Chapter 8: Friendships

The tea kettle atop the stove hisses, prompting Mary to grab it by the handle and place it on a different burner. She reaches into a wooden cabinet and grabs a mug. Emblazoned on its white porcelain was a black dragon head with an aura surrounding its figure just as crimson as its eyes. A bright white spear pierces the dragon's skull through its mouth—its shape distorted by crackles similar to electricity. One word in all capitals rests beneath the logo:

IAPETUS.

Deimos enters the kitchen, wearing his usual morning getup. His black visor is worn somewhat crooked and pointed to his left. A blue and grey pajama jacket covers his white undershirt, complementing green and red plaid pajama pants.

He passes by his wife as she pours two spoonfuls of ground coffee into the mug's boiled water and stirs it into a dark brown. Deimos takes a seat at the kitchen table as she hands him his mug.

Once again, the clock above the kitchen doorway strikes a quarter after seven.

He takes a sip, the tired gaze on his face slowly receding. "Thanks, honey."

Mary responds with a gentle smile.

A child scampers into the kitchen, her little feet sliding across the mosaic tile floor. She slams open the pantry door and yanks out a cereal box, before sprinting to the dish cabinet and pulling out a bowl. As the young girl runs back into the kitchen, she places the bowl and cereal next to Deimos. She pulls out a glass bottle of milk, all the while almost ripping the refrigerator door from its hinges.

Mary grabs her by the sides, the girl's legs still running in the air as she's slightly lifted off the ground. The child's legs come to a screeching halt after she is gently lowered onto the seat next to her father at the kitchen table and given a spoon by her mother. Almost as soon as her mother walks back to the stove, the girl pours sparkling, sugar-coated corn flakes and milk into the bowl. She chows down as fast as a motor going over 70 for gasoline.

"You seem to be in a hurry, Petra." Deimos stares at her while he rests his chin on the palm of one hand.

Petra takes a moment to finish chewing. "Today's the field trip."

"Ah," Deimos takes another sip. "You're goin' to the museum?"

Petra nods her head as she continues eating, her cheeks puffed out like a hamster's. Deimos smirks as he runs his hand through Petra's dirty blond hair, moving her head around.

She laughs, trying to wrestle away his calloused hand with both of her soft ones atop her head. "Dad!"

"Come on, Petra. I had to go through that with Uncle Sanford and Uncle Hank. You can go through this as well."

"But dad!"

Deimos takes his hand back and resumes drinking his coffee. "Don't worry, mom'll brush your hair back."

"But I don't want to be late."

"You're not going to be late." Deimos raises his left wrist to observe his watch. The golden exterior shimmers in the light. Exposed gears turn in the center as the second hand continues its march on the numbers and lines. "You still have at least fifteen minutes before the school bus gets here."

A mischievous grin formed on Petra's face. "In that case..."

Mary appears behind Deimos, her hands on her hips. An unamused stare on her face presses down on her daughter.

Petra cowers to finish her cereal. "But mom-"

Mary lets a slight smirk overcome her as she rubs her daughter's hair. She makes every strand part to the right side of Petra's head with the precision of a comb. Mary feels the side of her daughter's head and recognizes a bump right above her ear. Both sets of female eyes widen while Deimos watches.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

Mary points to the injury. He gets up for a closer look.

"What happened." The father's voice loses its usual tinge of cheeriness.

Petra swats her mother's fingers away. "It happened in P.E. I got hit by a ball."

Deimos's gaze intensifies. "A ball hit you that hard?"

Petra's face grows a soft red as she stares at her empty bowl. She feels her father's hand on her shoulder.

"You can tell us anything, Petra," Deimos's face feigns its usual softness. "We're here for you."

Petra doesn't fall for it. "I-it was nothing."

"Petra." Deimos's brow furrows as he involuntarily clenches a fist. "Who hit you."

Petra gets up from her seat, pulling away from her father's grasp. "I should get going."

Deimos puts his hand back on Petra's shoulder. She can feel the palm of his hand quiver as he struggles to avoid putting any force or strength in his renewed grip. "You're not in trouble. We just want to know who did this and see if you can do something about it."

"Really?" Petra asks.

Deimos subtly nods, a more genuine smile now back on his face. "Yeah. You don't need to worry too much about it."

His daughter lowers her shoulders before sighing. "I don't know. My back was turned."

"Well, if it happens again, be sure to let us know about it." Deimos's uplifting smile grows crooked and sour. He pats his daughter on the back to compensate for his change of expression. "Now go have fun at the museum."

Petra grabs her backpack from the back of her chair and runs out the door. The air conditioning sounds off as a cold air invades the room. Mary shivers slightly at the sudden brisk atmosphere. Deimos rests his free hand onto the cool granite table as he looks into his empty mug. He lets out a sigh.

"Mary, did I say something wrong?"

She wraps her arms around him, having her head nuzzle next to his. "You're trying your best. It's okay."

He loosens his neck and reaches into his wife's hair, feeling her soft, straight strands wrap around his fingers. He closes his eyes, wandering into the calming subconscious.

That is, until reality bangs at their front door, causing them both to flinch. Family pictures on the walls of the living room slightly shudder from each heavy impact..

"Deimos, open up!"

Sanford's voice was unmistakable. Mary walks past the kitchen table and into the other room. Deimos straightens his back, feeling his spine pop back to its proper form with a grunt. Heavy footsteps march to the kitchen entrance.

Sanford first appears with a glare that could stop the clock from ticking—eyes that are too patient for wrath or blind fury. Deimos freezes up as Sanford approaches him. Right behind Sanford, Deimos can see Hank standing at the door frame, his arms crossed and dark shadows covering the bottom of his orbits.

Sanford seizes Deimos by the collar.

"We need to talk."

Deimos gets pulled up from his chair. He can feel Sanford's breath reeking from vodka. He grabs Sanford's wrists and forces them off.

"What's going on?" Deimos puts his hands on his hips, feeling the urge to break Sanford's floating ribs.

Sanford slams his hand on the granite.

"THIS!"

Deimos looks down on the table and sees a metallic wristband that has buttons and switches on it. All with Iapetus's logo proudly displayed on the center.

Deimos's eyes turn from burning resentment to cold realization.

"How di-?" He turns back to Sanford. "How'd you get this?"

"This was apprehended from a burglar that assaulted Hank and his family. Gave him the ability to cloak." Sanford pauses as he extends his index finger and pokes Deimos's chest violently. "How did this get into the hands of street punks?"

Deimos sinks back into his chair. "They were probably stolen."

"Stolen?" Sanford grabs Deimos by his pajama jacket sleeve and pulls him back to the table. "Excuse me?"

"I know what I said! This isn't meant for military or civilian weaponry, so it couldn't have passed our labs."

Sanford blinks the statement in. He looks back at the wristband, still on the granite table, then turns back to Deimos, resuming his chilling glare into his comrade's soul.

Deimos raises his hands slightly. "We gave up on this prototype. It hardly works in daylight."

"Since the method of cloaking is done through refracting rather than reflecting light. Causes the outline and body to still be visible, only we can see through it. Correct?"

Both Deimos and Sanford turn to the source of the statement: Hank. Still standing in the doorway. Right beside Mary.

"Yeah, pretty much why we discontinued that project." Deimos sits back down on his seat, his face growing paler.

"Can you at least explain how this could've gotten stolen?"

"I don't know."

"How do you not know?" Sanford asks as his palm collides with his forehead.

"Because you just told me it was stolen five minutes ago!" Deimos turns his chair to face his friend. "Look. We're going to find out who stole my technology and figure out how they did it."

Hank lowers his hands to his hips. "You say as you stay seated."

"You don't sound too worried either, Hank."

"Deimos." What little malice hiding itself from Sanford's voice becomes visible. "Your company will be under investigation if you don't comply."

Deimos cranes his neck forward. "Are you threatening me?"

Sanford sizes him up. "I am."

The air conditioning clicks to a halt. Though the cold air filling the room evaporates, Deimos is still shivering.

"If I may interrupt..."

All three turn to Mary. Her eyes stare into Sanford's.

"You have my sincerest condolences, Hank. However, I believe your investigation would improve if you were to stop harassing my husband. You two don't have the slightest understanding as to what Deimos is doing for us."

"I understand this isn't a comfortable topic to discuss, but we don't have the luxury to wait around." Sanford turns back to Deimos. "The reality is, what Deimos's been doing for the past year and a half now still remains unexplained."

Deimos tilts head, cringing. "What?"

"What is your 'body armor' supposed to be?"

"It's not this!" Deimos exclaims as he points at the gauntlet.

"Then what is it?"

"It's confidential to the point I can't tell my wife about it outside the laboratory." Deimos maintains his gaze as he taps at his own chest. "I am not the person you should be asking to see this shit. Do you know who you should be asking? The government. And let me tell you, they'd be more willing to show you all the fucked up shit the AAHW did back in the War than what we're working on now."

Hank squints his eyes. "My family was just attacked, Deimos."

"Then what good are you going to get out of attacking mine?"

With a monitor blaring onto his face, an Engineer types along his keyboard. His fingers utilize such skill and precision as if they are caressing the keys. The only sound emanating from the room apart from each keystroke is the buzzing of his screen. His eyes squint and his back hunches over as he looks to a video at the top right of the screen in front of him.

Daniel Richards can be seen lying on his cot. The prisoner lazily turns his head and faces directly to the camera spying on him.

The worker can feel cold fingertips resting on his left shoulder. He looks up and sees an elderly man, wearing a red tie and grey greatcoat.

The older man lifts his hand. "Are the sleepers ready?"

"Not yet, sir." The worker resumes his typing.

"Then what's holding you back?"

"Just a case of timing, sir."

"In regards to the anomaly?"

"Well, yeah."

A folder appears on the screen and the worker clicks on it. Dim red lines and designs light up the walls and floor, causing the earlier darkness to retreat.

"Considering the structure we're using, and the rift that was caused by the duplicate that came here, we have to delay our siege for another few days."

"How is the storage?"

"Our Improbable Energies have dropped a little due to the rift. We will be able to recover in time for the invasion."

"And the clone program?"

The worker opens another folder, showing the anatomy of a man and the stasis pod he is to be grown in. "Thanks to our generous donors, everything is going to plan. However, we still have a problem with the aging process if you still want to be able to use these clones for more than three months at a time."

The old man gives a wistful smile. "I'm sure our doctors and surgeons can figure it out in time. But for now..." He pauses as he takes a closer look at the stasis pod. "We'll have to use the clones sparingly."

"You trust the training given to your current soldiers?"

"More than just their training. Their fear will also aid in our success against the Antithesis Organization. They not only fear me, but they also truly understand the Higher Powers."

"Speaking of which, my console hasn't been updated on Black Flame."

The old man tilts his head. "Really? I'll be sure your computer has all files about our current progress."

"Which is?"

"Lackluster right now. Even with the prisoner sacrifices and Improbability Drive repairs to direct this structure's energies into the Remnant, we're having very little progress."

"How long do you suspect we can keep this up without His leadership?"

"Right now, our workers have proper motivation." The old man looks to the livestream of Daniel Richards in his cell. "And when we gain proper commanders, we'll rise from the ashes and show the world the legacy of the AAHW."

"You think you can make it work?"

"I do." The old man turns away. "I've learned from my past mistakes."

Fluorescent light tubes on the ceiling brighten the jade green walls surrounding Hank, Sanford, and Deimos. They watch over multiple monitors that are mounted onto the south end of the room. Deimos is seated at the center of the table, holding a separate screen that shows the entrance of his company building. Sanford keeps his eyes focused on the top right, where two monitors show a vault door from two separate angles. Hank shifts his gaze from one monitor to the next, looking for the smallest movements that are being shown from each screen in front of him.

Deimos turns to both his friends. "My company's entranceway is that entertaining, huh?"

Hank rolls his eyes and resumes his focus on the screens. Sanford looks down on Deimos, ready to hit him over the head with an open fist.

"Deimos. We've looked over these TV's for an hour already and we've gone as far back as footage from six months ago. How can you be so sure that you didn't already sell the equipment to someone else, whether accidental or not?"

Deimos rubs at his eyes, taking Sanford's open flask that he left on the table. "Because Sanford, if such a transaction really happened, I would've known that equipment was sold to somebody. I think what happened was that whoever these geeks are, the White Lion Society might have either infiltrated the building to steal some of my merchandise, or there are agents already in the company that leak information to whoever's in charge."

"If that were the case," Hank shifts his focus to Deimos. "We need to figure out how this group's been getting your information without causing any contingency to occur."

"Right now, let's focus on this one step at a-" Deimos pauses all the screens in front of them. "Found it!"

All three look to the blank screen on the center left. It was previously displaying one of the laboratories that had a gauntlet stored there.

Deimos pushes a button on the table. "Now, playing it forward."

Hank strokes his chin. "An eight second blackout."

"That doesn't exactly mean much," Sanford reaches for his flask. "That's too little time to take anything."

Deimos turns to his partner. "Sanford, this kind of thing was what we did back in the war."

"I get that, Deimos. But what makes you think this one blackout was when the gauntlet was stolen? It's still in its case when the camera goes back to normal."

"Because the blackout wasn't brought up from security."

Hank narrows his eyes. "Who was the guard on duty?"

Deimos pulls out his phone. "Hang on, looking at the schedules..."

Sanford rubs at his eyes and puts away his flask as Deimos searches through his phone.

Deimos's eyes light up. "FOUND HIM!"

Hank looks over Deimos's shoulder. "Who is he?"

"Says here it was a guy named, 'Clyde Hutter.'"

"Is he scheduled to work here today?" Sanford asks.

"Let's see… Yup, he's in the West Wing right now. Let's go!"

With glazed eyes, Hutter faces the litany of monitor screens in front of him. He reaches at his desk and pulls out a can of Sangria. Popping it open and enjoying the beverage, he spots the big boss approaching the entrance to the security room through the monitor on the center bottom.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Mr. Hutter? Are you in there?"

Hutter straightens himself on his chair, realigning his tie. "Come in!"

The door opens and he sees the CEO of the company, accompanied by the Chief of Police and the hero, Hank J. Wimbleton.

The security guard looks at all three of them as he already breaks into a cold sweat. "Wh-what's going on?"

Deimos takes a seat. "You were on duty when a blackout occurred. Why wasn't this presented to any other security personnel?"

"Well, I figured it was just a camera short out, mainly because the gauntlet was still in its case when the camera came back online."

"You still didn't follow protocol when this happened. A few months after this event happened my friend, Hank's family was attacked by people who used a gauntlet. Just like our failed prototype."

Hutter's face grows pale. "I'm-I'm so sorry about that, I just thought..."

Deimos gets out of his seat. "Calm down. We just need to figure out how these people were able to get in and out without causing any other disturbances."

Hutter lets out a sigh. "Ok. What else do you need me for?"

"Not much else. Just to figure out a few things."

Hutter reaches to his desk again. He turns to Deimos and pulls a Ruger SR 45.

Hank tackles the man down and pries the gun out from his fingers.

"Societas leo vivat Alba!"

Hutter screeches as black flames erupt from every pore of his flesh as he tumbles and rolls on the floor. The trio leap back by instinct, watching as the flames consume everything but the charred remains of a traitor..

"What was that?" Sanford asks as he lifts the man's arm and inspects the burns.

Deimos lets out a sigh. "It looks like he was one of theirs. And either he was a phenomenal actor, or a sleeper agent."

"No shit!" Sanford yells back.

"Well," Hank starts. "I guess Sanford and I owe you an apology."

Deimos rests his hands on his hips as he turns to Hank. "You're damn right you do."

"I said 'owe.' Doesn't mean you're getting one."

"Oh, fuck you guys."

Alone in the dark, Dan shifts at his bed. The ceiling light—once providing warmth—is now cracked and cold. He looks to the puddle again, murky from the water falling from broken pipes. Sweat leaks out of his pours despite the brisk air, his hands turning clammy.

Footsteps can be heard outside his cell door. He sits up from his cot.

"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?"

A smile creeps up Dan's face. "Et ego operor."

Silence invades the room.

"The clock is beginning to strike for the coming summer. We await your call of allegiance."

"I'm well aware of that." Dan scratches at his grizzly chin. "However, I also know you are waiting for another man's call as well. Your superior seems to have a way of patience that might cause a few problems."

"What's your point?"

"I would like to remind you that my plans are already set in motion. I have no need to join or even be involved in your Society."

Dan can hear pacing outside his room.

"I only wish to hear your call. You don't have to join us to work for us, after all."

Dan rolls his eyes. "And what're you going to do to force me? Use a dog collar? Shock me with a few volts just to make me move my fingers?"

A slight chuckle comes from the other side of the door. "We might have to try that. It'd make the soldiers laugh. But no, we have our methods. And we don't even need you to be awake to do your job."

Dan looks up and snickers. "Wouldn't that be the dream job." He shakes his head. "Anyway, what exactly do you need my help for? You already have this 'mystical' structure and the manpower to take care of any complication you will ever have."

"When the time comes, we're going to need proper motivation for our workers. Our soldiers."

Dan rolls his eyes yet again, and lets his smile shift into a grin. "And you need to shock me in order to keep them from questioning orders?"

"No, but if matters get worse, we might have to. However, what we need you for is making sure the soldiers and our scientists fear those that command."

"Fear isn't the only thing you lack."

"Excuse me?"

Dan taps a finger against the metal cot of the bed he's lying on. Each knock is loud, and almost as if following a rhythm.

"Your logic. There's an obvious discrepancy with it."

"Oh, is there?"

"If you want my undying allegiance, a good place to start would be not trying so hard to sound cunning. You already have the tools to get me to do whatever you want. We both even agreed to this fact earlier in this discussion. Why is it then, that you're wasting your time and energy trying to convince me to work for you consciously? There's something you're not telling me… something that pertains to needing me conscious, perhaps?"

On the last word, Dan stops his tapping. The silence returns, this time confirming in its nature.

From the other side of the cell, a slight chuckle finally breaks through.

"Think of it as a courtesy call. Well-deserved, to the man sharp enough to lead the Underground Circus fiasco years ago."

"Then from that same man, I'll give you a piece of advice. You're going to cut yourself."

"Perhaps. But every success requires a little sacrifice. I'm just as willing as you are to spill my own blood for my objective. And just as willing, to spill the blood of others. Good day."

The footsteps start to grow distant. Then, the slam of another door signals the return of the all-too familiar sensation of being alone.

A/N: Ho boy, this one took a little bit longer than it should've. I would like to apologize for that. One of the reasons why this took so long was because of this whole virus thing going on has put both Spirit and I in a bit of a twist. With me, work has been unbelievably stressful and once outside of work, I've been wasting time outside of work watching Vinland Saga as well as guilty pleasure harem animes as well as being generally lazy. Overall, it's been pretty chaotic in both San Antonio and New York. And, Spirit has a bit he needs to tell you as well.

Spirit's A/N: I don't really have much to say for now, other than that things have been rough these past few weeks. I'm glad I'm able to at least have Deathdefier's story here before my own chapter to at least fill you in on the first major thing. For those of you who have followed my CuriousCat, you likely already know of my situation.

I've been infected by Covid during this entire quarantine clusterfuck. Being in New York doesn't help a lot either, as the mass panic going on currently feels almost surreal. It's been a few weeks since then; thankfully, my symptoms have finally resolved themselves and currently, I'm just trying to make sense of this bizarre lifestyle of being indoors all day.

This isn't an explanation for why I've been gone all this time, but at the very least, you have the first part of it for now. I'm going to let Deathdefier finish this up, as I gotta head off right now. Thanks again Death.

Back to Me: All right, now that's been said, I really hope you guys are okay throughout this quarantine. Lord knows San Antonio's becoming almost indifferent to the whole thing. But still. Sorry for how long this chapter took. Hopefully Spirit and I can get the next one in a more timely manner.