushed the door shut behind him, locking it with a key on a string around his neck. He moved towards the desk, turning to face Griffin.
"Young man," he said, regarding Griffin with distaste, "I have received reports from some of the good folk of the Student's Union who are suspicious that your devotion is… indefinite." He paused, possibly more for effect than anything else. "I was wondering what you had to say on the matter." He paused again, waiting for Griffin to speak. Griffin said nothing. "Well," the paladin prompted, lines on his forehead deepening with concern, "are they mistaken?"
"Yes, sir," Griffin replied in a low voice, not looking the Paladin in the eye, "I have not strayed from the Path. I just feel… discontent." The Paladin's eyes narrowed.
"The purpose of the Commandments is to protect you from evil which would draw you from the Path. Are you not taking them seriously?"
"I do," Griffin said, perhaps a little too quickly, and the older man raised his eyebrows.
"Really?" the Paladin drawled, "then 'how the hell did a fucking religious lunatic get to be in charge?'"
Griffin visibly paled.
"Did you think the Lord would not here the evil words on your tongue?" The paladin walked towards the brazier, lifting a long pole out of the flames. Its end was glowing brightly, red hot. He approached Griffin, the branding iron held out in front of him.
He stopped, just in front of Griffin, the boiling metal almost touching Griffin's cheek. Griffin could feel the blistering heat burning his skin, yet not touching.
"'Those who abandon the Path are evil,'" the Paladin quoted, "'Those who are evil must be destroyed.' Remember that, boy," There was a pause, then the Paladin tapped Griffin's cheek with the brazier. Long enough for it to hurt, but not long enough to leave a mark. Griffin winced as the heat leapt through his nerves, registering as pain.
"Also remember Amica," the Paladin said, "He strayed from the Path, but when he realized his mistake, he was forgiven." He put the branding iron back in the brazier, and unlocked the door. "Go," he said, turning away in disgust.
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Mr Cole surveyed the deserted alley and sniffed. He could feel the anomaly, or what was left of it, just a few feet in front of him. Although it was fading, he could still feel its profanity. A technician ran a handheld scanner over it, analyzing the precise quantity of radiation released, carefully avoiding treading on the bodies. Two police officers, their throats cut, guns empty, lay just underneath the anomaly. Cole eyed them coldly. It was a disgrace to the police force that they hadn't been better. But, then again, why should he care? Cole's group took over investigations only when something of great interest to the Supreme Pope was occurring.
A junior member approached him then, holding a file in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Cole accepted both items without comment, and sipped the tea as he flicked through the file. A little too much sugar. The junior's pay would have to be docked. Cole scanned the file, reading the case history. He raised his eyebrows. So this was why his Holiness was so agitated. He flicked to a report from Archangel, noting that the source of the anomaly was still in the area. It shouldn't be too hard to find.
Cole turned to his number two, Mr. Nero, "I want a guard left here, and Archangel on the lookout." He raised his voice to address his entire team. "Okay, people, saddle up. This one could be tricky, so keep your eyes peeled and weapons ready. Remember, if we succeed here, it'll be a great big feather in Torchwood's cap."
His speech over, Cole turned, and headed back to the SUV, leaving Nero to organize the men.
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It was getting late, and people were starting to wind down after the stressful day. Robert and Hannah O'Conner were watching the latest reports on the Crusade against the infidel in the middle-east, Griffin was struggling to work on the RS essay after a few hours of dull bible-bashing at the compulsory Explorer Scout meeting, Mr Cole was organizing patrols, and other tasks around the city varied between watching TV, reading, eating and having sex.
Kate was not doing any of those things, because she was at a party. It was a Girl's night out to celebrate her friend's twenty-first birthday in the local speakeasy.
The Old Pink Dog was a quiet restaurant which secretly sold illegal alcohol, and had so far escaped detection with generous donations to the Church benevolent fund. It was, therefore, a frequent haunt of teenagers and black market sellers.
Kate was sipping a cocktail when the birthday girl – her best friend, Claire – nudged her and pointed out a young man sitting at a corner table, nursing a beer.
"Oh, no!" Kate said, realizing that Claire and the others were going to try and set her up with the young guy. They had joked about it earlier, but Kate had thought it was just that – a joke.
"Whyever not?" Claire asked, glancing at him again. He appeared not to have noticed. "He looks nice."
"Because I want to choose my own boyfriend!"
"So go chat," Claire said with a cheeky grin, "See if you like him or not."
"This night is supposed to be about you," Kate pointed out. "It's your birthday."
"Yes," Claire replied, swigging her drink, "and I want you to go chat with him."
"Why?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Justine added. "We've all got boyfriends, although I'm going off Peter, but you've never had one."
"C'mon," Sophie put in, "You should have someone. For all you know, he could be your elusive Mr Right."
"No," Kate said, raising her drink to her lips, although she knew they had a point.
There was a short silence as Sophie thought for a moment, then she asked, "How will you find Mr. Right if you won't talk to any boys?"
Kate finally conceded, "All right," she sighed, and got up.
"Excuse me," she said when she got to the young man's table, "but my friends are badgering me to chat with you. D'you mind?"
He regarded her for a moment, hostility flaring in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced.
"Sure," he said in a soft accent, suggesting an origin somewhere up north outside the London Zone. "But I warn you, I have bad social skills."
Kate sat down, placing her drink in front of her, noting the muscular physique under the young man's shirt.
"So," she said, "What's your name?"
He swallowed his drink, and started to speak, "Grif-" but abruptly broke out into a coughing fit. When he recovered, he cleared his throat, then finished what he had been saying. "Griffiths, James Griffiths."
"Hudson," Kate said, "Kate Hudson."
"Nice to meet you," James replied.
(AUTHOR'S NOTE) According to Mr Tam, my betareader, there is one thing which you may find slightly confusing, which is precisely what Griffin is doing – wheteher he's doing an essay or lying about who he is. I can promise that it will be explained in the next chapter, as soon as I've written it. Cheerio, I have to be at a pantomime shortly… (END NOTE)