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Chapter or Story
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own them. Cade, Hobbes and Darien belong to Sci-Fi, Jarod and the Pretender cast belong to TNT and NBC, and Michael and Theodore belong to CBS, I think. Don’t sue me please!
The Gang's All Here
by Ice Queen1
"Gentlemen, we have a situation. As you know, yesterday a man that we believed to be dead and out of our way is now back at large. He’s public enemy number one and about as sane as Mr. Fawkes without his counteragent. Claims that ‘aliens’ killed his wife and are planning Armageddon for us. He has killed many people with out regard. It is very doubtful he would hesitate to either one of you," the Official said, pacing back and forth in his office, watching his agents, Darien Fawkes and Bobby Hobbes, review the information.
"Wait, so this guy was shot through the heart on national television and he’s still alive?" Darien protested. "Doesn’t that strike you as a little strange?"
"A trick of the cameras. They can make people die in movies all the time. Nothing special. Now, I want you to be extremely careful when you capture him. Mr. Foster is very resourceful," the Official cautioned. "Go get him."
Darien and Hobbes sighed as they headed for the door. "You’d at least think we could get a live criminal, wouldn’t you?" Fawkes muttered under his breath.
"I don’t know about you, but ghostbustin’ has always been an aspiration of mine, my friend," Hobbes clapped his taller partner on the back.
"It would be," Darien retorted.
The Official would’ve laughed at the usual banter if the gravity of the situation hadn’t been so deadly serious. He looked back at the projector screen into the gray eyes of the cold-minded killer of Cade Foster. His agents would need all the help they could get. Not that he doubted Fawkes and Hobbes, but there was strength in numbers.
"Eberts!" he barked. "Get Doctor Morris on the phone. We could use his project’s help."
Eberts obediently dialed the number and handed the receiver to the fat man. "Doctor Morris, sir."
"Theodore, this is Charlie…yes…long time no see. I need your project’s help for job. Cade Foster must be stopped. Yes…as soon as possible. This afternoon? Perfect. See you at the airstrip." The official hung up the telephone.
"Should we expect them soon, sir?" Eberts wondered.
"Around four. Be sure that Hobbes and Fawkes are back by then," the Official answered.
"Mr. Wiseman! I order you to get down now! We need to prepare you to take you to San Diego," Theodore Morris ordered his project.
Michael Wiseman was a synthetically engineered 32-year-old man, well, except for his brain. That was his own. He had the speed of Michael Jordan, the strength of Superman, the grace of Fred Estaire, and the attitude of a sixteen-year-old. This, in all probability, was the reason why he was using the steel beam rafters as monkey bars. "Why are we going to San Diego? I thought my territory was the Big Apple," he replied, pausing in mid swing, one hand crunching a handhold into the steel.
"Mr. Wiseman, you will do as your told," Morris ordered.
Michael ignored him.
Theo re-thought his tactics. "You get to be outside for as long as it takes without myself or security guards."
Michael froze, his blue eyes lighting up. "Really?" he asked, dropping to the floor. "I get to go outside without you?"
Morris nodded. "You’ll be working with two other agents though. The man we’re going after is dangerous enough to require all three of you."
"Gee. And here I thought Superman could take out anyone all by his lonesome," Michael quipped, running his hand through his brown, military style cut hair. "We leave now?"
"As soon as you change. You didn’t expect me to show you off in your workout clothes, did you?" Theo smiled behind his thin, wire framed glasses.
"Inter-agency show-an-tell, huh? Why am I not surprised?" Michael shook his head as he snagged the bag of clothes Morris held out to him and headed for the showers.
Jarod flipped open his red notebook as he listened to the TV in the background. He’d just completed a pretend. He’d helped a family collect the insurance after an accident resulting in the paralysis of the husband. Jarod had uncovered the foreman had purposely caused the accident.
"For news today, America’s Most Wanted, Kincaide Foster is still on the loose. After killing his wife sent to a mental institution for delusions and acute paranoid schizophrenia, Foster began a killing spree across the United States. Efforts are now being doubled to re-capture him and this time, he is to be put on death row," the reporter announced, reading from a paper in her hand as she stood outside of the DC courthouse.
Jarod turned up the volume, but the report was almost over. They were showing a picture of Kincaide Foster. He was about five foot eleven with knife gray eyes that looked like someone’s Jarod had seen before. His hair was short and sandy brown. His look was of pure contempt. Of course, it was a mug shot, so Jarod assumed that he’d was frowning at the policeman behind the camera.
He glanced at his watch. The Centre would be catching up with him soon, along with the ever-beautiful Miss Parker. They weren’t that dumb not to have been able to figure out his clues that he repeatedly taunted them with. In the back of his mind, he wondered why.
He stared back at the picture of the convicted killer. Might as well help the government for once and he’d been meaning to check back into the California FBI. He grinned mischievously and grabbed his bag along with the DSA player and walked out the hotel door, mentally building up a new persona for the next pretend.
Cade Foster rubbed his eyes, staring at the TV screen inside the trailer.
"I’m a dead man as soon as I show my face in public," he muttered.
"That’s the way it’s been ever since you became subject 117, buddy. I could’ve told you that when we met," Eddie Nambulous quipped, lacing his fingers together as he propped his feet up on his computer desk.
"What’s your plan Foster?" Jordan Radcliffe asked, pacing up and down the short length of the silver trailer.
"I don’t know, but I didn’t let the Gua get me and I’ll be damned if my species is the one to take me down. Besides, I’m the twice-blessed man, remember? I have to survive," Cade answered. He was worried about the renewed effort to capture him, but for some reason, it seemed to be at a distance. It was almost as though it didn’t concern him.
Jordan looked at him worriedly, but a smile crept across her lips. "You don’t care, do you? You’re gonna go out there and get yourself killed, aren’t you?"
"You have a better idea?" Cade looked at her.
"Sounds like a plan," she answered.
Eddie shook his head. He firmly believed in the words, ‘there are two types of people in this world. Those who will fight like they have nothing to lose and those who will fight when loved ones are threatened.’ Eddie sometimes had a hard time deciding which one the two veterans were. Maybe they were both and if that was the case, he had no doubt that they’d survive anything. Including apocalypse.
"Are going to check out the lead in San Diego?" Eddie spoke up.
"Yeah. I’m not going to let a little set back like my country trying to kill me along with the Gua get me. I’ll see you in a little while guys," Cade hopped out of the trailer and swung the door shut behind him.
"He seems to be in good humor," Jordan remarked. "What’s up with him?"
"Beats me. Maybe he found a new reason to fight," Eddie shrugged, going back to the computer, jotting down some more things for the Paranoid Times web page.
The red head considered it for a moment. "Or he got laid."
Eddie laughed along with her until he heard Cade’s voice practically shout, "I heard that!"
The two sobered up long enough for Cade to drive away before cracking up again.
"Gentlemen, you’re all here for a simple task. Track down and capture the fugitive Kincaide Foster. Sounds simple enough for several billion dollars of Uncle Sam’s money, right?" the Official explained, glancing at the three men sitting in front of him. A knock at the door interrupted him before he continued. A tall, black haired man in casual street clothes, save for the FBI special task force tag on his jacket lapel, entered the office looking mildly sheepish.
"Sorry," he apologized. "This is my first time here."
"Ah, special agent Spence, nice of you to join us. Allow me to introduce the men you’ll be working with. This is Agents Fawkes and Hobbes, and Mr. Wiseman," the Official indicated the three men sitting in chairs in front of the desk.
Fawkes, a tall, lean, brown haired, brown-eyed man about twenty-five stood and shook hands. "Please, call me Darien. Nobody else will," he grinned.
"Only if you call me Jarod," Jarod replied.
Darien nodded. "Deal."
Hobbes stood and greeted him, though not nearly as friendly as Darien. He was much shorter than his partner with thinning black hair and beady brown eyes. "Robert Hobbes. Call me Hobbes," he said tightly, briefly shaking Jarod’s hand. Jarod wasn’t sure if the man was plain paranoid or just didn’t like him.
He turned to greet the third man. He was about five-foot-eleven with short, brown hair and vibrant blue eyes.
"I’m Michael Wiseman. Pleased to meet you," he grinned, giving Jarod a bone-crushing handshake.
"Now that we’re through with the pleasantries, please sit down Mr. Spence," the Official ordered, pointing to a chair next to Michael.
"The objective for you four men is to track down and capture this man," a black man with wire-framed glasses and goatee explained, gesturing towards a projector screen. It showed the picture of Foster that was on the news last night. "Kincaide, or Cade, Foster is an extremely dangerous man. He is prone to wild delusions of aliens and paranoia. He is to be captured unharmed if possible, but shoot to kill if you have the shot. Mr. Foster is a walking dead man anyway."
Michael coughed. "I know how he feels."
Jarod stared at him peculiarly.
Michael shrugged. "I’ll explain later. Or he will," he nodded at the black man still briefing the others on the situation.
"All of you have been brought here because each of you bring in a certain quality that will make you an unbeatable team as long as you work together. Now, it’s time for…show-and-tell, if you will. Who wants to go first?" the Official asked, looking around at the four, very individual men before him.
No one made a move.
"Fine. Then I’ll just pick one of you to go at a time," the Official grumbled. "Mr. Fawkes, you first."
Darien shot a mutinous glare at his boss, but sat up a little straighter. "Call me the invisible man," he said simply.
Jarod was glad to see that he wasn’t the only one a little mystified by the statement. Michael looked just as confused.
Darien sighed. "Time for the ‘show’ part." He closed his eyes and was almost immediately covered in a liquid, metallic silver liquid and faded from view. "I am the Invisible Man," he repeated, a bemused tone in his voice. Hobbes also had a smug grin on his face.
"History?" the Official prompted.
Darien sighed and shed his invisible coating in the form of thousands of silver flakes. "Ex-thief sentenced to life imprisonment until dear brother of mine used me as a human guinea pig. Put a gland in my head and that’s why I’m here today instead of Leavenworth of Sing-Sing."
"Hobbes?"
"I’m his partner," he nodded in the direction of Darien.
"That’s it?" Michael asked.
"No, he’s also paranoid, which makes him great at thinking like Foster," Darien smirked. Hobbes attempted to hit him, but his arm was too short and Darien stuck out his tongue.
"That’s enough!" the Official barked, and the two agents desisted.
"Mr. Wiseman?" the black man encouraged.
Michael smiled. "You’re the Doc, Doc. Michael Wiseman, artificial Superman grown in his lab, except for my charming personality."
"He’s can run faster, jump higher than any man, with the speed of Michael Jordan, the strength of Superman, and the grace of Fred Estaire," ‘Doc’ explained.
"We’re still working on the whole ‘grace’ concept, but other than that…he just takes credit for taking my brain and putting it in this body. Though, it sure as hell beats dieting," Michael muttered.
"What about you, Agent Spence?" Hobbes interrupted.
Jarod glanced up. "Oh, I’m nothing special. Just your run of the mill genius," he answered casually.
"Is that so?" Hobbes raised an eyebrow. "What does E=MC squared mean?"
"Actually, that is not a correct formula because MC cannot be squared because it is not physically or scientifically possible to square something that is not a solid matter, only an idea," Jarod replied.
Hobbes nodded. "I knew that." He caught the looks sent his way. "What, you don’t think I could do that? I could do that. I could do it blindfolded an one hand behind my back.
"What is the relevance of being tied and blindfolded if all you’re doing is saying something?" Jarod asked, puzzled.
"Got ya there Hobbes," Darien laughed.
"Shut up," Hobbes growled.
Before Darien or the others could make up a comeback, a man with thin brown hair in a pressed black suit came in and cleared his throat for attention.
"What is it Eberts?" the Official asked.
"Security has found Mr. Foster, sir. They suggest that you move quickly if you do not want to lose him," the man answered.
"All right men, don’t’ disappoint our Uncle Sam," the Official smiled. "Go get ‘em."
Darien and Michael rolled their eyes simultaneously and all four headed for the door.
"Who is Uncle Sam?" Jarod asked before shutting it behind him.
"Miss Parker! Miss Parker! We found Jarod! He’s in San Diego as an FBI agent!" Broots gasped, skidding to a stop in front of a tall, dark haired woman wearing a designer outfit complete with stilettos. He shoved the file under her nose in an effort to prove his point.
Miss Parker snapped it and glanced over it. "Well Sydney, your Boy Wonder just became Boy Blunder. Get the jet ready," she snapped, handing the folder to an elderly man in a sweater and newspaper cap.
"Where do you think you’re going?" a voice sounded behind them.
"None of your business, Lyle," Miss Parker growled irritably.
"Oh, come on sis. There’s supposed to be no secrets between twins," Lyle tsked as he followed her down the Centre’s main corridor. "Though, I could here your little computer freak just fine when he was shouting about how you found Jarod," the brown haired man said. "I’m supposed to come with you, direct orders from Dad and Mr. Raines."
Miss Parker was too busy to really care. "Fine Lyle. But I warn you, if you let Jarod get away, you’ll lose more than your thumb," she hissed, indicating the leather glove hiding the stump of Lyle’s left thumb.
Lyle glared, but followed her anyway.
Cade walked along the edge of the sidewalk down shopping district next to the ocean. He’d been feeling caged for some reason and needed to get away from Jordan and Eddie for at least a little while as he thought about things. Mostly his past. Lately, it seemed it was coming back to bite him in the ass. He pulled his baseball cap lower over his eyes, just to be sure no one could see his face. Surprisingly enough, very few recognized a convicted murderer wanted across an entire country. But that wasn’t going to make him take down his guard.
Cade turned to look over his shoulder, pretending to look at a beautiful roller skater as she went by, but really checking for tails. He’d had a feeling of being watched. Cade jumped off the sidewalk and back up without missing a beat and continued walking with his hands shoved deep inside the pockets of his leather jacket.
One thing that he thought about is what he’d be doing if it weren’t for the Gua. Cade had been working for a security salesman when he’d become subject 117. The more he thought about, the more he realized that the Gua had created him, and that though his life was a living hell, the only thing he’d change about it was Hannah. His beloved wife, gone forever but never forgotten, his sole purpose for being the twice-blessed man. The reason for fighting. He kicked a stone absently and it bounced off something. He stopped walking. Cade kicked another stone and watched it bounce off an invisible surface. What the hell? Cade watched as a branch of a nearby plant moved without a breeze or anyone else near it. Crap.
He turned and dodged expertly through the crowd, making sure to avoid all suspicious people as he headed toward the edge of the crowd and the alleyways.
Cade craned his neck to see if he was being followed. Sure enough, he was, by a tall, young man with brown hair that seemed to have lost track of him in the hoards of people. He smiled to himself, but mentally kicked himself when he walked straight into the point of a gun.
"Federal agents, freeze Foster! You’re under arrest!" the man behind the gun growled. He was shorter than Cade with thinning black hair.
"Not by you, I’m not," Cade shook his head, taking a step backwards.
"I said freeze, Foster! I have orders to shoot if necessary," the man ordered, stepping closer like Cade had intended. The man did not see the edge of the sidewalk and stumbled a little, and Cade kicked the gun out of his hand and grabbed it.
"Like I said, I’m not about to be arrested," Cade smiled grimly, and kicked the shorter man’s shin so he could get a running start in the opposite direction.
"Spence, Wiseman, there he goes!" Cade could hear the man shout to two others.
He risked a glance behind him and saw a tall, dark haired man chasing after him.
Damn, his legs are longer, Cade thought to himself as he saw the man beginning to catch up. He detoured down an alleyway and continued sprinting.
Jarod followed after Foster and turned the corner that he’d just seen the fugitive enter when he ram smack into someone he did not want to see.
"Hello, Jarod," Mr. Lyle grinned, holding a gun at the Pretender’s chest. "Let’s go home."
"I’m never going back there," Jarod hissed.
Lyle shook his head. "You don’t have a choice, lab rat. Now get moving."
Jarod didn’t move.
"I’ll give you to the count of three. My sister isn’t near enough to come to your rescue, so I can shoot you without any interference. One…" Lyle pulled back the trigger. "Two…"
Jarod wasn’t sure what happened. One minute he was about to be shot, the next, a figure hurtled from out of nowhere and knocked Lyle to the ground with surprising force. However, that wasn’t the most surprising part. The object was a human, and none other than convicted murderer Cade Foster.
"RUN!" Cade shouted, rolling to his feet.
Jarod was frozen, he couldn’t move and he didn’t until Cade pushed him around and shoved Jarod out of the alleyway as he followed.
Lyle shook his head and saw just in time as Jarod and his accomplice made their way into the crowded street. He managed to pull off a shot before they disappeared.
Cade stumbled next to Jarod, crying out in pain. Lyle’s bullet had found its mark, and had embedded itself in Cade’s right leg. He would’ve fallen except for the hand that grabbed his arm and helped him back up. Cade looked up in surprise to find that it was the dark haired agent that the man in the alley had called ‘Jarod’. "Thanks," he gasped.
"Hey, I owed you," Jarod replied, smiling.
Cade’s return smile was cut short by a grimace as he put his weight down on his wounded leg and a stabbing pain shot up through his leg.
"Here, sit down. You might’ve hit an artery. I mean, Lyle could’ve," Jarod corrected as he gently pushed the bleeding man down onto a bench.
"Why would you want to help me?" Cade asked suspiciously.
"Like I said, I owe you one. That man would’ve shot me if you hadn’t stopped him. Thank you, by the way. Why did you help me?" Jarod replied.
"I don’t like violence. Maybe it’s a character flaw," Cade shrugged, looking at the bullet wound. It was bleeding pretty badly and was beginning to soak into his jeans. "Perfect," he grumbled.
"Wait here. I’ll go see if I can find something to stop the bleeding," Jarod said, walking towards the men’s room across the boardwalk.
Cade muttered to himself, "Like I can go anywhere."
"Except for the electric chair," a voice said behind him, just before an incredible pain flared up in the back of his head. Lights flashed and Cade fell into oblivion.
Hobbes smiled at the slumped form of Cade Foster. Let’s see the Agency say I’m worthless now, he thought smugly.
by Ice Queen1
"Gentlemen, we have a situation. As you know, yesterday a man that we believed to be dead and out of our way is now back at large. He’s public enemy number one and about as sane as Mr. Fawkes without his counteragent. Claims that ‘aliens’ killed his wife and are planning Armageddon for us. He has killed many people with out regard. It is very doubtful he would hesitate to either one of you," the Official said, pacing back and forth in his office, watching his agents, Darien Fawkes and Bobby Hobbes, review the information.
"Wait, so this guy was shot through the heart on national television and he’s still alive?" Darien protested. "Doesn’t that strike you as a little strange?"
"A trick of the cameras. They can make people die in movies all the time. Nothing special. Now, I want you to be extremely careful when you capture him. Mr. Foster is very resourceful," the Official cautioned. "Go get him."
Darien and Hobbes sighed as they headed for the door. "You’d at least think we could get a live criminal, wouldn’t you?" Fawkes muttered under his breath.
"I don’t know about you, but ghostbustin’ has always been an aspiration of mine, my friend," Hobbes clapped his taller partner on the back.
"It would be," Darien retorted.
The Official would’ve laughed at the usual banter if the gravity of the situation hadn’t been so deadly serious. He looked back at the projector screen into the gray eyes of the cold-minded killer of Cade Foster. His agents would need all the help they could get. Not that he doubted Fawkes and Hobbes, but there was strength in numbers.
"Eberts!" he barked. "Get Doctor Morris on the phone. We could use his project’s help."
Eberts obediently dialed the number and handed the receiver to the fat man. "Doctor Morris, sir."
"Theodore, this is Charlie…yes…long time no see. I need your project’s help for job. Cade Foster must be stopped. Yes…as soon as possible. This afternoon? Perfect. See you at the airstrip." The official hung up the telephone.
"Should we expect them soon, sir?" Eberts wondered.
"Around four. Be sure that Hobbes and Fawkes are back by then," the Official answered.
"Mr. Wiseman! I order you to get down now! We need to prepare you to take you to San Diego," Theodore Morris ordered his project.
Michael Wiseman was a synthetically engineered 32-year-old man, well, except for his brain. That was his own. He had the speed of Michael Jordan, the strength of Superman, the grace of Fred Estaire, and the attitude of a sixteen-year-old. This, in all probability, was the reason why he was using the steel beam rafters as monkey bars. "Why are we going to San Diego? I thought my territory was the Big Apple," he replied, pausing in mid swing, one hand crunching a handhold into the steel.
"Mr. Wiseman, you will do as your told," Morris ordered.
Michael ignored him.
Theo re-thought his tactics. "You get to be outside for as long as it takes without myself or security guards."
Michael froze, his blue eyes lighting up. "Really?" he asked, dropping to the floor. "I get to go outside without you?"
Morris nodded. "You’ll be working with two other agents though. The man we’re going after is dangerous enough to require all three of you."
"Gee. And here I thought Superman could take out anyone all by his lonesome," Michael quipped, running his hand through his brown, military style cut hair. "We leave now?"
"As soon as you change. You didn’t expect me to show you off in your workout clothes, did you?" Theo smiled behind his thin, wire framed glasses.
"Inter-agency show-an-tell, huh? Why am I not surprised?" Michael shook his head as he snagged the bag of clothes Morris held out to him and headed for the showers.
Jarod flipped open his red notebook as he listened to the TV in the background. He’d just completed a pretend. He’d helped a family collect the insurance after an accident resulting in the paralysis of the husband. Jarod had uncovered the foreman had purposely caused the accident.
"For news today, America’s Most Wanted, Kincaide Foster is still on the loose. After killing his wife sent to a mental institution for delusions and acute paranoid schizophrenia, Foster began a killing spree across the United States. Efforts are now being doubled to re-capture him and this time, he is to be put on death row," the reporter announced, reading from a paper in her hand as she stood outside of the DC courthouse.
Jarod turned up the volume, but the report was almost over. They were showing a picture of Kincaide Foster. He was about five foot eleven with knife gray eyes that looked like someone’s Jarod had seen before. His hair was short and sandy brown. His look was of pure contempt. Of course, it was a mug shot, so Jarod assumed that he’d was frowning at the policeman behind the camera.
He glanced at his watch. The Centre would be catching up with him soon, along with the ever-beautiful Miss Parker. They weren’t that dumb not to have been able to figure out his clues that he repeatedly taunted them with. In the back of his mind, he wondered why.
He stared back at the picture of the convicted killer. Might as well help the government for once and he’d been meaning to check back into the California FBI. He grinned mischievously and grabbed his bag along with the DSA player and walked out the hotel door, mentally building up a new persona for the next pretend.
Cade Foster rubbed his eyes, staring at the TV screen inside the trailer.
"I’m a dead man as soon as I show my face in public," he muttered.
"That’s the way it’s been ever since you became subject 117, buddy. I could’ve told you that when we met," Eddie Nambulous quipped, lacing his fingers together as he propped his feet up on his computer desk.
"What’s your plan Foster?" Jordan Radcliffe asked, pacing up and down the short length of the silver trailer.
"I don’t know, but I didn’t let the Gua get me and I’ll be damned if my species is the one to take me down. Besides, I’m the twice-blessed man, remember? I have to survive," Cade answered. He was worried about the renewed effort to capture him, but for some reason, it seemed to be at a distance. It was almost as though it didn’t concern him.
Jordan looked at him worriedly, but a smile crept across her lips. "You don’t care, do you? You’re gonna go out there and get yourself killed, aren’t you?"
"You have a better idea?" Cade looked at her.
"Sounds like a plan," she answered.
Eddie shook his head. He firmly believed in the words, ‘there are two types of people in this world. Those who will fight like they have nothing to lose and those who will fight when loved ones are threatened.’ Eddie sometimes had a hard time deciding which one the two veterans were. Maybe they were both and if that was the case, he had no doubt that they’d survive anything. Including apocalypse.
"Are going to check out the lead in San Diego?" Eddie spoke up.
"Yeah. I’m not going to let a little set back like my country trying to kill me along with the Gua get me. I’ll see you in a little while guys," Cade hopped out of the trailer and swung the door shut behind him.
"He seems to be in good humor," Jordan remarked. "What’s up with him?"
"Beats me. Maybe he found a new reason to fight," Eddie shrugged, going back to the computer, jotting down some more things for the Paranoid Times web page.
The red head considered it for a moment. "Or he got laid."
Eddie laughed along with her until he heard Cade’s voice practically shout, "I heard that!"
The two sobered up long enough for Cade to drive away before cracking up again.
"Gentlemen, you’re all here for a simple task. Track down and capture the fugitive Kincaide Foster. Sounds simple enough for several billion dollars of Uncle Sam’s money, right?" the Official explained, glancing at the three men sitting in front of him. A knock at the door interrupted him before he continued. A tall, black haired man in casual street clothes, save for the FBI special task force tag on his jacket lapel, entered the office looking mildly sheepish.
"Sorry," he apologized. "This is my first time here."
"Ah, special agent Spence, nice of you to join us. Allow me to introduce the men you’ll be working with. This is Agents Fawkes and Hobbes, and Mr. Wiseman," the Official indicated the three men sitting in chairs in front of the desk.
Fawkes, a tall, lean, brown haired, brown-eyed man about twenty-five stood and shook hands. "Please, call me Darien. Nobody else will," he grinned.
"Only if you call me Jarod," Jarod replied.
Darien nodded. "Deal."
Hobbes stood and greeted him, though not nearly as friendly as Darien. He was much shorter than his partner with thinning black hair and beady brown eyes. "Robert Hobbes. Call me Hobbes," he said tightly, briefly shaking Jarod’s hand. Jarod wasn’t sure if the man was plain paranoid or just didn’t like him.
He turned to greet the third man. He was about five-foot-eleven with short, brown hair and vibrant blue eyes.
"I’m Michael Wiseman. Pleased to meet you," he grinned, giving Jarod a bone-crushing handshake.
"Now that we’re through with the pleasantries, please sit down Mr. Spence," the Official ordered, pointing to a chair next to Michael.
"The objective for you four men is to track down and capture this man," a black man with wire-framed glasses and goatee explained, gesturing towards a projector screen. It showed the picture of Foster that was on the news last night. "Kincaide, or Cade, Foster is an extremely dangerous man. He is prone to wild delusions of aliens and paranoia. He is to be captured unharmed if possible, but shoot to kill if you have the shot. Mr. Foster is a walking dead man anyway."
Michael coughed. "I know how he feels."
Jarod stared at him peculiarly.
Michael shrugged. "I’ll explain later. Or he will," he nodded at the black man still briefing the others on the situation.
"All of you have been brought here because each of you bring in a certain quality that will make you an unbeatable team as long as you work together. Now, it’s time for…show-and-tell, if you will. Who wants to go first?" the Official asked, looking around at the four, very individual men before him.
No one made a move.
"Fine. Then I’ll just pick one of you to go at a time," the Official grumbled. "Mr. Fawkes, you first."
Darien shot a mutinous glare at his boss, but sat up a little straighter. "Call me the invisible man," he said simply.
Jarod was glad to see that he wasn’t the only one a little mystified by the statement. Michael looked just as confused.
Darien sighed. "Time for the ‘show’ part." He closed his eyes and was almost immediately covered in a liquid, metallic silver liquid and faded from view. "I am the Invisible Man," he repeated, a bemused tone in his voice. Hobbes also had a smug grin on his face.
"History?" the Official prompted.
Darien sighed and shed his invisible coating in the form of thousands of silver flakes. "Ex-thief sentenced to life imprisonment until dear brother of mine used me as a human guinea pig. Put a gland in my head and that’s why I’m here today instead of Leavenworth of Sing-Sing."
"Hobbes?"
"I’m his partner," he nodded in the direction of Darien.
"That’s it?" Michael asked.
"No, he’s also paranoid, which makes him great at thinking like Foster," Darien smirked. Hobbes attempted to hit him, but his arm was too short and Darien stuck out his tongue.
"That’s enough!" the Official barked, and the two agents desisted.
"Mr. Wiseman?" the black man encouraged.
Michael smiled. "You’re the Doc, Doc. Michael Wiseman, artificial Superman grown in his lab, except for my charming personality."
"He’s can run faster, jump higher than any man, with the speed of Michael Jordan, the strength of Superman, and the grace of Fred Estaire," ‘Doc’ explained.
"We’re still working on the whole ‘grace’ concept, but other than that…he just takes credit for taking my brain and putting it in this body. Though, it sure as hell beats dieting," Michael muttered.
"What about you, Agent Spence?" Hobbes interrupted.
Jarod glanced up. "Oh, I’m nothing special. Just your run of the mill genius," he answered casually.
"Is that so?" Hobbes raised an eyebrow. "What does E=MC squared mean?"
"Actually, that is not a correct formula because MC cannot be squared because it is not physically or scientifically possible to square something that is not a solid matter, only an idea," Jarod replied.
Hobbes nodded. "I knew that." He caught the looks sent his way. "What, you don’t think I could do that? I could do that. I could do it blindfolded an one hand behind my back.
"What is the relevance of being tied and blindfolded if all you’re doing is saying something?" Jarod asked, puzzled.
"Got ya there Hobbes," Darien laughed.
"Shut up," Hobbes growled.
Before Darien or the others could make up a comeback, a man with thin brown hair in a pressed black suit came in and cleared his throat for attention.
"What is it Eberts?" the Official asked.
"Security has found Mr. Foster, sir. They suggest that you move quickly if you do not want to lose him," the man answered.
"All right men, don’t’ disappoint our Uncle Sam," the Official smiled. "Go get ‘em."
Darien and Michael rolled their eyes simultaneously and all four headed for the door.
"Who is Uncle Sam?" Jarod asked before shutting it behind him.
"Miss Parker! Miss Parker! We found Jarod! He’s in San Diego as an FBI agent!" Broots gasped, skidding to a stop in front of a tall, dark haired woman wearing a designer outfit complete with stilettos. He shoved the file under her nose in an effort to prove his point.
Miss Parker snapped it and glanced over it. "Well Sydney, your Boy Wonder just became Boy Blunder. Get the jet ready," she snapped, handing the folder to an elderly man in a sweater and newspaper cap.
"Where do you think you’re going?" a voice sounded behind them.
"None of your business, Lyle," Miss Parker growled irritably.
"Oh, come on sis. There’s supposed to be no secrets between twins," Lyle tsked as he followed her down the Centre’s main corridor. "Though, I could here your little computer freak just fine when he was shouting about how you found Jarod," the brown haired man said. "I’m supposed to come with you, direct orders from Dad and Mr. Raines."
Miss Parker was too busy to really care. "Fine Lyle. But I warn you, if you let Jarod get away, you’ll lose more than your thumb," she hissed, indicating the leather glove hiding the stump of Lyle’s left thumb.
Lyle glared, but followed her anyway.
Cade walked along the edge of the sidewalk down shopping district next to the ocean. He’d been feeling caged for some reason and needed to get away from Jordan and Eddie for at least a little while as he thought about things. Mostly his past. Lately, it seemed it was coming back to bite him in the ass. He pulled his baseball cap lower over his eyes, just to be sure no one could see his face. Surprisingly enough, very few recognized a convicted murderer wanted across an entire country. But that wasn’t going to make him take down his guard.
Cade turned to look over his shoulder, pretending to look at a beautiful roller skater as she went by, but really checking for tails. He’d had a feeling of being watched. Cade jumped off the sidewalk and back up without missing a beat and continued walking with his hands shoved deep inside the pockets of his leather jacket.
One thing that he thought about is what he’d be doing if it weren’t for the Gua. Cade had been working for a security salesman when he’d become subject 117. The more he thought about, the more he realized that the Gua had created him, and that though his life was a living hell, the only thing he’d change about it was Hannah. His beloved wife, gone forever but never forgotten, his sole purpose for being the twice-blessed man. The reason for fighting. He kicked a stone absently and it bounced off something. He stopped walking. Cade kicked another stone and watched it bounce off an invisible surface. What the hell? Cade watched as a branch of a nearby plant moved without a breeze or anyone else near it. Crap.
He turned and dodged expertly through the crowd, making sure to avoid all suspicious people as he headed toward the edge of the crowd and the alleyways.
Cade craned his neck to see if he was being followed. Sure enough, he was, by a tall, young man with brown hair that seemed to have lost track of him in the hoards of people. He smiled to himself, but mentally kicked himself when he walked straight into the point of a gun.
"Federal agents, freeze Foster! You’re under arrest!" the man behind the gun growled. He was shorter than Cade with thinning black hair.
"Not by you, I’m not," Cade shook his head, taking a step backwards.
"I said freeze, Foster! I have orders to shoot if necessary," the man ordered, stepping closer like Cade had intended. The man did not see the edge of the sidewalk and stumbled a little, and Cade kicked the gun out of his hand and grabbed it.
"Like I said, I’m not about to be arrested," Cade smiled grimly, and kicked the shorter man’s shin so he could get a running start in the opposite direction.
"Spence, Wiseman, there he goes!" Cade could hear the man shout to two others.
He risked a glance behind him and saw a tall, dark haired man chasing after him.
Damn, his legs are longer, Cade thought to himself as he saw the man beginning to catch up. He detoured down an alleyway and continued sprinting.
Jarod followed after Foster and turned the corner that he’d just seen the fugitive enter when he ram smack into someone he did not want to see.
"Hello, Jarod," Mr. Lyle grinned, holding a gun at the Pretender’s chest. "Let’s go home."
"I’m never going back there," Jarod hissed.
Lyle shook his head. "You don’t have a choice, lab rat. Now get moving."
Jarod didn’t move.
"I’ll give you to the count of three. My sister isn’t near enough to come to your rescue, so I can shoot you without any interference. One…" Lyle pulled back the trigger. "Two…"
Jarod wasn’t sure what happened. One minute he was about to be shot, the next, a figure hurtled from out of nowhere and knocked Lyle to the ground with surprising force. However, that wasn’t the most surprising part. The object was a human, and none other than convicted murderer Cade Foster.
"RUN!" Cade shouted, rolling to his feet.
Jarod was frozen, he couldn’t move and he didn’t until Cade pushed him around and shoved Jarod out of the alleyway as he followed.
Lyle shook his head and saw just in time as Jarod and his accomplice made their way into the crowded street. He managed to pull off a shot before they disappeared.
Cade stumbled next to Jarod, crying out in pain. Lyle’s bullet had found its mark, and had embedded itself in Cade’s right leg. He would’ve fallen except for the hand that grabbed his arm and helped him back up. Cade looked up in surprise to find that it was the dark haired agent that the man in the alley had called ‘Jarod’. "Thanks," he gasped.
"Hey, I owed you," Jarod replied, smiling.
Cade’s return smile was cut short by a grimace as he put his weight down on his wounded leg and a stabbing pain shot up through his leg.
"Here, sit down. You might’ve hit an artery. I mean, Lyle could’ve," Jarod corrected as he gently pushed the bleeding man down onto a bench.
"Why would you want to help me?" Cade asked suspiciously.
"Like I said, I owe you one. That man would’ve shot me if you hadn’t stopped him. Thank you, by the way. Why did you help me?" Jarod replied.
"I don’t like violence. Maybe it’s a character flaw," Cade shrugged, looking at the bullet wound. It was bleeding pretty badly and was beginning to soak into his jeans. "Perfect," he grumbled.
"Wait here. I’ll go see if I can find something to stop the bleeding," Jarod said, walking towards the men’s room across the boardwalk.
Cade muttered to himself, "Like I can go anywhere."
"Except for the electric chair," a voice said behind him, just before an incredible pain flared up in the back of his head. Lights flashed and Cade fell into oblivion.
Hobbes smiled at the slumped form of Cade Foster. Let’s see the Agency say I’m worthless now, he thought smugly.
