I plan to post two chapters a week depending on how my schedule hits when school starts.

Chapter warnings: None

Jim Harper hadn't dusted off Guardian in a while. He'd laid down the shield, near four months ago. Tried to put it away, maybe. He still wasn't sure. When he started thinking about what he wanted, what Jim Harper meant without the helmet ringing in his ears and the smell of a streetfight in his mouth, he found pretty contradictory and confused answers. Showed how much he knew.

Jim knew he hadn't ever been a great hero, but he'd made a lousy civvie, sticking his nose and his fists where they weren't wanted. He couldn't ignore the grating of the streets, the whispers and yelps that bounced around them. But he felt wrong out in them, too. Stuck somewhere in between.

So the trick was finding another 'between.' He'd be lying if he claimed the life hadn't hooked him somewhere between learning to fight and hiding the shield under that box. Should have seen it coming, really. Someone, he couldn't recall who, had told him so; you didn't just leave the hero biz unless you rode in a bodybag. He'd stopped trying to escape.

But something had disconnected, a while back, something he didn't understand. An aimlessness, wandering the streets at three in the morning, looking for a fight that wasn't coming, someone to save when everyone was asleep, like he didn't know what he was supposed to be doing. It unnerved him, kept him up all night and tired all day. He knew enough to get out after that.

It only left him with a hollow. Inactive duty wasn't enough. So Cadmus should be a good fit. Hopefully. Still working, still on duty. It felt good to think about lifting the shield again, its heft on his arm, edge against his wrist.

But nothing changed the immovable fact that Jim did not want to get up. Not even everyday morning not-want-to-get-up. No, this flung him all the way back to college days, eight in the morning on exam-Mondays. Jim growled through his teeth, pressing his palm against his forehead. What the heck did he eat last night?

The spectacular red-pain-fireworks lodged behind his eyes weren't helping, either. He'd hoped sleep would dissipate the migraine. Nothing he could remember should have triggered a stress-ache yesterday. Job interviews were hardly frightening after people fired guns at your eyeballs as your most accessible weakpoint.

As he blinked at the painful black lines between the ceiling tiles, Jim realized he didn't remember why he'd slept over at Cadmus. This place was not his apartment in so many ways.

He'd wasn't attached to the place. A lot like the hero gig, really. Restlessness drove him on. He couldn't settle. Lying on starchy blue sheets that weren't his, looking up at a strange ceiling, Jim was really starting to hate that.

The bedside clock read 4:54 AM in angular digital typeface. Which meant he ought to get up if he wanted breakfast before work. Jim assumed, as they had places for him to sleep, they would also feed him. Plenty of time to interrogate his own decisions later.

His insides felt greyish and coiled too tight. He wasn't hungry yet, but he would eat anyway. He'd be much more prepared to integrate himself into this establishment if he could convince that headache to stop drilling at his eye sockets.

Rubbing his eyes, Jim rolled out of bed, unbalanced slightly when the floor was at a different distance than he'd expected, and wandered about the strange room. It took extra time to find the closet with his boots in it, standing at attention side by side. If there was any less subtle reminder of what he should do, he didn't know it.

The bathroom had a painfully white shower, which was useful, with blue soap that smelled like manufactured seashore. A kitchen jutted off the living room; he padded through it looking for his cellphone. It was a pretty nice place, actually, all things considered. Just foreign. Uninhabited. He'd have to go pick up Lan and Twirly if he was going to be spending nights here. Maybe just one of them, if he switched back and forth. Sunlight flooded one window-sill that practically begged for a plant, and even had a partial shade section that Twirly would probably like. The poor plant didn't really agree with his current location.

Jim felt a little better after a shower and a suit. The straps on his armor creaked like always, and shield was heavy and familiar on his wrist. He'd missed the sensation. Carrying his helmet under his arm, he wandered towards the entryway of the apartment. The door seemed to be a sliding panel, which was sort of strange. A small screen hung on the wall next to it, by a small table. A computer? As Jim drew closer to it, the interface whirred to life.

"Unit assigned to: James Harper, alias Guardian. Clearance level B-4. Would you like to access the mainframe?"

Jim blinked at the screen in consternation. "Yes, please."

"Please verify access, Mr. Harper." Five shapes of lines and dots materialized on the screen. It took Jim a moment to recognize his fingerprints. So that was why they'd done the inking procedure yesterday. And here he'd thought they were running criminal checks. Jim pulled off his glove and lined up his fingers. The marks were actually spaced out to fit his hand, too. Weird.

The screen whirred to life on contact, chirping quickly as bars of light scanned over his skin. A cheery set of tones announced a proper match as the interface changed.

"Mainframe access granted. Welcome, Operative Guardian. You have two new briefing statements and one video log."

Straight to work, then. Jim put on his helmet, latched it under his chin, and checked his briefings first. One summarized Cadmus' schematics, including a blueprint that would ideally keep him from getting hopelessly lost. The building extended far further underground than he'd have guessed coming in. Go figure.

Thankfully, he found a cafeteria clearly labeled on the map, and further reading in the "standard employee" debriefing explained that this area was open 24/7 to feed him. With a show of his Cadmus ID-card, he would be provided for. Jim filed that away and tried to finish the other information quickly.

The second briefing, he found with some surprise, contained two letters. One from a Dr. Desmond, Director of the Cadmus program, and, as the man reminded him, Jim's superior officer. His letter curtly laid out Guardian's duties as director of security and documented the particularities of his contract. Jim scanned through just to be sure; expected pay, sick days (he was unsurprised by how few, and had little expectation of using them), injury insurance. It all checked out. The medical facilities somewhat surprised him, odd that they would not open their practice to private payers, but he was imagined at some point that would be explained to him as well. Perhaps some question of contamination prevented contact with outside patients. The tests done here were too expensive to mess up lightly. At the least, if he was injured on the job (God forbid), he would be well cared for.

At the bottom of Desmond's letter, however, was another short note.

Dear Mr. Harper.

I am pleased you decided to accept the post, and hope to see you again in the future.

Knowing our mutual friend Desmond as I do, I felt compelled to mention, as he in all likelihood will conveniently fail to recall. This databank carries a copy of the contract, for your convenience. Section 12B paragraph 6 outlines emergency authorities reserved for you. Should any personnel endanger the products or reputation of this institution, it is your responsibility to safeguard Cadmus. Do not take Desmond personally. He is a bitter and distrustful man, and has not had the good fortune to meet as many reasonable, decent people as you and I.

I bring this to your attention because I have utmost faith in your honesty and trustworthiness. I know you will not abuse your rank through this information.

Best of luck,

L. Luthor

Jim read that letter twice. He was pretty sure the second section had not been attached when Desmond sent his. How strange. Someone, whether really Luthor (he doubted it, it was too easy to fake signatures these days) or otherwise, had an interest in undermining Desmond's authority.

Not that Jim particularly minded. Most security corps had a provision for institutional safety, so it was useful to know by name. He was inclined to believe that Desmond would fail to mention it. Jim didn't like letting first impressions shadow an entire job, but he wasn't too tractable when treated rudely. The rest of Cadmus seemed reasonably bearable, and hopefully would prove halfway decent, but Dr. Desmond was sure to be a thorn in his side.

Still, he'd accepted this job, and he would perform to those expectations. Desmond was surely useful for some scientific mumbo-jumbo, and heaven knew Jim couldn't handle that stuff.

The video sped through different types of genetically modified…creatures, identifying characteristics, abilities and general jobs of each variet. The images had the air-brushed feel of a promotional poster, hiding important information, especially about those lightning-fast, sharp-toothed ones who glared at the camera with beady eyes. They certainly didn't look like pest-control packs. Jim watched the video twice and both times those things sent a chill up his neck.

Yeah. Not friendly. Or at least not harmless. He shouldn't judge; he'd met people in the hero community about that friendly-looking who'd still dragged him out of tough spots. But still.

But plenty of time to judge later. As chief of safety, Jim's job meant making sure he knew what those things could do, and when they'd be provoked into doing them. He was the Guardian of this place now. Those things too.

Information binge left him hungry. Making sure he had his card-key in his belt-pocket (a lockout would hardly do on day one), Jim ventured into the hallway to test his sense of direction against the map.

Cadmus' ceiling lights ran in endless lines, like subway-tracks, and he followed them down the hall. If being a soldier taught you one thing, it was taking directions well. He did not backtrack once, despite the decidedly unhelpful architecture where every hallway presented a cookie-cutter replica of the one before.

By 5:30 he located the mess hall, which probably wasn't called that around here. An impressive crowded milled about inside for the early hour. Jim assumed the night shift employees were grabbing a bite before heading to sleep. He knew the feeling. They sat in small scattered groups, staring zombie-eyed at the walls and each other. Jim smiled, nodded, and left them alone. He'd talk when they were coherent.

The fare was reasonable, and at least the eggs weren't soggy. His headache improved, as he'd hoped, though it didn't quite disappear. A dense mass of pressure pulsed behind his left eye, as if to keep track of his heartbeat. Perfect. At least he wasn't seeing any bright spots.

He finished and discarded his cutlery. Desmond's briefing said report at 6:00 sharp. As the man's unpleasantness likely survived a good nights rest, Guardian was in no mood to make this meeting more uncomfortable than it had to be. Best be on time. No one could complain about punctuality.

"If you must stand there distracting me from my work, we may as well start early."

Dr. Desmond seemed capable of complaining about anything. The scientist ushered him in without looking up from his line of petri dishes.

Jim marshaled his self-discipline. "Guardian reporting for duty, Doctor."

Desmond finally glanced at him. "Yes, yes, come here." Jim carefully maneuvered past tall glass tubes filled with greenish liquid and gnarled, strange shapes. On the desk he saw two such creatures, minus the vaguely sinister suspensory fluid. The dimness, the constant hum of the tanks and cooling units made his head pound.

He needed to focus. So his head hurt. He had work to do. "Genomorphs," he said, because his head ached and he had to say something. He'd never seen one in person before.

The look Desmond gave him dripped disdain. "You actually checked your messages, I see. I did not expect you to remember them."

Jim was too fascinated by the little things to mind the scientist's sharp-edged words. These little ones were gnomes if he remembered correctly. Barely bigger than a cat, joints folded at unnatural angles, with pupil-less red eyes. Scales roughened their skin, and they blinked up at him, tilting their heads back and forth.

In unison. Creepy.

The door hissed, and combat instincts brought him forward, between it and Desmond.

The creature who looked back at Jim was not human. The video showed a glimpse of this genomorph, but Jim couldn't recall its name.

The genomorph turned its attention to Desmond. The scientist, predictably, scowled. "I told you 6:40, Dubbilex. You should know better than to interrupt."

'Dubbelix' blinked serenely. To Jim's astonishment, when Desmond finished the genomorph spoke in a dry, deep voice. "I thought you would find it of use to know specimen 255B-14 has reached 22 parts per million, and is expected to reach transformation phase in one hour."

Desmond made an incoherent sound of frustrated surprise, and rounded on his computer. The frenetic clacking stabbed at Jim's head until he winced. Six pairs of red eyes fixed on him with what he hoped was just curiosity. The spoken one's eyes, particularly, seemed to glow dimly for a moment there.

They were fellow workers here, Jim supposed, and so he tried not to resent the examination, taking the chance to more closely observe this strange…person. He (it sounded male, though what did Jim know) had blue skin, the same tiny scales freckled across his face as the little ones on the counter, but this creature had larger and sharper-looking horns.

"Very well, then, we will have to make this brief." Desmond whisked from computer to desk, lab coat flapping like harried wings. The little things on the desk stepped away from him.

"Guardian, this is Dubbilex, a telekinetic G-goblin capable of speech. He is the most intellectually developed genomorph you will work with. You may give him directives to communicate to the less intelligent." Jim barely had time to nod a greeting to Dubbilex before Desmond whisked back to the desk. The harshness of his steps twisted the ache behind Jim's eyes. Great. Even when he was quiet he was loud.

Desmond kept jabbing the words at him. "More important, these are G-gnomes, used for telepathic communication anywhere in Cadmus. You are assigned 16258." He gestured at the gnome to the left, which looked at Jim with those red, red eyes. Tiny reddish Jims reflected back. "Keep it with you at all times, Guardian. Do you understand?"

Jim pushed aside the headache. "Yes, Doc. I keep the same one?" He looked at the little guy again, and the gnome blinked back.

Desmond sighed explosively, which poked another needle behind Jim's eyes. "Yes, yes. At all times!" He repeated it acerbically and slowly, as if to a small child. With a rough shove, he sent the little thing stumbling towards Jim. "Take it, and that," he pointed at Dubbelix, "and get out. I have important matters to attend to."

If Jim didn't like Desmond before, seeing him shove that little thing justified the opinion. Who could treat so small a creature so callously? The hurt in his head spiked unpleasantly, but he hurried to stabilize the gnome before it fell.

The gnome lowered wiry arms over his wrist. Rough bony plates covered its knees, so hard and taut with its weight Jim could feel them through his thick gloves. Its gnarled fingers gripped the back of his glove with strength that surprised him.

The gnome looked up with red eyes, and closed its fingers, shifting the fabric between scaly palm and scaly thumb. Like holding hands with an infant. An eerie glow wreathed its horns. Jim would have recoiled in surprise if a sudden sureness of calm and safety hadn't flooded through him.

The pounding pain in his head evaporated.

The breath went out of him, "Oh," and Jim stared at the little thing. It blinked back, and held more firmly to his hand, its mandibles shifting rhythmically. When he heard the little grating sound, he realized it was purring.

Jim smiled. "Alright, then I'm calling him Jake."

Desmond's garbled exploding sound was faintly entertaining. "What!?"

Jake accepted Jim's boost up onto his shoulder. The thicker material dulled the pressure of the little guy's sharp toes. Jake poked and prodded curiously before settling by Jim's neck. Once he stopped moving, Guardian followed previous orders and ignored Desmond's spluttering. "Coming, Dubbilex?"

They'd only met moments ago, but Jim thought consternation met him on Dubbilex's scaly face. That offered him a distinct sense of accomplishment. The g-goblin blinked at him, before turning from Desmond's exclamations, and following Jim out of the lab.

Jim made sure Jake was steady, and received a blunt-horned headbutt in appreciation. "Come on, little guy. Let's see if we can find my office."