Chapter Two

Finding the Truth:

Entering the Brotherhood

18 Jan 2026

12:55 p.m.

Chugiak High School Entrance

Chugiak, Alaska

John pulled into the entrance of the school. He had hoped he never needed to return here, ever since he graduated this last year. His academic brilliance excelled him to graduate at the age of fifteen. Now, a year later, he returned with dread. The exterior had not been remodeled for more than twenty years, give or take a few paint jobs. The interior had to undergo slight modifications, such as locker upgrades, computer replacements, new audio systems, and the like.

Only one place in the state was known as the Chugiak Tunnels, and John knew that. They lied underneath the highway, guiding passage to the trails used in school sports and activities. To him, they led to the completion of his destiny. All his life, he had dreamed of being in the Marked Brotherhood. Now, those dreams were about to come true.

He pulled over at the closest parking spot to the entrance to the tunnels. He pulled open the door, and an immediate rush of wind swept through his vehicle. His black leather jacket did not fully shield his torso from the chilling grips of winter, but that did not disturb him. He was an Alaskan, used to the cold temperatures at this point.

He walked down the path to the entrance, stopping there. He looked ahead to the pair of wavy ridged pipes, built into the hill under the highway. Metal wires were stapled into the ceiling, giving power to lights that aided one on a cold, dark night. They provided warmth to homeless people on several occassions, and were common access to students in their spare moments. The stench of alcohol and tobacco filled the tunnels, and John nearly gagged from it.

John looked at his watch: 12:58:36. He had only 24 seconds to find where he needed to be. He walked into the right tunnel, searching the walls for a clue. Vandalism smothered the interior, words and symbols of spray-paint decorating the pipe. John thought it impossible to find anything in this mess of graffiti.

That was when he saw it. Directly in the center of the right wall, his mark was painted into the ridges with a dripping black paint. He ran his fingers upon it, a smile of darkness creeping onto his face. He was victorious. John McAllen had found the entrance to his life's destiny. His home. His fate. His world. It all laid behind this doorway. He was finally happy.

Reality pulled him back, as his watch suddenly chimed. He had set his watch to 12:59, so he would know exactly when it was time to come home. He inhaled a deep breath, and blended into the door. Somehow, though, he felt himself continuing to walk. He knew this was odd, but pressed forward. It was where he stopped that he was dumbfounded.

John had walked into a golden room. The walls were glittered with minerals of every sort John could think of, and he knew far too many. The room itself was larger than the school, with an enormous chandelier hanging from the tip. It domed over John, like an over-sized hemisphere. He was amazed at the sight. Whatever his dreams might have been, surely, they were nothing like this.

Slowly, yet suddenly, Assassins began to appear before him from the ground and walls. Some of them were not much older than he was. Many were in their mid-twenties or thirties. Many still were much older than that. The oldest in the room was over a hundred years old, and beginning to permanently blend into his environment. They all encircled him, watching intently, as Parliament encircled the main speaker of the moment.

One man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, approached John, hand outstretched, saying, "Welcome, brother. We are glad that you are finally able to join us. I am Marcus, the current leader of the Marked Brotherhood. We have been expecting you, John McAllen."

John shook his hand, replying, "I have waited longer, sir."

With that, Marcus walked to the wall, seating himself upon a high chair. A chair that was not there a moment ago. John watched as the entire clan sat down upon chairs and benches that had formed out of the ground. It looked very much like a Parliamentary courtroom, with the exception of the golden surroundings.

Marcus looked down upon the newest recruit. "Do you know the story of our kind, McAllen?"

John cleared his throat, standing straight and poised. "Yes, sir," he replied. "I do."

"Recite it," commanded the leader.

John began to tense up a bit. It made him nervous to see that all the eyes were upon him, and that the only two who have spoken so far were himself and Marcus. Still, he calmed himself, and began. "Well, sir, it began with our forefather, Johann Grungit, over six centuries ago. When he was just a little boy, he accidently ran into a pillar, which crashed down upon his unexpecting older brother. He loved his brother to death, literally. But, for some odd reason, it excited him. He somehow enjoyed the event a bit, despite losing his best friend that day.

"It inspired him to drive the pleasure further, and he began to kill more and more people. He was filled with a rush each time, and couldn't get enough of it. So, oddly enough, he pleaded with God to turn him into the perfect assassin. When God refused, he became angry, and turn to the Lord's arch-rival, the Dark Lord himself. He vowed that he would give up his soul, if only to be the perfect assassin.

"Satan was so amused by this, he made a deal with Johann. He said (let me see if I got this right), "Not only shall I grant this to you, but every descendant of your blood shall bear this mark. TYour souls shall be eternally mine, in exchange for the ultimate power of death. The earth shall be at your expense, to do with as you please. You, and all that descend from you, shall be the perfect assassins. This is your gift. This is your burden. This is your fate.'

"Johann was more than pleased with this deal, and agreed. And that is how we are who we are, sir."

Marcus was impressed with this boy's remarkable memory. "Well done," he said. "And so it is. We have descended from that man, and we are much like he is. However, as time progressed, we began to devote our lives to ridding the world of all those who no longer deserve the gift of life. Over the past two centuries, this room is linked to the outside world, through many doorways, much like the one you used to get here. We see everything that happens on Earth, from a child taking a Tootsie Roll off a table without asking, to a gang robbing a bank, to murders being committed. All that we need to see, we see. That is why we asked you to kill those two senators."

John cut him off quickly. "Why did you send me to them?"

"Because," Marcus explained, "those men had lives they hid from the public. Anderson, before coming to America, was a sex offender, harassing many, and even assaulting one young woman when in his twenties. Johnson, before coming here, was a professional bank robber, knowing how to get the job done, before anyone could possibly trace the crime back to him. He had made millions of dollars through theft and foolery. Both hid their lives from vieweing eyes. Neither were known for their track records. No one knew, except us.

"This is what we do. This is our burden, our responsibility, our duty to the planet. And we uphold that to the very end. Silence is our weapon, and Nature is our sheathe. That is why I ask you: John McAllen, newest to our brethren, to this do you swear?"

John looked around. All eyes were still fixed upon him. "All my life I had waited to be one of you. All my life I wanted to be an Assassin of the Marked Brotherhood. Do I turn on that dream? Do I walk away from this life, from those of my kind? Can I even think of a reason to do so? No, I cannot. So, until the end of time, until my body joins my soul in Hell for eternity, I swear to this oath. I shall serve this clan until I die."

Marcus cocked his head slightly. He knew what neded to be done, so he pulled out a knife, and threw it at John. John was shocked, and bent over backwards. He blended into the floor, in order to escape the knife. When he pulled himself back up, he saw himself alone. He look around, wondering why they all disappeared. Why are they testing me? Shouldn't my words be enough? Do they really need proof that I am worthy?

Not a second later, machine guns fired down upon John. He blended back into the ground, although it did not help him much. The bullets pierced through the ground, each opne harming him as well. He knew he had to stop them, so he used the floor as his eyes, looking for the source of the gunfire. Robotic turrets fired but a few feet from the ceiling, risen from a platform.

He climbed through the walls to that platform, appearing behind one of the turrets. None of them had noticed him yet, so he broke the head of. Sparks flew from the wires, as it flung its arms wildly around. He blended into the turret, and fired at the rest of the guns. All were destroyed quickly, since they were only made for offense. Defensive shells were not thought of here, so every turret was ripped apart by John's.

Once all were finished off, he leaped off the platform, into the ground, like one to to dive off a diving board into a deep pool. He blended through the floorboards, resurfacing moments later. He appeared to the sight of the Brotherhood, watching him again. Marcus stood in front of him. "You are ready," he said. He slapped his hand upon John's left shoulder, as the Brotherhood broke out into cheers of joy. Another brother was brought home at long last.