Nobody's Hero Pt. 01

A man who sacrificed everything -- including his life -- finds himself reborn with unimaginable power and a second chance at something he never thought possible: happiness.

All Hugo has ever known is duty. For years, he sacrificed his time, his body, and his dreams for others. Saving an old acquaintance from a brutal attack felt no different -- even when the attack led to his demise. That is... until a mysterious, eccentric angel intervened, revealing a path Hugo never could have imagined.

Gifted with otherworldly abilities and guided by ethereal allies, Hugo is thrust into a world of escalating crises that threaten the city he calls home. Overnight, he becomes a sensation -- an unintentional hero sought by the rich and powerful who want to control him, and by the women who are suddenly vying for his attention.

Now, Hugo must balance his mission to save those in need with the unexpected surge of fame, and a battle for control over his newfound abilities. Constant danger stalks him, warring with his relentless determination to give aid to everyone... no matter the cost. He never expected to touch so many lives, and certainly never imagined that among those he saved might be the key to something he thought was lost forever: love.

This novel features fast-paced action, steamy relationships, and a heart-pounding clash between good and evil. Readers can look forward to high-stakes adventure, polyamorous romance, and a happily-ever-after that brings a smile to the face of even the grumpiest guardian angel.

Author's Note:

Nobody's Hero takes place in the Good Guy shared universe, but it can be read as a stand-alone. I've split it into four sections for publication here.

All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

Copyright © 2024 Jake Lazarus

All rights reserved.

This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the author (except for the use of brief quotations in a review).

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, businesses, products, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

One

BOOM

Hugo van der Mewre ducked involuntarily in response to the deafening thunder which shattered the relative calm of his early summer pre-dawn run.

"Shoulda checked the weather," he muttered to the empty streets.

He glanced up at the gathering clouds and was rewarded by the first heavy drop of rain striking his forehead. Despite the worsening weather, he maintained his pace. He was twenty-seven minutes into a carefully planned fifty-four-minute jog. He spared a moment of gratitude for his stalwart refusal to lash himself to his phone like so many of his contemporaries, since as a result the unexpected rain would mean only that he got wet.

The thunder had mostly faded by the time Hugo's apartment came into view, but the rain was as heavy as ever. He had no doubt he looked like a drowned wharf rat, in the words of a former sergeant. His close-cropped blonde hair did little to shield his cobalt-blue eyes from the storm, and it was all he could do to pick his way between the run-down buildings which encircled his home. He slowed his steps to begin his cooldown. As he reached the steps leading to his domicile, he pulled off his shirt and slung it over the railing before he began his routine of stretching. The driving rain sheeted down his muscular frame, speeding the cooling of his tortured muscles.

"Hey!" an alto voice called out from the early morning gloom.

Hugo glanced around for a long moment before grumbling, "Musta been thunder," and returning to the task of finishing his workout.

"Do you work here?" the voice called out again.

Another long look around the auto shop parking lot adjacent to his apartment revealed that the windscreen wipers were furiously oscillating on one of the cars. Hugo walked toward the car to find that the passenger side window was cracked. He could not, however, perceive any details through the window thanks to the condensation. He scrubbed his hand across the window in an attempt to see the occupant, to little effect.

"Well?" the obviously feminine speaker prompted.

Hugo glanced behind him for a long moment before returning his attention to the vehicle. "We're closed."

"I don't suppose you've got an umbrella or something so we could speak face to face," she groaned. "It's pouring out there."

He looked around dramatically to reinforce the fact that he wore nothing but workout shorts and sneakers but made no reply.

"Fair enough," she continued. "Listen. My engine keeps cutting out. It seems like the harder it rains; the worse things get."

"Might be an issue with your electrical components. Or maybe a tiny leak in your fuel system. How's your fuel economy?"

"Shitty. Listen, there must be some way we can talk without me ruining my outfit other than through a fogged-up window."

Hugo looked around for a moment before saying, "Hang on."

He approached the shop and keyed in a code on the panel inset on the front door. Moments later, one of the garage doors opened and he waved in the direction of the woman's car. The car rumbled toward the garage, sounding not unlike a World War II era bomber. As the car squeaked to a stop, he heard the THUNK of the hood release.

"Well, there's your problem," he announced immediately upon peering into the engine bay.

He ducked his head under the hood and reached for the freely dangling spark plug, but his hand would not fit through the tiny aperture between firewall and the engine block.

"Damnit," he grunted. "Can you hand me that oily rag on the work bench?"

"What on earth for?"

"It's genuinely a wonder that any water managed to get in there. There isn't enough empty space under here to fit a pair of earbuds. Your car's so small, they'd have to upscale it to turn it into a children's toy. I need the rag because I've got to grease my hand up to get at this damn plug."

"Plug! Are you high? This isn't a hybrid."

He straightened up as he groaned, "Can you just hand me the fucking..."

"Excuse me!" she snapped in obvious anger, but Hugo was struck dumb having caught sight of his surprise visitor for the first time.

The woman who stood less than an arm's length away was nothing short of breathtaking. She was petite enough that, even in heels, she was noticeably shorter than him. Her body was toned and fit, with curves in all the right places. Despite her height, she had a commanding presence and seemed to carry herself with a confidence that made her seem larger than life. Her hair was a rich, dark brown, falling in soft waves around her shoulders. It shone in the overhead fluorescent lighting, catching the light and reflecting it back in a halo of warmth. Bangs cut straight across her forehead framed her delicate features perfectly. Her eyes were ever so slightly almond-shaped and were a captivating hazel, giving her an exotic, almost otherworldly appearance. Long, thick lashes cast shadows on her high cheekbones. Her lips were full and plump, painted a deep shade of red that was both bold and feminine. They parted slightly as she breathed, drawing his attention to the tiny dimple in her chin. Her breasts were full and round, and strained against the fabric of her cream-colored blouse, drawing the eye and leaving little to the imagination. A wide belt accentuated her tiny waist and hourglass figure. Pencil-skirt enclosed hips flared out from her waist, curving gently down to her long, lean legs. Everything about her was designed to draw the eye and capture the imagination. She was the epitome of femininity; a woman who knew her own power and was not afraid to use it.

Hugo blinked, trying to collect himself as he gawked at the woman standing before him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Clearing his throat, he attempted again, feeling his face heat up.

"I, uh, I just need to, um, grease my hand up," he stammered, avoiding eye contact. He took a long step and reached for the oily rag on the workbench, his hand trembling slightly.

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Right. So, this will fix the problem?"

Hugo shrugged and muttered, "Maybe?" as he tried to focus on the task at hand.

He rubbed the rag on his hand, smearing the grease over his skin. His heart pounded in his chest driven by the feeling of her eyes on his back as he ducked back under the hood and maneuvered his hand through the narrow gap. After a few moments of fumbling, he finally managed to grasp the spark plug and align it with the cylinder head. He stifled a hiss of pain as his hand got stuck, sending a lance of agony up his arm as he yanked it free. He flexed his hand, trying to ignore the blood now mixing with the grease. He maneuvered a spanner into place and tightened the plug.

"You're hurt!" the woman yelped.

"It's nothing," he grunted. "Why don't you... uh... try to start it up again?"

She appeared about to speak, but instead settled for groaning in frustration and returning to the driver's seat. The tiny four-cylinder rumbled to life, making considerably less noise than it had made upon her arrival. He closed the hood and then turned back toward the workbench to snatch a clean rag. He winced again as the action of cleaning his hands reminded him of the injury he had sustained.

Without turning, he muttered, "You should be good to go."

"What are you talking about? What did you even do?"

He turned, keeping his gaze locked on the bumper of the car. "One of your spark plugs came loose. That's why it was making so much racket. It also introduced water into the fuel system, which is why your engine cut off."

She crossed her arms, her expression skeptical. "You're joking!" Hugo shrugged but remained mute. She pressed, "Seriously?" and he nodded in reply. She looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. "Well, thanks, I guess. How much do I owe you?"

Hugo shook his head quickly. "No charge. It was just a quick fix."

"But you fixed my car, right?"

"Hope so," he replied after an awkward pause.

"And you're really not going to charge me?"

He shook his head again, feeling awkward under her intense scrutiny. "Yeah, I mean, no. It's just, it was nothing. Just a spark plug."

The woman sighed again, reaching into her purse and pulling out a business card. "In case you change your mind," she said, handing it to him. "Thanks for the help."

Hugo took the card, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment as she turned to leave. "Uh, you're welcome," he mumbled, staring at the card in his hand.

She watched him for a long moment before ultimately returning to her car and pulling out of the garage bay.

He watched her go, feeling a pang of regret as he closed the garage door behind her. He sighed, running a hand through his wet hair. "Great job, dumb fuck," he muttered to himself. "Real smooth."

"No charge?" a voice called out behind him.

Hugo turned to spy the garage owner, Derek, leaning against the back wall of the shop with a crooked grin on his craggy face.

"It was just a loose plug," Hugo replied as he threw the rag into a bin.

"You sure it wasn't the fact that she's a bona fide smoke show?"

"Um... what?"

"And there it is," Derek guffawed, crossing his prodigiously tattooed arms across his barrel-shaped chest. "The patented Hugo van der Mewre charm and sophistication; completely going to pieces under the mild scrutiny of a beautiful woman."

"Shut up," Hugo huffed.

Derek snatched the business card from Hugo and loudly declared, "Carrie Pescatore. Luxury Concierge. What the hell does that even mean? Is that corporate double-speak for hot-to-death?"

"How the hell should I know? All I know is that she had engine trouble."

"What's up with you, dude? You're a decent looking guy. I know you date. At least occasionally. What's up with the Stonewall Jackson routine whenever you're confronted by a hot piece of..."

"Enough," Hugo interrupted.

"Well?" Derek pressed, undeterred.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I trust you to run my shop, Hugo. I need to know you've got enough sense to come in out of the rain." He glanced pointedly at Hugo's still dripping workout shorts as he finished speaking.

"Fuck off. Just because I was working a double at the plant when everyone else was learning how to talk to girls doesn't mean I can't run a garage."

Derek raised his hands as though in surrender. "I'm just busting your balls, dude."

"Well knock it off. I don't need this shit right now, Derek."

"Jenneke being an asshole again?"

"Don't talk about her like that, dammit."

"How many times did you try to call her yesterday?"

"I don't know," Hugo grumped.

"When's the last time she returned one of your calls?"

Hugo shrugged helplessly. "It's her prerogative. I won't force anything on her."

"What the hell," Derek groaned. "After all you've done for her."

"This conversation is over," Hugo snapped. "I've got to go shower."

He stalked out of the garage, snatching his shirt off the railing as he took the stairs which led to his apartment two at a time. Upon entering his cramped, but still quite spartan, living space, he scooped his phone off the table next to the entryway. He groaned in frustration upon seeing an utter lack of notifications upon the ancient, cracked device.

"Dammit, Jenneke," he muttered disconsolately. "What the hell's going on with you?"

Two

"This was a brilliant idea," Hugo grumbled as he struggled to push the derelict car across the cracked tarmac of the parking lot. "It only weighs a couple tons... how hard could it be?" He blew out a long breath before adding, "Shoulda remembered the tiny, insignificant, barely-worth-mentioning fact that we're in the goddamned mountains."

He finally reached the summit of the not insubstantial hill in the parking lot and quickly darted into the driver's seat so he could keep the car from careening off under the dastardly influence of gravity. He managed to use the vehicle's momentum to complete the journey, coasting to a stop just outside the double-doors of his destination. And, crucially, beneath a quartet of dazzling lights along the edge of the building.

He chocked the wheels of the car before opening the doors to step back inside. Upon his entry, the buzz in the cavernous room quieted at once. He cast a critical eye over the group of seven young men aged between nine and seventeen years old. Satisfied that nothing and no one in the youth center's gymnasium had been destroyed or displaced during his brief absence, he waved them toward the doorway.

"What a shit box," a boisterous voice called out.

Hugo regarded the speaker intently until the latter cowed and faded back into the crowd. The group before him seemed to fold in on itself in response to the extended silence. It was something Hugo detested, as many of the boys were only at the youth center to escape such conflict. He could only hope that, having forced the troublemakers to back down, he could quickly get things back on track.

"What's the most embarrassing automotive problem people deal with? And I'm talking about something people call a tow truck for, and when the driver shows up, they know immediately that they're dealing with someone who's utterly hopeless and helpless."

"Oil changes?" a high pitch voice queried tentatively.

"You don't do that by the side of the road, numb nuts," another voice chortled.

"Running out of gas?"

Hugo nodded and said, "That will indeed result in a fair amount of judgement on the part of your rescuer. And something that's easily avoided. But I'm thinking more along the lines of something you could have fixed yourself. Should have fixed yourself."

The group stared at him wordlessly until he demonstrably kicked the tire of the derelict, whereupon one of the younger youths offered, "Change a tire?"

"Exactly," Hugo declared. "Good job, Robbie. Changing a tire is so simple... as you're about to see." He took a step back and gestured to the car. "A Formula One pit crew can change four tyres in less than two seconds. Let's see how long it takes you guys to change one."

He offered snippets of advice when the group seemed stuck, but otherwise kept quiet and enjoyed observing their ingenuity. It took quite a bit of patience for Hugo to keep from chuckling as he watched the boys search everywhere but the trunk for the necessary equipment. Any humor he might have found in the situation quickly faded as the group before him split into two factions. The first group of four was comprised of the youngest and smallest young men. This group spent their time diligently and faithfully working to change the tire. Hugo's concern, however, was with the second group who rapidly escalated from mild teasing to cruel mocking. Things peaked when attempts by the younger group tried to loosen the lugs of the tire, causing the tire to spin in comic fashion.

"You stupid cunt," the ringleader exclaimed, to the loud encouragement of his companions.

"Enough," Hugo growled. He moved to stand between the speaker and the twelve-year-old trans boy working on the car and pointed angrily toward the parking lot. "Get the hell out of here."

"What's your problem bro?" the youth chortled. "I'm just trying to help out Rachel over there."

"You can walk away now, or I can call the cops. We both know that juvie's done with you. Next time you get picked up, you're going to big boy jail. Is that what you want?"

"You don't scare me, bitch. You ain't got nothing on me."

"Do you really want to risk your freedom on that?"

The youth stared him down for a long, tense moment before shouting, "Fuck you, man! And fuck this place! Come on."

Two other youths fell in step with the troublemaker and followed him off the property as Hugo stared daggers at his back.

As soon as they left the property, Hugo turned toward the young man they had accosted to console him, only to find someone had beat him to the punch. He walked over to where the administrator of the youth center was comforting the young man. The former was a quick to smile, heavyset African American named Will who was a few years Hugo's senior.

Robbie sneered at the retreating bigot and murmured, "I'm cool, Will."

"You sure?" Will asked cautiously.

"Yeah. I could care less what that asshole says." Robbie winced regretfully. "Sorry for swearing."

"You're cool, my man."

Hugo waited a long moment before asking, "Any thoughts as to why the wheel spun when he tried to loosen the lugs?"

No one spoke up with a thought. Hugo's plan had been to allow the group to work things out for themselves. But, as he looked over the morose faces surrounding him, he decided to call an audible. He leaned through the car's open door and engaged the parking brake. As he straightened, he gestured again toward the wheel upon which the group had been working. Robbie leaned on the tire iron once more and nearly faceplanted when the lug loosened easily.

Will gestured toward a bench a short distance away. Hugo gave a parting glance toward the youths, noting with pride that they had succeeded in removing the wheel, before he joined his companion.

"I told you we should have eighty-sixed that punk two weeks ago," Will huffed.

"Yeah, yeah," Hugo muttered. "You're a goddamned genius."

"What'd you think was going to happen? That kid has been begging to get tossed ever since the day he showed up. In ten years working here, I can't remember a more hateful individual. Best thing that can happen to that kid is for him to encounter a cop with exceeding patience when he ultimately has his big fuck up. Otherwise, I worry he's going to end up in the ground."

Hugo gestured to the community youth center behind them. "The whole reason this place exists is the idea that no one is beyond redemption. How many kids have you helped since you took this job?"

"Plenty," Will admitted. "More than I can count."

"Then there you go."

Will groaned in frustration. "But part of saving as many as we can is making sure they're not driven away before we can help them." He took a deep breath as he kept his attention on the young men trying to wrestle a new wheel onto the car. "I know you've only been with us for a little while now."

"Almost a year," Hugo supplied.

"Indeed," Will allowed. "The point I'm trying to make is that I know you want to help everyone. But we can't help them all, Hugo."

"Why not?" Hugo snapped irritably. "If it's a question of effort..."

"These kids aren't Jenneke," Will interrupted gently. "And it isn't your job to save them."

Hugo stayed silent for a few beats before shaking his head and muttering, "Not really a job at all, if you think about it."

"Come off it, man. You're here as much as I am. The only reason you're not on the payroll is because we don't pay as much as that garage you work at. Hell, the only reason you even consider going home is because all the kids have to leave by ten."

Hugo shrugged. "Someone's gotta do it. Not to mention that not everyone can do it."

"You're more right than you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Will offered a wry smirk. "We got a new quote, unquote, volunteer starting tonight. He seems mostly harmless, but I was hoping you could show him the ropes and give me your read on him."

"Non-violent?"

"Obviously."

"Fine," Hugo sighed. He glanced toward the derelict vehicle before continuing. "You got this?"

"Yeah. I think I can handle walking them through changing a tire. We might even manage to get the engine working again."

"Good luck with that," Hugo snickered. "Where's the new guy?"

"Not sure, but he's supposed to be taking out the trash. His name's Eli."

Hugo stood and glanced back at the closest thing he had to a friend. "I'll find you after I talk to him and let you know what I think."

His search took longer than expected thanks in part to the fact that his quarry was not remotely in the vicinity of the dumpster. He then undertook to search the youth center with militaristic precision, laying out a grid pattern in his head and walking purposefully past each of the rooms in the large building. His third pass through a hall that should have been empty revealed a suspicious aroma, and he soon found a closet belching noxious fumes.

Throwing the door open, Hugo growled, "What the fuck are you doing?"

The dilated eyes of the slightly doughy man before him seemed to very nearly pop from his head. "Whoa, dude! You scared the shit out of me."

"I asked you a question. Dude."

"I'm taking a break. Jeez. What's it look like?"

"There's no smoking in here. And you don't get breaks."

"I wasn't smoking," the man retorted dismissively. He waved a device shaped like a bottle of nail polish in Hugo's face and added, "It's a vape. And, as for the breaks, I finished the trash, and that dude Will disappeared. What was I supposed to do?"

"What are you in for, anyway."

"Huh?"

"Why are you doing community service?"

The man grinned cheerily, waving his vape again. "Weed. Among other things."

"You're an idiot. You know that?"

"What's idiotic is the fact that weed's illegal and alcohol isn't. You ever hear about someone who smoked a blunt going ten rounds with their pregnant wife?"

Hugo shook his head in disbelief, more from the fact that he was finding it increasingly difficult to dislike the man before him than the merits of his argument. "Regardless. You can't smoke, or vape, in here. It sets a bad example. Not to mention the fact that it almost certainly violates your agreement with the judge."

"You let me worry about that," the man replied with a confident smile. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Elijah, but everyone calls me Eli."

Hugo accepted the offered handshake, pulling Eli from the closet in the process. As he slammed the door behind him, he said, "Hugo van der Mewre."

Eli chuckled in comic fashion, his guffaws echoing through the empty hall. "What are you, royalty? Or a super villain?"

"Just a guy."

"A guy with a rad name. Where's that come from? Wait, let me guess. I'm great at this. Um... Uzbekistan."

"It's Dutch, in point of fact. My parents were born in South Africa."

Eli eyed him suspiciously for a moment. "The good kind or the bad kind?"

"They emigrated to the U. S. because they refused to live in a country that supported Apartheid."

"That's cool."

"Indeed," Hugo allowed, his taciturn nature overriding any urge to point out how that decision had impacted the lives of every member of his family. He glanced back toward the gymnasium. "Anyway. Will asked me to show you around. How many hours did you agree to?"

"Two hundred and fifty."

"Goodness. What'd you do?"

"A former buddy of mine got pulled over because he didn't have a valid tag."

"Former?"

"I had no idea he was fucking crazy. Apparently, he got red-pilled and convinced himself that he didn't have to have a license, or a tag, or insurance. He thought he could just claim that he was quote, unquote, travelling and that was like a get out of jail free card. What's more, he lost his shit on the cops when they didn't accept his bullshit. Needless to say, he got arrested and everyone else in the car got searched. Any sympathy I had for the cops having to deal with that maniac who used to be my friend disappeared when they acted like the vape I had with me was an assault rifle."

"Sounds like a hell of a night."

"Hell is a perfect way to put it."

Hugo gestured toward the pocket in which Eli had placed his vape. "So why run the risk of going through that again?"

"How the hell else am I supposed to relax? Alcohol? Fuck that, man. I want my brain to work when I'm old and decrepit like you."

"Fuck off," Hugo muttered, although he could not help the smile from crossing his face.

Three

"You sure you don't need any help?" Will asked upon spotting Hugo while the former was locking the youth center.

Hugo turned away from his task of loading the derelict onto a trailer. He huffed out an explosive breath before calling out, "I'm good. I've just got to tie it down at this point."

Will wandered over, casting a critical eye over the operation. "How in the hell did you get it loaded by yourself?"

"Wasn't easy," Hugo admitted as he stretched to pop his back.

"Seriously. How?"

"Trade secrets my son," Hugo deflected. He glanced back at the youth center. "Same time tomorrow?"

"You're a volunteer brother. You come when you want to, or not at all. You could always take a day off, or even a week. This is nothing against what you do here, I appreciate the hell out of it. And so do the kids. But I assure you that we can get by for long enough for you to take a vacation. You could go visit Jenneke."

"She doesn't want to see me."

"That's fucked up."

"It how she wants it."

"Still fucked up," Will muttered. He looked over the derelict laden trailer again. "You sure you don't want a hand?"

"Go. I got this."

"All right. Take it easy."

Hugo smiled and replied, "Good night," before returning to the task at hand.

It took him several more minutes to secure the vehicle to the trailer. He used an abundance of tie-downs since the differential on the vehicle was destroyed, which meant it was almost entirely incapable of keeping itself from rolling around.

As he finally finished, he stalked to his truck and snatched a reusable bottle of water from the center console. He drained it with a speed that caused his stomach to audibly remind him that he had once again skipped an evening meal. He mentally reviewed the contents of his fridge and pantry at his apartment, coming at once to the conclusion that he was overdue for a provisioning run. He discarded the thought of hitting a drive-through. Not only would towing a trailer make that inconvenient, but he was also loath to either spend the extra money or put the typical dregs on offer into his body. With thoughts of settling for a cup of tea, without milk, he climbed behind the wheel of his ancient pickup.

As he dug into his pockets for his keys, he spotted movement in the run-down apartment building across the street from the youth center's parking lot. Looking up, his eyes found a third-floor window with the interior lights blazing and the curtains drawn. The motion that had drawn his gaze recurred in the guise of the alluring silhouette of a slender yet shapely human female.

"God dammit," Hugo muttered in disappointed recognition as he locked eyes with the woman. He pulled out his phone and fired off a text.

'what are you doing, Laurie?'

'the whole neighborhood can see you'

Three stories above him, an additional light flared to life, making it perfectly obvious that Laurie wore only a sheer white camisole top and barely-there panties. She did a quick dance, showcasing her lithe body, before scooping up her phone. Hugo's phone buzzed seconds later with a text.

'I gotta head to work in a minute'

'how about you cum up here and gimme some Vitamin D first'

'so my night isn't a total loss'

Hugo shook his head firmly and returned his attention to the trailer. It took only a moment before his phone buzzed again.

'don't be an asshole'

He gestured to the trailer before replying.

'I've got to get this trailer back to the garage'

'in any case, didn't you say last time I wasn't boyfriend material?'

Her response came in almost as soon as he hit send.

'doesn't mean I don't like how you fuck'

'come on, don't make me beg'

He shook his head firmly, prompting yet another text from Lauren.

'I'll let you take my ass'

'now GET UP HERE'

'I've only got twenty minutes!'

He blew out a long, frustrated breath before he sent a reply.

'I'm flattered, genuinely, but I've got to take care of this trailer ASAP'

'maybe another time'

He watched her throw up her hands in frustration in advance of the lights being extinguished. He felt a final text come in as he double-checked the wiring harness connection. A groan tore from his lips as he read her final missive.

'not fucking likely!'

He sighed in frustration as he climbed into the cab of his truck. He shoved the key into the ignition angrily, yet as he tried to turn the engine over, he was rewarded with the accusing sound of silence.

"Oh, fuck you!" Hugo groaned at his vehicle.

Several more attempts at the ignition produced similar results, demonstrating conclusively that the battery was quite dead. As he sat perfectly still in the driver's seat, trying to control his roiling rage, his thoughts were brought back to a comment Derek had made when Hugo had been busy hooking up the trailer earlier that evening. Specifically as it related to some frayed wires in the harness which might need some attention in the near future.

Hugo looked around the parking lot, only to find it conspicuously empty. He yanked the hood release and sprang from the cab of his truck, but quickly verified his initial diagnosis. As he stood motionless, dedicating the whole of his mental energies to not raging helplessly at the universe, he had a moment of inspiration. He rushed back to the trailer and yanked the hood open on the derelict.

"Thank fuck," he grunted upon spotting a battery next to the ruined engine.

Returning to his truck, he opened the lockbox he kept in the bed to remove a few tools. It took him only a few minutes to remove the battery from each vehicle. He placed the dead battery in the floorboard of his truck before going to work installing the battery from the car under his hood.

He had just finished connecting the terminals when the humidity-enhanced hush of the quiet evening was pierced by a panicked scream. Hugo stepped back from his truck and looked around worriedly. He spotted nothing which seemed out of place, but his ears picked up the sound of rushing feet. This, taken in combination with the scream and the generally ill-omened feeling he had felt since the sun had set sent him hurrying after the fading sounds of hurried footfalls.

Calling upon skills in tracking quarry in an urban environment (which he had not needed to call upon since Basic Training more than a decade in his past) Hugo alternatively rushed through darkened alleys and stood statue-still so he could allow his senses to consume his environment. This tactic was neither relaxing nor efficient, but it was effective in keeping those he followed at least in earshot.

Hugo came to a skidding halt upon encountering an unexpectedly brightly lit loading dock where three figures were struggling. It took him only a moment to diagnose the situation. Laurie was being held firmly by one of the larger youths Hugo had evicted from the youth center earlier that evening while the ringleader whose hate speech had led to the ouster shouted angry directions.

"Hold her still, dammit."

"I'm trying!" the taller boy complained.

"If I get kicked in the nuts again, I'm gonna fucking kill you."

"I've got her. Let's just get this over with."

Further conversation was made impossible as Hugo rushed toward them like a runaway train. He viciously shouldered the ringleader aside, sending him reeling toward the edge of the loading dock, but his attention never wavered from the terrified eyes of the woman before him. The taller youth opened his mouth as though to issue a challenge, a practiced sneer twisting his lip, but Hugo's fist silenced him emphatically. He released Laurie as an agonized grunt exploded from his lungs.

"Get out of here," Hugo hissed in her direction.

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Now get the hell out of here."

She stumbled off into the darkness with a stammered promise to call the authorities. Before Hugo had a chance to reassess the tactical situation, a force like a battering ram slammed into his lower back. He managed to keep his feet, albeit barely, by catching himself against the building. He spun quickly upon regaining his balance to find the ringleader advancing upon him with malicious intent. Hugo took a step back, keeping both combatants in his sights as he settled into a fighting stance. Yet, as he studied them, he could not help but notice a reluctance on their part to approach him.

"What the hell are you doing, Jeremy?" Hugo snapped in irritation.

"I'd ask you the same question, bro. Why are you always in my business?"

"I thought your game was snatching purses. When did you graduate to rape?"

"That bitch was aching for my cock," Jeremy crowed. "She was all up in her window, rubbing her pussy for me. I had to get it on."

"That's not what happened, and you fucking know it."

"Oh, really?" Jeremy retorted tauntingly. "Tell him, Jorge. Tell him how she was giving us a show."

"She was stripping for us and everything," Jorge pleaded.

Hugo sighed wearily, the ignorance of youth seeming dauntingly inevitable. "Even if that were true, which it isn't, how does that justify assaulting her? She made it pretty obvious she wasn't into it."

"You calling me a liar?" Jeremy accused heatedly.

"That show, as you call it, was for me."

"Fuck you, man!" Jeremy snarled. "You're always so high and mighty, always acting like you know everything. Now you're all, like, I also got all these fine ass bitches aching for my cock."

"That's not what I said," Hugo retorted calmly. "In any case, none of that matters. She said no, guys. That's the end of it. Always and forever."

"She led us on, man!" Jorge pleaded.

"Untrue. Also, irrelevant. Now let's all go downtown so you guys can turn yourselves in."

"Oh, hell no," Jeremy growled. "Like you said, I'm out of strikes. I'll be damned if I'm going to turn myself in for anything."

"Besides," Jorge added. "We didn't do nothing."

"You assaulted her, guys. She already called the cops." As Hugo finished speaking, the distinctive sound of approaching police echoed through the empty streets. He added, "Let's all go talk to them together. I'll vouch for you letting her go once I explained the depth of your miscalculation."

"Fuck! That!" Jeremy snarled. "I ain't going to fucking jail."

"Sometimes we make mistakes." Hugo said calmly. "You guys made a big one tonight. The best thing you can do now is take your lumps and prove to the system that you're never going to fuck up like this again."

"I already told you. I'm not going to jail."

"You're out of options here, guys. You're still so young. Don't throw your lives away."

"I'm not a fucking kid!" Jeremy screamed.

"That's not what I said," Hugo groaned in frustration. "Just settle down."

"No," Jeremy seethed. "This is all your fault! Why'd you have to stick your nose where it doesn't belong!"

"Hang on a second," Hugo pleaded. "Let's not do anything foolish. The cops will be here any second."

Jeremy grinned manically at Hugo before glancing in his friend's direction. "He's the only one who can identify us. That fucking bitch never got a good look. All we gotta do is take him out and we're home free."

"Yeah," Jorge muttered darkly as he began to advance in the company of his friend.

"Damnit guys," Hugo growled. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You're the one who's gonna get hurt," Jeremy replied with unsettling calm.

"Fuck," Hugo sighed as he brought his hands up.

Jeremy and Jorge advanced slowly, their hard eyes making clear their murderous intent. Hugo kept his eyes on both men, trying to assess their intentions. He had caught both of them fighting a few times at the youth center before their eventual expulsion, but that was mostly bullying that culminated with pushing and shoving. Hugo thought back to his advanced hand-to-hand combat training in basic training, specifically tactics for an uneven battle. He knew it was critical to even the odds as quickly as possible, which meant disabling one of his opponents immediately.

Hugo faked in Jorge's direction, causing the latter to startle slightly. He seized the opportunity, surging toward Jeremy to snatch him by the front of his shirt to bring him closer. Using his opponent's momentum, Hugo kneed Jeremy in the gut. Air whooshed from the younger man's lungs, and he doubled over in agony. Hugo pressed his advantage, elbowing him at the base of the skull to send him sprawling to the filthy pavement.

Whirling to face Jorge as he took a cautious step backward, Hugo managed to duck a roundhouse punch aimed at his temple. He countered with a snap kick to Jorge's knee. He failed to connect solidly, but even his glancing glow ripped a grunt of pain from his opponent. Jorge limped toward him; his fists balled in fury.

"Come on, man," Hugo pleaded. "You don't have to do this."

Jorge's grim visage seemed impenetrable as he approached. But, without warning, his features morphed into horror, and he screamed, "Don't do it!"

Hugo started to turn to follow Jorge's line of sight, but before he could complete the move everything stopped suddenly.

Four

"Archaeologists believe that this chamber was used as a place of waiting, where aligned nobles and visiting dignitaries would be asked to await their audience with the monarch. Rather than being considered a slight, it was instead seen as a high honor. We know this based upon the relief on the northeastern wall, positioned in such a way that it would be the room's focal point thanks to the afternoon sun. The relief shows Akechi; a woman so renowned for her relentless, tireless dedication that her name became synonymous with vigilance and perseverance."

"I've never heard of her," a voice murmured.

Their tour guide smiled tolerantly; his expectation of the challenge quite evident. "You must remember. The civilization that built this marvelous city predates any western or middle eastern culture by thousands of years. By any traditional reckoning, they would be considered pre-historic. In fact, prior to the discovery of this astonishing treasure, their existence was literally lost to history."

The group took a moment to consider the guide's sage words as they studied the breathtaking tableau on the mural which was the room's focal point. The ancient relief, sculpted with painstaking precision, captured Akechi in a meditative pose. Her expression was one of profound calm and focus, eyes closed, as if in deep contemplation of a distant truth. She wore dark armor, the plates elegantly layered and meticulously engraved, blending the strength of a warrior with the grace of a guardian. Akechi's hair was tied back tightly, a few loose strands framing her delicate yet resolute features. Strapped at her side was a sheathed katana, a silent symbol of readiness and unwavering vigilance.

Behind her was a paradise of such exquisite beauty that Hugo felt his eyes moistening even beholding a rendering which was several millennia old: an exotic, almost otherworldly landscape depicting a temple rising gracefully into the twilight sky, bathed in the warm hues of a setting sun which highlighted its reflection across a still pond while delicate flowers and lush greenery thrived along the water's edge. Akechi sat alone, her attention focused on the gathering storm clouds, a beacon of unyielding resolve amidst the fury of nature. It was only after careful consideration that Hugo realized why the relief filled him with such sadness. Akechi, ever the sentinel and protector of such staggering splendor and magnificence, was a foreigner to the very paradise she guarded. Never would she know the soul searing beauty which she kept safe. Such was the toll she gladly paid, her gift to a world which she had no reason to suspect would ever know her name.

Hugo turned away from the mural, unexpectantly overcome with emotion. This gave him an opportunity to consider their tour guide. He had an ageless quality about him, such that Hugo could have easily believed he was anywhere between his late forties and early eighties. His unkempt, even wild, silver hair topped a weathered face which was somewhat obscured by bushy eyebrows and an impressive mustache. He wore a three-piece white linen suit with an untied bowtie. The entire ensemble was a bit rumpled and seemed out of place considering the heat and humidity, but the guide seemed unaffected by the weather. He carried an ornate cane, which seemed more ceremonial than functional considering how often the guide used it to point out various features. As Hugo watched, the guide turned to regard him, showcasing his piercing blue eyes which missed nothing. As he held the older man's gaze, Hugo had the unsettling feeling that even his most deeply held secrets were laid bare to the perplexing chaperone.

The tour moved on to the next room under the guidance of their enigmatic leader. "The purpose of this chamber is less clear. Some believe it was a meditation chamber. Others contend that it was utilized specifically for preparing either the liege lord, or perhaps favored vassals, to go into combat. What is undeniable is that it was a place which embodied sacrifice and commitment. On the south wall, we find four columns with an atlas replacing the fifth support. He faces the entryway; his sword held aloft in a timeless challenge to unseen enemies. The three remaining walls each have the same pattern, but we find a caryatid rather than an atlas. It is believed these female figures represent the daughters or sisters of the male embodied by the atlas. Notice their serene expressions. Are they concerned over the trials their protector faces on their behalf? Or do they consider it to simply be his duty, a service which his honor compels him to fulfill?"

Hugo stared at the face of the atlas, marveling at its incredible state of preservation. The artistry was truly breathtaking, and Hugo found himself sympathizing with the ancient figure who had inspired the sculpture. In fact, he found that the longer he studied the atlas, the more recognition he felt. It was as though he knew the ancient man: his commitment; his honor; his love. Hugo felt himself tearing up at all the man had endured, knowing that he had no regrets despite the loneliness which had undoubtedly become the defining feature of his life.

He looked away, angrily wiping his eyes, only to find the guide once again watching him with keen interest. Stalking over to him, Hugo snapped, "What are you looking at?"

The older man smiled, as though he had won some unseen victory. "I'm looking at you, Mr. Van der Mewre."

"How do you know my name?"

"Because I am your guide. It is my business to know."

Hugo shook his head, trying to clear away the sense of confusion which seemed to be increasing with each passing second. He looked around again, taking in the room in which they stood. As he did, the spectacular artistry surrounding him faded with the realization that Hugo had no memory of where he was or how he had gotten there.

His racing thoughts were interrupted by his guide asking, "I noticed you taking a particular interest in Valen."

"Huh?"

The older man gestured toward the atlas. "He was a minor noble who rose to prominence as a brilliant architect during the Fourth Dynasty. However, before he could complete his masterpiece, he was forced to set aside his once-in-a-generation talents. His grandfather was a minor warlord who made a play to overthrow his main rival, a strategy which failed spectacularly. As a result: he, along with all his progeny, were slaughtered. Valen, along with his sister and two of their cousins, only survived by fleeing into the mountains where they were hidden by a bank of fog which caused their pursuers to become helplessly lost. Following their escape, Valen vowed to keep his sister and his cousins safe from their enemies. But keeping his honor meant sacrificing his dreams. Something with which you're all too familiar, am I right?"

"What?" Hugo asked, caught very much off guard.

"Come now, young man. Your grandfather was a strong proponent of Apartheid. Your parents rightly recognized the face of evil and fled their homeland rather than allowing their son to be born a citizen of a country they abhorred."

"How do you know that?"

"How do I know the tale of Valen the Protector? Or Akechi the Vigilant?"

"But they're historical figures," Hugo retorted, feeling very much at a disadvantage.

"Are they?" the elder asked with a twinkle in his startlingly brilliant cerulean eyes.

"What the hell are you talking about? You're the one giving the tour here..."

"Sam," the guide provided. "Although I'm fascinated by why you believe this is a tour."

"What else would it be?"

"If this is a tour, then where are we?"

"We're in..." Hugo began, but he found himself unable to finish his answer. It was not that he lacked confidence, it was that he had literally no idea if an answer even existed to Sam's unexpectedly perplexing question. Feeling somewhat trapped, he said, "What's going on here?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Hugo closed his eyes in concentration. "I was doing my morning run and there was a storm. Jenneke was having car trouble. It was a stripped-out spark plug which let the rain into the cylinder head."

"After that," Sam prompted.

"I was finishing up at the youth center. Jenneke was attacked in the alley behind her building. She forgot to draw her curtains when she was changing, and some dumb kids got it in their heads that she was giving them a show. I got her out of there, but I couldn't convince the kids to turn themselves in to the cops. They were scared, scared of going to jail, and it caused them to..."

"To what?" Sam asked sagely.

"I don't know."

"They attacked you, son," Sam informed him gently. "They shot you."

"Impossible," Hugo countered. "I'd definitely remember getting shot again, I assure you."

"Yet the truth remains. You were shot. Fatally, as it happens."

Hugo chuckled ruefully. "Then what is this? Purgatory while my soul awaits judgement?"

"Such adjudication never requires a delay. A soul's disposition is never in doubt."

"So, there's no free will? Everything is predetermined?"

"Hardly," Sam replied with a smirk. "I merely meant that judgement, as you call it, is ongoing. One can always change their fate. Actions that either redeem, or damn, a soul are taken into account the instant they occur. You, for instance, stand comfortably on the side of light."

"Then what am I doing here?" Hugo replied in advance of sighing mightily and adding, "Assuming that I haven't gone completely fucking insane. A hypothesis which Occam's Razor strongly supports."

"Your explanation is only the simplest one because you refuse to consider certain variables."

"Explain."

"You do not believe anything exists beyond the comprehension of your senses. That belief blinds you to the wider universe."

"You're suggesting that the mouth-breathing nutjobs blithely pledging fealty to corrupt institutions had it right all along? I hate to break it to you, but if those maniacs have it right, then I'm all too happy to be wrong."

Sam grimaced, his expression making him seem quite ancient. "Good versus evil has nothing to do with fear, which is the stock in trade of the groups to which you refer. The same is true of faith. The fact that you don't believe in a plane of existence beyond your perception is ultimately irrelevant when it comes to how you are judged. What matters is action; how someone impacts their fellow sentients. Something at which you excel, young man."

Hugo looked around again and realized that the remainder of the tour group was no longer present. In fact, as he considered the matter, he could not specifically recall anyone else having been present beyond himself and the enigmatic man before him. His eyes narrowed as he asked, "What's really going on here?"

"We're waiting."

"I thought you said there was no waiting."

"Our delay is not driven by the question of your fate, son. I have made the case for an exception to be granted in your case. That request is being considered."

"By whom?"

"To who else would a guardian angel make such a plea?" Sam asked with a wink.

"Wait," Hugo groaned. "I missed something. Who's an angel?"

"I am, of course. Your guardian angel, in point of fact."

"Yeah right."

"Would you like me to list off a series of events no human knew took place to prove my bona fides? Or perhaps I could instead point out why you mistakenly identified your sister as having been the two women you saved in the day preceding your potential demise."

"Jenneke!" Hugo gasped. "Is she ok?"

"She is unharmed. It should not surprise you to learn that she is another of my charges. Not that she has much need of my services, thanks to your example. She's quite a young woman, Hugo. You should be proud."

"That's not my doing. To hear her tell it, I'm the problem far more often than I'm the solution. As far as she's concerned, I'm just the bank."

"I certainly hope the powers look favorably on my request, if only to allow you to learn just how wrong you are."

"What exactly is the nature of this request?"

"That you be granted an exception, an opportunity to not only continue your corporeal existence, but to also leverage your remarkable character to improve the lives of countless additional sentients."

"You're not bullshitting me, are you?" Hugo queried disbelievingly. "You're serious about this."

"Deadly serious, in point of fact."

"And if this request is denied?"

"Then you proceed to paradise. I'd ask your preference as to whether you remain on the Earth you know or proceed to your reward, but the answer to that is not in doubt."

"And if I'm sent back?"

"Then you would have help. Not only to enhance your ability to help others, but also in the hope that you would at last allow yourself to seek your own happiness. I've seen this story play out countless times, son. Too many times. The devastating tragedy of one soul sacrificing everything for the benefit of another. It's ironic, in a way. This quality is at once the most admirable and the most heartbreaking attribute of your species. So many of you go to your deaths knowing nothing but strife, and toil, and loneliness. It's almost too much to bear at times."

As Sam finished speaking, the look in his eyes grew positively ancient. This more than anything extinguished the last of Hugo's reservations about the origin of his companion.

"So that's what prompted you to ask for an exception?" Hugo prodded.

"It's been done before," Sam replied, his playful expression returning. "Our initial tests showed promise, and so we decided to expand our scope. The next experiment was also ultimately successful beyond our wildest dreams but convinced us of the need to be more cautious. It would not do to inadvertently give rise to the Anti-Christ, after all."

"I'm so lost," Hugo groaned.

"Recently, we've found better success with more discreet interventions. That was my proposal in your case: to send you back unaltered, save for obviously healing your wounds. But you would be granted assistance in the guise of companions who would aid your mission."

"What?" Hugo snapped, clutching his head in response to the growing agony he was experiencing.

"It's really quite straightforward," Sam replied. "We'd simply..."

Before the mysterious angel could expound on what, exactly, was so simply straightforward, Hugo felt the now familiar sensation of his entire existence coming to a screeching halt.

Five

"What the fuck!" Hugo gasped as he jolted awake in an empty room.

He gasped for breath like he had just surfaced after a record-depth-achieving free dive. Adrenaline coursed through his system, causing his hands to shake so hard that he had to lace his fingers together to control the movement. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself while he looked around. It only took a moment, however, to identify the room in which he lay as 'hospital'.

All at once, his bizarre and baffling conversation with the self-proclaimed angel who called himself Sam flooded back into his mind. With these memories came the preposterous claim that he had been shot. This thought led his hands to start skating across his body of their own accord, seeking out injuries his body could not feel, but which must exist based on his presence in a hospital. The pulse-oxygen sensor on his index finger rattled against the bar beside him as he raised his hand. He then felt the snag of a wide array of wires attached to his arm.

"Dammit," he grunted in frustration.

Hugo managed to perform a crude examination with one hand without finding so much as a hangnail. In fact, the only thing he found even tangentially related to an injury was a bandage wrapped around his head which showed two quarter-sized spots of blood on opposing sides after he removed it. The room in which he lay was neat and orderly, suggesting that he had not arrived in the very recent past. The ubiquitous whiteboard was still blank, however, so he suspected he had arrived less than a day prior.

Before he could speculate further, a panicked scream from the direction of the doorway startled him nearly beyond the capacity for reasonable thought. Looking in that direction, he spotted a nurse who was staring at him in terror, her face having lost all color.

"How?" she sputtered.

"What's wrong?" he asked, a not insignificant amount of worry entering his own voice.

"You were dead," she whispered in terror.

"Huh?"

"You died. For forty-two seconds in the I. C. U. right after the ambulance got you here."

"Then how did I get here?" Hugo asked, gesturing to what was obviously a standard hospital room rather than one designed to provide critical care.

"You were in a coma after they restarted your heart."

"How long ago?"

The nurse gestured to the clock on the wall, which indicated that the time was fifteen-thirty-five. "You flatlined at precisely midnight, according to your chart."

"Is it really so unusual to come out of a coma?"

"Well," the nurse began, but she was interrupted as the door slammed into her back, knocking her forward.

"Hugo!" the newcomer yelped.

"Apologize to the nurse, Jenneke," Hugo groaned. "You damn near sent her through the wall."

The newcomer's panicked expression turned immediately apologetic, and her hands flew to her mouth in concern. "Oh, shit! I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," the nurse soothed. "I'm ok." She looked in Hugo's direction. "I assume you know this woman?"

"She's my sister."

"Well then, I'll leave you two to catch up. But the hospitalist will want to examine you shortly."

The nurse departed, leaving Hugo and Jenneke locked in an uncomfortable silence. At length, he sighed and said, "You're looking well."

Jenneke var der Mewre was, by any objective measure, a beautiful woman. She was quite diminutive, standing a full head shorter than her brother (himself a man who no one would mistake for tall). Lithe, bordering on skinny; an attribute which was only heightened by the skin-tight tank top and flared, bell bottom style jeans she wore. Four years Hugo's junior, she shared his hair color although where his was very short, her high braid stretched well past her waist.

"They told me you were in a coma, that you'd been shot."

"That's what they tell me," he replied somberly.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"I certainly don't remember getting shot. Not like last time."

"Oh, really," Jenneke groaned. "Because what the cops told me, when they called me in the middle of the night to say you died, was that you got shot breaking up some kind of street crime. That sounds pretty freaking similar to when you decided you just had to get involved when a couple of dumb privates were selling antidepressants."

"They were selling poison. It killed the wife of one of my corporals. And they weren't trying to kill me, just scare me off. They shot me in the stomach for goodness' sake."

"And you nearly died!"

"And they'll still be in Leavenworth the next time Halley's Comet comes stops by for tea and crumpets."

"You got sepsis, Hugo! They had to remove your spleen. So don't act like it's no big deal."

"Well clearly that didn't happen in this case," retorted somewhat heatedly. "And it wasn't some petty crime. They were about twenty seconds from raping Lauren.

"Who's Lauren? Your girlfriend?"

Hugo's lip curled in disgust. "You know me better than that. She's just someone who lives near the youth center. And you're not going to guilt me into regretting what I did. Even if she had been a stranger, I still would have done the same thing."

"Oh, yeah. You're such a goddamned hero, aren't you."

"It's not about that," Hugo groaned. "It's about doing what's right."

"You guys can't keep doing this to me," Jenneke sighed, her gaze drifting to the ceiling.

"That's not fair, Jenneke. I'm not Father."

"You're right!" she snapped angrily. "He didn't go out seeking a man with a gun. Trouble found him all on its own. And that son of a bitch was high out of his mind and killed Father like it was nothing."

"Are you honestly pissed at me that I stopped someone from being gang raped? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She closed her eyes and stood unmoving for several long moments. Then her lips started to move almost imperceptibly, as though in prayer.

Unable to handle the weight of the silence, Hugo said, "So, how have you been?"

"What did you say to me!" she snarled.

"You won't return my calls, Jenneke. Is it really so wrong for a brother to be concerned about his sister's wellbeing?"

"So, you've finally given up your fantasy of being my guardian?"

"It wasn't a fantasy. I had to legally adopt you to keep you out of the foster system. But..."

"And you've never let me forget it."

"I'm not trying to control you."

"Maybe not now," she interrupted.

"I just want to know how you're doing; if you're happy."

She appeared about to fire off another retort, but then seemed to think better of her initial impulse. "I'm fine. You?"

"Same as always."

"So, working fifteen to twenty hours a day, every day? All in service of anyone but yourself, since I suspect you still live in that tiny closet above the garage and drive that truck that was Father's?" He shrugged his acquiescence but said nothing. She stared at him expectantly for a long beat before prompting, "But why?"

"I have responsibilities. People depend on me."

"You work at an auto repair shop and volunteer at a youth center," she exclaimed. "In what way are either of those going to completely disintegrate if you take some time off? How many times has Will told you to take a week off? Hell... even a day off! How many times has Derek?"

"Where would I go vacation?" he muttered morosely. "It's not like you'd let me come see you."

"There's more to life than your goddamned baby sister, Hugo! Or, at least, there should be. You mentioned a woman earlier, the one you saved."

"Lauren," Hugo provided.

"You said she wasn't a girlfriend, but please tell me you're at least seeing someone." After another embarrassed pause from Hugo, Jenneke added, "Seriously? You're still not dating?"

"Don't really see the point," he huffed. "It always turns out the same."

"Hugo!" she complained.

"There's more to life than rubbing your groin on another person."

"Oh, so now I'm a slut because I'm in a relationship," she snapped angrily.

"That's not what I said."

"It sure as hell sounded like it!" she thundered. She looked around the room briefly before adding, "I'm relieved you're ok, Hugo. And I sincerely hope you can find it in yourself to not get shot again. I'm going to get back to my life of laziness and lust. At least according to you."

"Jenneke, wait!" he groaned helplessly as he tried to get up.

"Don't bother. I'll be sure to let you know if I decide to repent from my wayward ways."

She stormed out of the room before he could un-foul his arms from the attached equipment.

"Fuck!" he shouted at the door as it slammed behind her.

At length, he gave up trying to untangle himself, his head slumping back against the pillow behind him in defeat.

Before he could contemplate his next move, the nurse burst through the door with a worried expression on her face. "What happened?"

"The same thing that always happens," Hugo sighed.

"Where'd your sister go?"

"Home," he replied in a clipped manner. "Speaking of which, when can I leave?"

"The hospitalist will be in shortly..." she began. Before she could continue, however, the door opened behind her to admit an extremely tall man wearing a white coat.

The newcomer gave Hugo a long, critical look from his spot by the door. He then approached; his steps tentative as his eyes flitted across Hugo's body. When he reached Hugo's bedside, he reached out to gently probe along his hair line.

With each passing second, Hugo grew more annoyed at his visitor's taciturn presence until he at last snapped, "Can I help you!"

For his part, however, the doctor said nothing. He plucked a light from his breast pocket and, after activating the device, shined it into Hugo's left eye.

Hugo ducked to the side and barked, "Hey!"

The doctor replaced the light after checking his right eye and gripped his head firmly, pushing it from side to side while he studied his skull closely.

"Listen," Hugo snarled. "I don't know you from Adam. If you continue to ignore me, then I'll assume you're my enemy and respond accordingly."

"This is..." the nurse began.

"Dr. Calvi," he finished, the irritation evident in his Eastern European accented voice. "And you have some explaining to do."

"Excuse me," Hugo huffed.

"Three hours ago, you had two extra holes in your head," the doctor accused. "Now they are gone."

"What exactly are you intimating?"

"Bullet wounds do not just disappear, Mr. Van der Mewre. Nor do skull fractures."

"And you're suggesting... what? That I faked an injury which put me in a coma?"

"I am a doctor. I do not suggest. I heal."

"Well then," Hugo began with a smirk. "Good job." The doctor grumbled something unintelligible in advance of storming out of the room. The nurse looked at Hugo, her shoulders rising in embarrassment. He looked to the door for a moment before adding, "Does this mean I'm free to go?"

"I'm afraid not. The doctor wants to keep you for at least a few days. For observation."

"That's ridiculous," he retorted, not without his own dose of frustration.

"You were shot, Mr. Van der Mewre. Your heart stopped for nearly a minute. My goodness, as of thirty minutes ago, you were still in a coma with multiple head wounds. Under normal circumstances, you'd be considered extremely fortunate to leave the hospital still breathing in a month's time."

"But none of those things are true anymore. The fact that none of us can explain it doesn't make it any less true."

"But..." the nurse sputtered.

"What, if anything, is wrong with me at this moment?" Hugo demanded pointedly.

"Well... nothing," the nurse replied helplessly.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed theatrically. "Care to help me with all this stuff?" he asked, gesturing to the wires connected to his arm.

"That's not permitted," she complained.

"We both know you can't keep me here against my will."

"But then you'll be leaving against medical advice."

"Seriously. You guys think you can make the case to my appallingly greedy insurance company that I should stay longer? Good luck with that."

She sighed wearily before replying, "Very well. Just give me a few moments to get your paperwork together."

As she departed, Hugo heard a disembodied voice declare, "I thought they'd never leave."

Six

"Here's your paperwork, Mr. Van der Mewre," the nurse announced a moment later as she returned carrying a clipboard.

"Did you hear that?" Hugo replied anxiously.

"Hear, what?"

"Someone said..." Hugo began. He then took in the suspicious look in the nurse's gaze and fell silent.

At this point, the voice he had heard previously said, "Tell her she is mistaken."

"No," a new voice interrupted. "Tell her it was your doctor."

"It was nothing," Hugo said a bit too quickly. "It must have been someone out in the hall." He gestured to the clipboard the nurse held with his chin. "Is that my discharge paperwork?"

"How disappointing," the first disembodied voice stated.

"You're sure you didn't hear anything?" the nurse prompted.

"A hundred percent."

She looked unsure, but ultimately crossed the room to Hugo. She placed her clipboard on the tray covering his lap and started to go to work on the wires attached to his arm. He steeled his resolve, long experience informing him that the process would likely be far from painless. True to his expectations, several hisses of pain escaped his lips as she yanked the tape which had secured his I. V. off his arm.

"Sorry," she muttered with a pronounced lack of contrition.

Hugo endured the remainder of the torturous process in silence, noting with satisfaction the way the nurse's eyes widened when a torrent of blood cascaded down his arm when she rushed the removal of his I. V. after she failed to have a bandage at the ready.

"Well, you were in perfect health," the second ethereal voice observed.

Hugo managed to resist the urge to reply, instead choosing to focus on the nurse and the mission of getting released. The process, however, was lengthy enough that it gave him a moment to consider what he was experiencing.

The first voice he heard was a rich baritone which spoke in easily intelligible, if heavily accented, English. His initial impression was that the accent was French in origin, but he honest enough with himself to admit that he had no ear for such things. The second voice, however, was unambiguously female; a warm contralto which was barely higher in timbre. Both voices seemed to ooze sensuality, mixed with a degree of humor and playfulness. They also seemed to come from everywhere at once, simultaneously sounding as though they came from inside his head and from dozens of high-quality speakers which surrounded him.

"Sign here stating you're leaving against medical advice," the nurse instructed snippily. Hugo dutifully signed the page filled with medical gibberish, along with a dozen of the paper's closest friends and neighbors, until the nurse finally announced, "You're free to go, sir," as she exited the room.

"Thanks," Hugo grunted as he stood from the bed.

He spent an angry moment thinking he had been left without anything to wear beyond his hospital gown before the male voice of his new companions spoke up. "Check the cabinets next to the washroom."

Hugo checked the indicated cubby, finding his thankfully laundered clothing. He hastened to dress, not anxious to still be in the room if any other medical personnel decided to stop by with yet more reasons for him to remain. Fortunately, the cubby with his clothing also contained his personal effects. His phone was nearly out of battery, but enough energy remained for him to summon a ride as he made his way to the front of the hospital.

Once ensconced in the back of the ride-share, his companions ended their silence. The male voice offered, "You should terminate your servant immediately. This vehicle is filthy."

Hugo ignored the voice, not wanting the rideshare driver to evict him over concerns that he was mentally unwell. He instead chose to stare out his window without really seeing any of the passing scenery.

"You could always pretend to take a call on your computing device," the female voice offered.

After spending a moment during which he considered continuing to ignore the unwanted newcomers, Hugo groaned and acceded to the offered suggestion. He pulled his phone from his pocket and held it to his ear in advance of snapping, "What the hell is going on?"

The driver gave him a critical look but seemed content to accept the premise on offer.

The female voice continued, "We were led to believe you would be made aware of our presence."

"And our mission," the male concluded.

"Sam got sort of cut off before he could get to that," Hugo replied, his tone not masking his annoyance. "He was going on about some historical nonsense that he likely completely made up, and never got around to sharing his actual plan."

"Typical," the male grumbled. "He does love to hear himself speak."

"So, you've been told nothing? About either Tristan, or myself?" the female asked in amazement.

"He only mentioned that I would have the help of quote, unquote, companions. After that, everything went black, and then I woke up in the hospital."

"Angels," Tristan grumbled. "Under their guidance, it's genuinely incredible that Existence made it out of the first aeon."

"So, Tristan and..." Hugo prompted.

"Isolde," the female provided. "You'll have to forgive my partner. He never was the biggest fan of social niceties."

"So, what are you two if not angels?"

"Your race has no name for us, and your brain is incapable of understanding our true nature."

"What does that mean? That you're some other, non-angelic race?"

"It means we are something else. It would not be accurate to refer to us as either a race, or a species. We simply are. There are no other beings in Existence like us."

"But you are supernatural?"

Tristan stated, "That word has no meaning. Suffice it to say that we are older than your species and have every reason to suspect that we will witness the end of both your species, and your planet."

"That's grim," Hugo grunted.

"We take no pleasure in the demise of a species," Isolde said gently. "It is merely the natural order of things. Your species is defined by, among other things, its tragically short lifespan. Both individually and collectively."

"Fucking hell."

"How colorful," Tristan muttered.

At this point, their conversation was interrupted by their arrival at the auto shop. Hugo thanked the driver and headed into the shop; the sun's position high in the southeastern sky telling him that he was quite a few hours late for work.

Before he could utter a word of apology for his tardiness, however, Derek shouted, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I work here," Hugo replied with dwindling confidence.

"And you got shot last night. Why aren't you at the hospital? Will said you were in a coma when he left! And that was, maybe, two hours ago."

Hugo shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. But I'm here now."

"And you can keep right on going to your place. I don't care if you turned into a mutant superhero overnight, you're on paid leave. Effective immediately."

"Until when?" Hugo complained.

"I'll let you know when I decide. Not get!"

Hugo started to object, but he could not deny the overwhelming feeling of fatigue which had been increasing since his awakening. He nodded his begrudging agreement and headed for the stairs.

"How long remains on your indentured servitude?" Tristan whispered as Hugo entered his apartment.

"Huh?"

"How else do you explain these appalling conditions?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Hugo huffed. "This place is spotless."

"It's also more spartan than a Cistercian monk's cell. It's as if you've taken a vow of poverty."

"Tristan," Isolde warned. "Go easy on him. He's had a difficult day."

"His day has nothing to do with the life he's been living," Tristan muttered. "A man with no means of supporting himself will significantly complicate our mission. To say nothing of how he treats his own flesh and blood."

"You know what?" Hugo yawned as he stumbled toward his bed. "I have had a tough day. How about you two work this shit out and share your findings with me after I've gotten some rest."

Hugo was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

***

Consciousness returned to Hugo with a frustrating lack of urgency. His body felt the kind of weariness he normally associated with running twenty klicks in full kit. Upon opening his eyes, he saw sunlight streaming in through the studio apartment's lone window in a way which told him it was mid-afternoon.

"What time is it?" he groaned.

"We are not here to answer such mundane questions," Tristan snapped.

"I wasn't talking to you, dick. Or is the concept of rhetorical questions unknown in wherever the fuck it is you two come from?"

"Tristan," Isolde scolded gently.

"Very well," Tristan huffed. "I apologize for my tone, sir."

Hugo shook his head. "Hugo. Call me Hugo. I can't stand formality, if it's all the same to you."

"Have it your way. Do you require additional rest, or are you ready to get to work?"

"Work," Hugo groaned. "What am I going to tell Derek?"

Isolde chuckled reproachfully. "I'm certain you remember that he placed you on leave. With pay. In any case, I believe my charming companion was referring to our combined mission."

"What, exactly, is your mission?" Hugo asked wearily as he stood to make his way to the kitchen to prepare some coffee.

"We have been charged with assisting you in any way we see fit," Isolde replied confidently.

"Thanks for the non-answer. Super helpful. Any chance either of you might considering getting to the 'how'?"

"Perhaps it would be easier to show you," Tristan answered. "I suggest you consult your portable computing device."

Hugo looked around briefly and his eyes were drawn to where his phone sat on the table near his exterior door thanks to the fact that the screen was flashing. He started his kettle before retrieving the device. He scooped it up and grunted, "What the hell?"

"Something vexes thee?" Tristan murmured with a smile in his voice.

"The screen isn't cracked."

"We have, shall we say, upgraded it."

"Tell me you guys didn't sign me up for some cockamamie rental plan that'll end up costing me a thousand dollars."

"Nothing like that," Isolde replied, her voice sounding even more sultry than usual. "As he said, we have improved it."

"Try activating it," Tristan added.

Hugo dutifully followed his unseen companion's suggestion. Upon thumbing the power button, the screen flared to life. But the images dancing across the panel bore no resemblance to the phone he remembered, a device which was nearly old enough to enter middle school.

"What..." he began, but he words quickly failed him.

The device seemed like something out of a tech billionaire's wet dream. And it was more than just the clarity and speed which caught Hugo's attention, it was also the widgets panel across the screen's top third which showed what certainly appeared to be live video from both the inside of Derek's garage and what was likely the traffic camera across the street.

"We already told you," Isolde replied brightly. "We improved it. In addition to improving its efficiency, we also enhanced its connectivity."

Tristan added, "It will now connect to over ninety percent of all devices connected to the internet, and any device with which it comes in physical contact."

"Ok," Hugo said slowly. "But... why?"

"You were sleeping, so we weren't able to discuss it with you. However, we could not help but notice the fact that such devices are existential for your society. At least, according to the limited sampling available to us."

"All right. I guess the next question is... how?"

"It's quite simple," she replied warmly. "We just..."

"Perhaps we spare him the details," Tristan interrupted. "For now. As you said, he's been through quite a lot over the last forty-eight hours. I'm sure he'd enjoy the chance to relax and regroup."

"Whatever," Hugo grunted. He glanced again at the clock before adding, "I'd better get ready."

"But you're on leave."

"I've got to get to the youth center. Listen... are you guys going to go everywhere with me?"

Isolde replied, "I assure you that we're more than happy to give you your privacy. Especially if you're having company."

"Yeah, right. I just meant, are you going to be jabbering in my ear all the time, or just when I'm alone? I'm not really anxious to get a reputation as a whack-job just because I keep having to tell you two to pipe down."

"Why... I never!" Tristan huffed.

Hugo paused for a long moment until it became apparent that he would not receive an answer, whereupon he headed into the shower.

Seven

Hugo gritted his teeth in response to the familiar squeak of the worn hinge on his truck's driver's side door as he slammed it shut. He instead focused on ignoring the constant banter from Tristan and Isolde. The former had softened somewhat in his demeanor, thanks in part to Isolde's frequent scolding, but he was still as likely as not to comment on every facet of Hugo's life (observations that were almost never supportive in nature).

"Hugo!" Tristan's use of his name broke through his efforts at tune out his silent companions.

"What?" Hugo grunted in reply.

"You have not yet explained how this youth center is related to our mission."

"There is no mission," Hugo grunted in response, preferring to give his attention to the city streets drifting by outside the window rather than whatever vague schemes the two enigmatic entities had in mind. "There's no grand design. There's no master strategy. I just do what I must."

"That is illogical," Tristan retorted, sounding more confused than upset. "You have been granted a second chance to complete your mission. And to live a better life."

Isolde, ever the gentle voice of reason, chimed in, "You have been given an incredible gift, Hugo. Something all too few humans are granted."

"Oh really?" Hugo muttered, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. "And why is that? I'm nothing special."

"We shall see," Tristan replied sagely as Hugo's truck pulled up to the youth center.

Hugo's tension eased slightly as he saw the familiar building. At least here, among the dilapidated lounges and the worn basketball courts, he could find some semblance of normalcy. He pushed open the driver's door, again scolding himself for procrastinating on the repair. He glanced in the direction of Lauren's apartment, hoping she was seeking help to deal with the trauma she had endured, while he continued to pointedly ignore the shouted questions in his own mind about the strange and inexplicable events of the preceding forty-eight hours.

As he walked toward the entrance, Hugo braced himself for another lecture from Will. Derek had made it clear the two were in contact and, if his boss was to be believed, his friend had even visited him in the hospital. He had no doubt Will would insist, likely strenuously, that Hugo take some time off. These thoughts were forgotten immediately, however, as he entered the building to find Will standing in the entryway with a troubled expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" Hugo asked by way of greeting.

"Ben didn't show up today."

Hugo frowned at the news, his mind picturing the twelve-year-old who practically lived at the center during the months since his parents' explosive separation. "Was he here yesterday?"

"Of course," Will replied, worry etching his features. "I was going to call his mom, but I don't want to make things worse for the guy."

A cold knot formed in Hugo's stomach. Ben was tough, but he was still a kid. A kid from a broken home with more burdens than any child should have to carry.

"Don't," Hugo instructed firmly. "I'll handle it."

"You sure you're up to this? You were in a coma, like, yesterday."

"Medical science is pretty incredible, isn't it?"

"I'm serious, bro. What the fuck happened?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know. One minute, I'm squaring off against Jeremy and Jorge. The next, I wake up in a hospital with everyone seeming mighty pissed off that I got better."

"I'm not angry you got better, you dumb bastard," Will grunted. He took several deep breaths before meeting his friend's eyes. "You scared me to death, bro."

"Sorry?" Hugo offered uncomfortably. "Listen, I'm going to see if I can figure out what's going on with Ben."

"Good luck. I already pulled his file and the address on it is a P. O. Box."

"I'll come up with something."

"Keep me up to date!" Will shouted to Hugo's retreating back.

"Ideas?" Hugo queried under his breath.

"We have observed your species for millennia," Isolde replied with trepidation. "But, unfortunately, we are neither omniscient nor clairvoyant. We have no way of knowing the boy's whereabouts."

"Dammit," Hugo grunted as he entered his truck.

"Cannot your mobile computer be used to find people?" Tristan interjected.

"That thing can barely be counted on to send a text. Hell, it's nearly as old as Ben."

Tristan chuckled in his mind. "Did you forget we upgraded it? You should at least attempt to make use of our assistance before you give up."

Hugo started to retort, but the quip died on his lips when he considered the fact that a child might be missing. He pulled out his phone, once again remarking at its flawless surface. For want of a better strategy, he pulled up a browser and typed in Ben's full name. He was at once taken to an unfamiliar interface which showed a wide array of information on both Ben and his parents. The moment he spotted the address of the boy's mother, he tapped on it to be taken to a navigation interface. Needing no further encouragement, he started up the truck and began the short trip to an even worse neighborhood than the one where he had been shot just days' prior.

***

"Ben!" Hugo shouted at the filthy apartment door as he rang the doorbell repeatedly. "You in there?"

No response was forthcoming, despite long minutes of knocking and yelling. A neighbor poked her head out, but quickly retreated the moment Hugo noticed her, and refused to come back out. He took a step back and surveyed the building. It was barely distinguishable from a motel, with three levels each containing a row of exterior doors whose closeness hinted at the tiny abodes within. The parking lot was nearly full, but the area had an eerie quiet to it, as though the entire community was waiting to see what he would do next.

Giving up on the front door, Hugo returned to his truck and pulled out. He had no intention of leaving the apartment without getting a better look, he merely wished to avoid advertising his intentions to a group of strangers. He drove around the block, bypassing the street upon which the apartment sat in favor of the alley behind it. He found it filthy, strewn with garbage and ruined furniture.

He counted the decaying air conditioners, attached as an afterthought on nearly collapsed platforms outside each unit, until he arrived at the one where he suspected Ben lived with his mother. He parked as close to the wall as possible before climbing from his truck. He hopped into the bed and then onto the top of the cab. This allowed him to just barely reach the bottom of the A. C.'s platform. Using strength born of a decade of daily P. T., he chinned himself up and managed to climb on top of the noisy unit. Pulling out his pocketknife, he unlocked a small window by sliding the blade between the panes.

Once inside the apartment, he took a moment to survey the scene. His surroundings were untidy, but it was by no means a hovel. The kitchen stank of old garbage and piles of clothes everywhere spoke of too infrequent trips to the laundromat, but he saw nothing which immediately raised a red flag.

It took him only moments to locate Ben's room, a sad refuge with worn-out furniture and wrinkled posters on the wall. His eyes immediately seized upon a phone tossed casually on an unmade bed. He scooped it up to find it functional and demanding that he satisfy its biometric authentication requirements.

"Dammit," he grunted. "I don't suppose my new super phone can hack a pin code without locking this thing permanently?"

"Not directly," Isolde replied cryptically. "But... check your pockets."

"Pardon me?"

"Your pockets, dear boy," Tristan replied with serene confidence.

"Fine," Hugo sighed. A quick search revealed a phone, a wallet, a pocketknife, and his keys. He added, "What am I missing?"

Isolde chuckled before replying. "Your keychain has also been..."

"Let me guess. Upgraded."

"I told you he was smart," she replied with a full-throated laugh. Something which, thanks to her sultry contralto, he found quite distracting.

He looked again at his keys and noticed a featureless rectangle attached to keys he normally carried. He had missed it at first because it was the size and shape of a key fob, something for which he had no need but with which he had grown quite accustomed as he test drove cars at the garage to ensure the repairs were complete. He turned it over several times but found it to be utterly featureless and opaque.

"It unlocks at your command," Tristan replied to his unspoken question.

"What do I do, say 'Open Sesame!'?"

"Nothing so trite," Tristan replied with a small laugh. "You merely need to wish for it to open, and it will be so."

As had become so common since his brush with death, Hugo bit back a pithy reply and did as he was told. The rectangle clicked obediently, and he was able to lift the lid. Inside, he found four shiny spheres, which resembled ball bearings the diameter of his thumb. He plucked one out and examined it, only to find that it was as flawless as a priceless gem.

"I don't get it," he murmured as he studied the tiny object.

"Place it on the boy's phone," Isolde directed.

"Ok," he sighed wearily as he casually touched the sphere to Ben's phone. His exasperation turned to bewilderment, however, as the object failed to connect with the screen and instead seemed to pass through it. Hugo withdrew his hand as though shocked and watched in amazement as the tiny sphere vanished into the phone's screen. Within seconds, it was gone altogether.

"What the fuck," he grunted.

"The process is normally quite quick," Tristan offered. "Try the boy's phone again."

Hugo dutifully tapped the screen and found that the functionality of Ben's phone now mirrored his own. He turned it over a few times, hardly able to believe his eyes.

"Don't forget our mission" Isolde said gently.

"Right," Hugo mumbled as he unlocked Ben's phone merely by tapping the screen.

As he scrolled through Ben's messages, his mood darkened considerably. There was a long history of exchanges between the boy and his father. What had started as friendly inquiries about Ben's day soon turned to demands for information about Ben's mother. Over the course of months, Hugo read a change in Ben's demeanor which indicated that the father's efforts, having carefully laid the groundwork, were finding purchase in the young boy's mind. The messages culminated with a plan for Ben to 'run away', to punish his mother for her lack of attention and allow the boy to live with his father 'like he would have done from the start if it hadn't been for her lies'. The final message included a planned rendezvous which dictated that Ben would skip school and meet his father instead.

Hugo stormed from the apartment, not even bothering to leave the way he had entered. He hurried around the building as he used Ben's phone to place a call to his mother.

"Ben, honey," she said by way of answer. "I'm working. Is everything ok?"

"This is Hugo van der Mewre. I work at the youth center." He paused as his mind raced for a reasonable explanation for his possession of the boy's phone. "He, uh, left the phone there yesterday. And he didn't show up today. I have reason to believe he might be with his father."

"What!" the woman shrieked. "How? When?"

"We're going to take care of this," Hugo interrupted gently. "Do you know where his father lives, or where we might be able to find him?"

"He lives in Alaska, for fuck's sake," she sobbed. "He's not allowed within a thousand yards of Ben. Not after..."

"We're going to find him, ma'am. But I think you should call the police. I'll send you screenshots of their conversation, and I'll text you my number from Ben's phone. I'll call you if I find anything."

"Oh God," she sobbed as she hung up.

"We have to find him," Hugo growled to himself as he put his truck in gear.

Eight

For want of a better strategy, Hugo headed in the direction of the youth center. As he drove, he awkwardly fumbled with his phone in an attempt to place a call.

"Just state what you want, and it will be so," Isolde declared with quiet confidence.

"You mean like those maddening virtual assistants all the mindless drones who are addicted to social media can't live without?" Hugo asked derisively.

"It is merely a coincidence that helplessly stupid people rely on such crutches," Tristan observed. "It is not causal. In any case, your phone does not contain a virtual assistant. Think of it more as a divine aide, one which I suspect will prove much more intuitive."

Hugo shrugged, deciding no harm could come from trying. "Um, phone?"

"You can do better than that," Isolde snickered. "Unless you truly wish to refer to everything in your life by its function in perpetuity."

"Fine. Um. Artoo."

"How instructive," Tristan murmured.

"Indeed," Isolde concurred.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm fascinated that you chose a character so... antiquated," Tristan observed teasingly.

Isolde added, "And a non-female avatar at that."

"Would you two shut it?" Hugo snapped. "So, um, Artoo. Can you determine the location of the phone associated with the contact in Ben's phone named, 'Dad'?"

"Yes," a robotic voice spoke from his phone without hesitation.

"Yes?" Hugo grunted. "Yes? What the hell does that mean?"

"You asked if it could. It replied in the affirmative. It is quite capable, but it remains a computer despite its divine enhancement, and thus tends to be quite literal."

"Now you see why I despise these things. Artoo, take me to the location of the phone we discussed previously."

"You will arrive at your destination in seventeen minutes," the device announced as the directions appeared on the screen.

"Great. Um. Share that location with Will."

"Done."

"I told you," Tristan said with a triumphant tone.

"Yeah, yeah," Hugo admitted. "Artoo. Call Will."

The phone began ringing at once, the device apparently having the wherewithal to place the call on speaker.

"Did you find him?" Will answered anxiously.

"Not yet. But I think his father got in his head and convinced him to run away. The location I just sent you is where I think I might find them."

"Great!"

"I also spoke to Ben's mom. She's calling the police. Can you work with her to make sure the cops know what's going on?"

"Yeah. I'll take care of it. What are you going to do when you get there?"

"That's a great question," Hugo muttered in reply. "You got any other questions?"

"Don't go getting shot again, bro. That shit ain't just gonna keep magically healing itself."

"Just get the cops there as soon as you can."

Hugo continued his journey, which led him out of the city and into the surrounding mountains on highways where his ancient truck was barely able to reach the speed limit. He struggled to formulate a strategy as he drove. He certainly remembered lessons from his time in the Army which related to an assault on a fixed position, but they were nearly worthless without any insight into what he would be facing when he arrived. There was also the small matter of him no longer being a soldier, and his armament being limited to a pocketknife and a truck which had twice driven the equivalent of the distance from the Earth to the Moon.

As he approached his destination, he started to get a feel for the tactical situation. The area compared favorably to the neighborhoods of both the youth center and the apartment where Ben lived with his mother. It was filled with sprawling apartment complexes, hotels and retail centers. Hugo sighed to himself as he pulled into a hotel so immaculate, he would have been unsurprised to learn it had been completed just days' prior.

He parked and studied his phone which told him the device he sought was located in the western half of the building before him. Pausing a moment to listen to his surroundings, he heard a pronounced lack of approaching sirens. Keeping his eyes on the phone, Hugo exited his truck and headed inside.

Upon entering, the navigation app on his phone was replaced with a blueprint of the building. He stepped into the elevator and rode up to the third floor. Upon exiting, he turned west and proceeded most of the way down the hall. As he approached the room where Artoo suggested his target could be found, he slowed his steps.

He paused before the door and listened carefully. At first, all he could hear was the rumble of the H. V. A. C., but he was determined to find out if the boy he sought was on the close at hand. He looked around, confirming he was alone in the hallway, before he knelt and pressed his ear to the door. It took mere moments for him to hear voices inside, one of them sounding very much like Ben.

"I thought you said we were going to your house, Dad. Why are we at a hotel?"

"The house didn't work out, son. We're just staying here until I get a couple things squared away, then we'll head to your real home."

"You said I wouldn't have to change schools."

"Quit yer bitchin'. You're going to love Alaska."

"Alaska! But you said..."

"Enough! Quit yappin'. I've got to call a guy about getting a clean set of wheels."

Hugo straightened and walked with purpose down the hallway, having heard more than enough to confirm his suspicions. He stepped outside the hotel, scanning the area with a soldier's instinct. The parking lot was a sprawl of vehicles, and the light drizzle that had begun seemed to cast everything in a muted, hazy glow. The police were nowhere in sight, and time was running out. He had just started to consider his next move when he saw the hotel doors swing open.

Ben emerged, his father clenching his hand firmly. His small face was filled with a mixture of confusion and fear. His father, tall and rugged, led the boy with a determined stride, eyes darting around with the nervous energy of a man with something to hide. Hugo felt a spike of urgency at the certain knowledge that if he let the boy slip away, he had no doubt he would never see him again.

"Hey!" Hugo called out, trying to keep his voice steady, non-threatening. "Hold up a second."

Ben's father turned, his eyes narrowing as he saw Hugo approach. His grip tightened on Ben's hand, causing the boy to wince. "Mind your business," the man growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"Hey Ben," Hugo spoke soothingly as he stepped closer, his posture calm but unyielding.

"Who the fuck is this?" Ben's father snarled. "One of your mom's boyfriends?"

Hugo groaned inwardly, any hope he might have harbored for a non-violent confrontation slipping through his fingers. He made a final, last-ditch attempt. "This doesn't have to get ugly. The cops are already on the way. Just let the boy go, and I'll let you take your chances with them."

For a moment, it seemed like the man might listen. His eyes flicked to the parking lot, scanning for witnesses, for an escape route. But then something shifted in his expression, hardening into resolve. "How did you find me?" he spat. He then looked down at his son and his eyes turned hard. "It was you. Wasn't it?"

"Let him go," Hugo growled. "Or we're going to have a problem. Don't make me..."

Hugo never saw the punch coming. Stars exploded in his vision as a wicked left cross connected with his jaw. He staggered backwards, the taste of copper filling his mouth. He hawked the blood onto the ground and glared at Ben's father as he regained his balance. Like a physical force, he could feel his instincts honed by years of training kick in.

Hugo closed the distance between them before Ben's father could land a follow up blow, moving with a fluid grace that belied his bulk. He blocked a second punch with his forearm, trapping the man's arm before brutally twisting it to gain the upper hand. He heard a satisfying cry of pain, so he pressed his advantage. He continued the movement, using his momentum to slam his opponent against the side of a nearby car.

"Stop!" Ben's voice cut through the chaos, filled with terror. Hugo hesitated, just for a moment, and it was enough for Ben's father to break free, swinging wildly.

The next few seconds were a blur. Hugo moved to keep himself between Ben and his father. But the movement placed him at a disadvantage and Ben's father managed to tackle him to the ground. Burning exploded through his face and forearm as he slid across the tarmac. He dug deep, every word his instructors had drilled into him during unarmed combat training ringing in his head as he fought to gain the upper hand. But Ben's father fought with the desperation of a cornered animal, his strikes fueled by adrenaline and rage. A lucky blow caught Hugo in the ribs, sending a jolt of pain through his side.

Finally, Hugo saw his opening. He snapped his heel up, catching his opponent in the inner thigh. This was just enough to cause Ben's father to loosen the grip on the back of his shirt, allowing him to roll free. He continued the motion, using his momentum to get to his knees in advance of slamming his shoulder into his adversary's midsection and sending him sprawling. Ben's father hit the ground hard, the wind whooshing from his lungs. Hugo was on him before he could recover, pinning him down with a knee to his back.

"Enough," Hugo hissed, his mouth close enough to the man's ear that he knew his enemy was several days' removed from bathing. "It's over."

After several moments of stubborn silence, Hugo delivered another blow to the man's kidney with his knee. At long last, he felt him go limp with a weary sigh. He kept his grip tight, determined to keep his prisoner secured until the police could at long last arrive despite every muscle in his body screaming in protest.

Hugo looked around, hoping to spot the arrival of the police. Instead, he found Ben staring at him, wide-eyed. As he wiped the blood from his mouth, he offered the boy a somber nod. "I'm sorry things turned out like this, bud."

"Will he be ok?" Ben whispered.

"Yeah," Hugo sighed in relief as he finally heard the sound of approaching police. "You're both going to be just fine."

Nine

Distant murmurs pulled Hugo from his well-earned slumber before dawn the next morning. He winced in pain after rolling over reminded him of numerous injuries sustained in the battle with Ben's father. His pain was quickly forgotten, however, as the whispers which had awoken him escalated in both volume and intensity into the unmistakable sounds of passion. For a moment, he wondered if what he was experiencing was nothing more than the remnants of a forgotten dream. But the blend of deep grunts and breathy moans filled his consciousness, bringing him fully awake as though he had been shoved into the frigid waters of the far northern reaches of the Mississippi River in mid-winter.

"Oh Tristan!" Isolde moaned wantonly.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Hugo groaned, pulling his pillow over his head in a futile attempt to drown out the noise.

There was a brief pause in the cacophony, just long enough for Hugo to start hoping that his wish had been granted.

But then, Tristan's silken baritone voice purred, "You are exquisite, my darling."

"Fucking hell," Hugo muttered. He threw the pillow across the room and fumbled for his phone. Cranking up the volume on a heavy metal playlist, he hoped that the relentless thunder of the double bass drums and the shredding guitars would drone out the sounds of Tristan and Isolde's enthusiastic lovemaking.

It didn't.

Instead, the moans seemed to sync with the beat of the music, the thumping bass line making it sound like a heavy metal orgy. Hugo's eye twitched as Tristan's guttural grunts matched the guitar riffs perfectly. He could practically hear the bedsprings of his companions' ethereal bedroom creaking in time with the music.

"Stop," Hugo groaned repeatedly.

"I believe we have an audience, my dear," Tristan murmured.

"Oh good," Isolde moaned. "Perhaps we'll inspire him to find someone more than happy to enlist for the cause of helping him join us in shared pleasure."

"Or multiple someone's," Tristan moaned.

"Not going to happen," Hugo snapped. "So how about you two pipe down?"

"Don't be such a prude," Isolde whispered, her breathing coming in shallow grunts.

"Everything will become clear in time, dear boy," Tristan sighed. "But for now, perhaps you might consider showing us a bit of courtesy and keeping quiet."

"How ironic," Hugo seethed as he refocused his efforts on ignoring his companions.

He tried to focus his attention on preparing breakfast, until a particularly loud moan from Isolde startled him enough that he nearly dropped a coffee cup.

"Are you kidding me!" he shouted, but his only response was even more moaning.

He managed to finish preparing the scalding cup of acrid energy without further incident, something made easier by the fact that he refused to spring for the extravagance of anything more expensive than store-brand instant coffee. He drank the brew without waiting for it to cool, welcoming the distraction of the burn on his tongue as he tried to literally drown out the tiny voice in his head which accused him of being jealous.

He leapt up and made his way to the bathroom to start his shower, taking the surprisingly loud and crystal-clear cacophony blasting from his phone with him. Unfortunately for both his sanity and his pride, Tristan and Isolde's pleasure not only followed him, but it also triggered his gallant reflex.

"We will not be offended if you pleasure yourself," Isolde interjected coquettishly.

"And I won't be offended if you two shut the fuck up!"

"Oh, don't be such a prig," Tristan chided, his voice rich with amusement.

"Fuck off!" Hugo spat back, shutting the shower off angrily. "I don't personally give a damn who does what to who so long as it makes them happy, but that doesn't mean I want to listen to you two take each other to the promised land!"

"Why, thank you," Isolde purred, clearly taking it as a compliment. "We've had millennia to perfect our technique."

"Lucky me," Hugo grumbled, wincing as the noises reached a crescendo.

He cranked the volume on his phone up further, shocked to feel the vibrations of the bass and drums in his bones. His unseen companions seemed to respond in kind, their efforts growing even more vigorous. It took another ten agonizing minutes of pounding guitars, howling vocals, and entirely too much audible pleasure for the noises to finally subside. Hugo slumped against the wall, breathing a sigh of relief as silence settled over the room.

"Well, that was invigorating," Tristan remarked, his tone smug and self-satisfied.

"I think I need a cigarette," Isolde added with a contented sigh.

"You two are the worst roommates ever," Hugo muttered, rubbing his temples. "Next time, at least put a sock on the door... or whatever the fuck passes for a sock in your world."

***

Hugo descended the stairs from his apartment with the weight of a man carrying an entire cargo ship worth of migraines, each step punctuated by the fading echoes of Tristan and Isolde's morning performance. The air in the garage was thick with the familiar scent of motor oil and rubber, a comforting contrast to the chaos in his head. He could hear Derek tinkering with a carburetor across the room, taking the older man's muttered curses as a sure sign that his absence had been felt keenly.

"Well, if it isn't the man who walked away from a gunshot like it was a paper cut," Derek called out. He stood from beneath the hood, groaning as he stretched his back. His eyes then fell on Hugo, and he added, "What the hell, son?"

"Huh?" Hugo grunted.

"You look like you hiked up Lookout Mountain but decided to take the fast way down."

"You should see the other guy," Hugo replied with a wince. Derek glared at him, his expectation of a more detailed explanation evident. "The absentee father of one of the kids at the center thought he could get away with whisking his kid off to Alaska. I convinced him of the error of his ways."

"You're developing quite the knack for saving people," Derek observed as he leaned against the fender of the aged sedan.

Hugo sighed wearily, "You're starting to sound like Jenneke."

He headed over to a hatchback in need of a new alternator. He lifted the hood and surveyed the engine bay before his companion spoke again.

"I ain't saying you're glory hunting," Derek replied defensively. He then smirked and added, "You might just be the unluckiest son-of-a-gun in history."

Hugo forced a grin as he crossed to the wall to pluck a box with the replacement part he required from the shelf. He hoped to bury himself in work and avoid further conversation, but Derek could be quite persistent when properly motivated.

"So, what's the deal?" Derek pressed, wiping his hands on a greasy rag as he straightened up. "Will said you were in a coma. Then next thing I know, you're walking in here trying to change some oil like nothing happened."

"And?"

"And?" Derek repeated. "How about we start with how. You expect me to believe you just miraculously got better?"

Hugo hesitated, glancing at the phone in his pocket as if it might offer sudden inspiration. Instead, Tristan's voice chimed in like a devil on his shoulder. "Tell you've been charged with divine purpose. It works every time."

Hugo shrugged. "I can't explain it. All I remember is I was tussling with those dumb bastards in the alley, then I wake up in the hospital."

"Oh, you definitely got shot, boy. Will was pretty fucking clear on that. Same with the coma."

"What do you want from me?"

"You've got more lives than a stray cat, son. But seriously, you sure you're good? No lingering issues?"

"None that I can't handle," Hugo assured him as he turned his attention back to the hatchback.

Before he could escape to his work, however, Isolde's smooth as silk voice cut in. "Well done."

"Indeed," Tristan agreed. "And his point about your face is not without merit. If you intend to conduct our mission with this level of violence, something will need to be done about your appearance."

"I'll heal," Hugo muttered. "Eventually."

"But what if you could heal faster?" Tristan offered cryptically.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Isolde purred, "Our earlier activities were more than just recreational, dear boy."

"Oh really?" he grumbled.

"Indeed," Tristan replied silkily. "Just as our first progeny helped heal your computing device, after a fashion, so will our latest progeny help repair, rebuild and restore your body."

"Progeny," he huffed. "As in children?"

"We are not merely here to advise you," Tristan retorted judgmentally.

"Good thing," Hugo snorted. "Because you suck at it."

"What was that?" Derek said from across the garage.

"Nuh... nothing," Hugo replied reflexively as he ducked further beneath the hatchback's hood.

"Yes," Isolde gushed. "Our beautiful, perfect offspring. And the countless generations that follow. They come together in perfect synchronicity to form the tools which you will use to accomplish our mission."

"To think... I thought you guys were there to give me shit about damn near everything when you're supposed to be helping me out."

"We are helping you out, young man," Tristan scolded. "How do you think your phone was so drastically altered? Where do you think the sphere you used to assume control of Ben's phone came from?"

"And we are far more than mere voices," Isolde continued. "The fact that our size is so fundamentally different from your own that we literally exist on different planes of existence doesn't change the fact that we are quite real."

"So, where are you?"

"Where do you think?" Tristan quipped. "Where else would we be to easily tap into your senses?"

"I see," Hugo said slowly. "And you're making... what? Exactly?"

Isolde continued, "You would likely refer to them as nanobots, although that moniker is both crude and misleading. They are the unification of dozens of generations of our progeny. Exquisitely designed by us, born of our love, and with potential beyond your wildest imagination."

Hugo nearly dropped the spanner he was holding. "Wait, so you're saying that... that... you two are a couple of tiny robots living in my head? And you intend to make millions more like you?"

"We are not robots," Tristan said stiffly. "As we keep telling you, we are beyond your comprehension. We merely chose to manifest, for the purposes of this mission, as microscopic entities who, yes, are currently residing inside your skull."

"We did not say we are nanobots, Hugo," Isolde persisted. "Merely that those we create could be best described using that term."

"And we don't make millions of them," Tristan drawled. "Isolde is currently pregnant, after a fashion, with our second child, for want of a better term."

"So where do the millions, your words, come from?"

"They reproduce by fission, of course. Every ten of your minutes."

"Wonderful," Hugo snapped. "Another robot the size of a poppy seed every ten minutes, so there will be enough to spot with the naked eye around the end of the millennium. Perfect."

"You were someone nearly everyone who met you referred to as brilliant, someone who earned a full ride to a prestigious engineering school on merit. Have you really forgotten the fundamentals of geometric expansion? In as little as half a day, our single offspring will have fissioned over sixty times, resulting in more than fifty quintillion of our creations."

"Christ," he breathed reverently. "Where..."

"Don't worry," Tristan chuckled. "Even that preposterous number would still fit comfortably inside this garage. And we control their rate of expansion."

"So, the spheres?"

"Trillions of our offspring," Isolde supplied. "Brilliantly designed, and capable of turning any silicon-based computing device into your oh-so-willing minion."

"I don't suppose you could say that less sultrily," Hugo grunted. "You make it sound like it'll be my sex slave."

"Silly boy," she guffawed. "You have no need of such enchantments. You merely require confidence."

Tristan added, "And to not look, as Derek so eloquently put it, like you fell down a mountain. Which is where our current offspring come in. By the end of the day, you will have the means to heal yourself..."

"Or any mammal," Isolde interjected.

"From any and all non-life threatening injuries or illnesses."

"That seems to be an awfully big exception," Hugo observed. "Considering recent events."

"We decided healing your current wounds was the priority," Isolde replied warmly. "Just do your best to stay out of gun battles. The energy required to produce one of our children would boggle your mind. The most we can manage is one per Earth day."

"Certainly sounded energetic," Hugo quipped.

"There's no need to be jealous, dear boy," Tristan retorted, turning his typical suave demeanor up a notch. "Your mission is about more than just helping others, even saving others. It is also about doing the same for yourself. A task which I suspect you will find a good bit more challenging because it is not in your nature."

"I'm fine," Hugo huffed as he slammed the hood to the hatchback.

"My dear boy," Isolde simmered. "You are such a vast distance from fine that I suspect it has been decades since that statement was even remotely true. But things will improve, if you allow them to. You are most certainly not fine."

"But you will be," Tristan murmured intensely. "You will be."

Ten

"Fucking, finally!" Hugo sighed as the fuel pump popped into place on the hard-to-reach underside of the sedan that was on the verge of qualifying for the right to vote.

He had finally found a rhythm with his work as the sun swung into the western half of the sky. That is not to say he was overcome with a profound sense of satisfaction in a job well done. For Hugo, work was not a place where he sought, or ever found, solace in his accomplishments, or even a notable amount of satisfaction. Work was simply what he did when he was not sleeping.

A knock against the glass of the garage door interrupted his efforts to extricate himself from beneath the sedan. He stood and snatched a rag from the work bench to wipe his hands, only to realize with an exhausted sigh that it was even dirtier than his hands. Tossing it in the bin, he grabbed a clean rag as he walked over to peer outside at what he suspected was the impatient owner of the dilapidated vehicle.

Hugo opened his mouth to, again, insist that the owner demonstrate a level of patience at least commensurate with what one could expect from a toddler who had never known screen time restrictions. The rebuke died on his lips, however, as his eyes locked on the person standing outside the garage. Instead of an entitled middle-aged divorcée, he instead found a woman who caused him to completely forget about the ancient sedan.

Hair, black as midnight, fell in smooth waves and framed a striking, almond-shaped face. Sharp cheekbones, full smiling lips, and warm brown eyes that seemed to glint with a mix of curiosity and confidence. She wore perfectly tailored, dark red pants over shiny black pumps and a nearly sheer white silk blouse. Designer sunglasses sat upon her head and her bejeweled phone case glinted in the sun as she glanced down at it.

He blinked, struggling to keep his expression neutral as a wave of discomfort swept over him. There was something about her that made his skin prickle with unease, and he felt his stomach tighten with an all-too-familiar anxiety.

"Hi," she said, her voice smooth and assured. "I'm looking for Hugo van der Mewre."

Hugo swallowed; his throat suddenly drier than Death Valley. He tried to muster a response that would not betray his sudden discomfort, but the words caught in his throat. She smiled; a small, polite curve of her lips that only added to his growing unease.

"Um, why?" he stammered, instantly cursing himself for sounding like a teenager at his first school dance.

"Hugo?" she queried, her voice smooth and professional, but with a playful undertone that suggested she was enjoying his discomfort.

"And you are?" Hugo muttered, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

Her smile grew as though in triumph. "Maria Hosokawa. Secrets of the Willow World. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the, ah, altercations in which you were recently involved."

Hugo's mind raced. He was tempted to simply close the door and pretend the conversation never happened, but the idea of being rude to a woman had never been something he allowed himself to do, whether or not she looked like she could single-handedly smolder with enough intensity to turn an iceberg into a puddle. Regardless, his admittedly limited experience with attractive women suggested they were disinclined to take no for an answer.

"I really shouldn't answer any questions, since the legal process has yet to play out," he deflected

"Thank you for confirming that you were involved," she said brightly.

"I didn't confirm anything!"

"I can't imagine why you'd deny being a hero, Hugo."

"I'm no hero."

"Oh, I'm sure you're just being modest," Maria replied, stepping past him and into the garage. "The things I've heard about you... well, let's just say you're well on your way to achieving incredible fame."

Hugo cleared his throat, desperately searching for some semblance of a tactic as Maria's presence filled the garage. Her perfume, something expensive and floral, wafted through the air, adding another layer to his mounting anxiety. His usual refuge in the scent of oil and metal felt distant and inadequate against the whirlwind represented by her overwhelming presence.

"There are people that would kill to get the exposure you've gotten over the last month. Heroes like you have incredible earning potential."

"You know what!" he snapped, his anxiety being replaced by righteous indignation. "A single mother who works three jobs to keep a roof over her kids' heads; she's a hero. An immigrant who's spent his whole life being told he's what's wrong with this country volunteering to defend that same country; he's a hero. I'm nothing like them."

"My viewers say different," she retorted, undeterred, as she advanced further into the garage. Her heels clicked on the smooth concrete floor as she spun to fix him with a penetrating gaze. "Heroes don't always get to choose when they're needed, Hugo."

"Whatever," he grunted. He glanced at the vehicle behind him before adding, "Listen, I've got to get back to work. This thing isn't going to fix itself."

"I'm sure you're quite capable at auto repair," she replied, stepping closer. The movement was subtle, as was the coquettish glint in her eye. She reached out, brushing a speck of dust off his shoulder. A move which only served to heighten the completeness with which she had taken over his senses. "But surely there's more to the story, Hugo. I think people would love to know what really happened."

Her touch, brief as it was, had a sobering effect on him. He shook his head dismissively. "No one wants to hear about me."

Maria's lips curved into a sly smile, and she gave a small, understanding nod. "Why not let my viewers be the judge of that? Think about it, Hugo. We already know the official story. But we want to know about the man behind the police reports." Her tone was warm, almost comforting, as if she were trying to ease his nerves.

She took a small step back, giving him just enough space to breathe while still holding his attention. "Maybe we could talk somewhere more comfortable. It doesn't have to be an official interview. Just a conversation."

Hugo hesitated, caught between the obvious traps presented by agreeing to her request and her undeniable allure. Ultimately, his unwillingness to be rude to a lady tipped the scales in the direction of acquiescence.

"Fine," he conceded, his voice tight. "There's a bench outside."

"Perfect," Maria said, her eyes lighting up as if he had just handed her a gift. She turned with a graceful fluidity that Hugo could only describe as mesmerizing, and he found himself following her out of the garage whilst utterly failing to keep his eyes off her perfectly formed ass.

Once outside, the fresh air did little to calm his nerves. Maria sat down on the bench and patted the space next to her, her smile inviting while her eyes studied him intently. Hugo shifted awkwardly before finally sitting down, though he kept a careful distance between them. She crossed her legs, the movement drawing his gaze despite his commitment to keep his eyes above her collarbone. He looked away quickly, cursing his traitorous gaze.

"So," Maria began, leaning in just enough to make it quite plain that more than a few of her blouse's buttons had been left undone. "You must be pretty strong to handle those guys the way you did. What's your secret, Hugo? Been lifting cars when no one's looking?"

He frowned, her preposterous suggestion jarring him loose from her entrancing aura. "Of course not. Just the fundamentals any man or woman would learn in basic training."

"Ah, a man of action," she teased, her tone playful as she tilted her head slightly, her eyes catching the sunlight. "That explains a lot. But surely, there's more to Hugo van der Mewre than that."

"Not really," he replied shortly.

Almost as if sensing his increased level of resistance, she leaned close and cupped his cheek. Her touch caused him to start, causing his eyes to flit around in search of refuge. They found a hint of the white lace of her bra, and his gaze was captivated by the hint of cleavage he spied. Her voice grew quite; almost somber. "You're special Hugo. Just a few minutes in your presence, and I already know that."

"I'm really not," he said, more gruffly than he intended. "I'm just trying to live my life. It's not like I go looking for trouble."

"But trouble seems to find you," Maria pointed out, her gaze softening as if she were genuinely concerned. "Doesn't it. You're quite fortunate you're so uniquely gifted in handling trouble, in keeping the people of this community safe."

Hugo rubbed the back of his neck, the knot in his stomach tightening. "I wouldn't say that. I just do what I can."

Maria leaned in closer, her shoulder pressing lightly against his arm as her hand fell to his upper thigh. Hugo's eyes dropped to her hand as a war was waged in his head between her undeniable physical attractiveness and her overwhelmingly assertive personality.

"That's what makes you incredible, Hugo." She smiled brilliantly at him before adding, "And it certainly doesn't hurt that you're so easy on the eyes."

His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to keep his thoughts in order. "Um... what?"

Maria laughed out loud, a sound which was at once delightful and alluring. She continued, "And you're humble. I like that." She paused, letting the moment linger before adding, "So... how did you manage to heal so quickly from being shot?"

Hugo shook his head, trying to dispel the fog of confusion that seemed to be clouding his judgment. "Who says I got shot?"

Maria's laughter was gentle, and she reached out to pat his hand. "I'm not trying to trap you, Hugo." As if to reinforce her statement, she leaned back and pulled her phone from her purse. She tilted her head, her gaze turning more inquisitive. "I just want to understand you better. As for your question: according to Chattanooga P. D., there was a shooting two blocks from the youth center where you volunteer. That shooting involved a man matching your description who was transported to the hospital with a G. S. W to the back of the head."

"And?" he grunted defensively.

She bent and took his face in her hands. When he tried to avoid her gaze, he found himself staring directly into the valley of her cleavage. He made a move to pull back, but she stilled him with a word. "Wait." She studied him carefully, and her lips curved up as she noticed his eyes dancing between the swell of her modest breasts and the flawless skin of her face. At length, she released his face, but she remained close enough that her perfume was almost overpowering. "I'm sorry. That was out of line."

Hugo's mind raced, torn between the desire to keep his distance and the strange pull he felt toward her. He knew what she wanted (at least, he knew one thing that she wanted) and he was determined to keep his own counsel on the strange events since the shooting. But her presence was intoxicating. Every time she leaned in, every time her eyes met his, he felt him resolve slipping.

Maria took a steadying breath as she watched him like a hawk. "I'd love to share your story with my viewers, Hugo. The story of a remarkable man who does extraordinary things for his community. I'd like to show them just how special you are." She leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable. "But I won't pressure you into anything you're not comfortable with." She waggled her phone. "Can I give you my number? That way, you can think things over." She glanced over his shoulder at the auto shop before smirking, and adding, "Then, perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere quieter? More intimate? I know of a delightful Italian place downtown where we could have an intimate dinner. And it's walking distance from my apartment."

Hugo's cheeks flushed at her suggestion, and the unspoken promise within. "Uh... yeah... maybe?"

She chuckled at his unease, leaning in to peck his cheek before she stood and donned her sunglasses. She reached into her purse and produced a business card, handing it over with an easy smile. Hugo stood quickly, some distant vestige of his brain informing him that protocol demanded he do so. He took the proffered card haltingly, not wanting his greasy hands to mar its exquisite appearance.

Maria smiled at his hesitation and reached out, her fingers lightly brushing his arm., "I very much look forward to hearing from you."

Hugo glanced behind him uncomfortably. "Uh... yeah... me too."

She snickered at his gaffe before turning and walking back to her imported S. U. V. with an exaggerated swish of her exquisitely formed backside.

As she disappeared from view, Hugo felt her spell dissipate and reality begin to creep back in. He mentally reviewed everything he had said, all that he had unthinkingly confirmed, and he let out a long, frustrated breath. Anger flared within him for, once again, turning into a mouth breathing simpleton when faced with a beautiful woman. The fact that he had managed to keep from divulging his most closely held secrets did nothing to assuage his irritation.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, turning back to the garage.

His annoyance was short lived, however, quickly replaced by the memory of her breathtaking smile, and her agonizingly alluring body. Much as the logical part of him declared he was a fool for entertaining the thought, the very foolish, very hopeful part which remained wondered if maybe, just maybe, she was interested in him for more than just a story.

As he walked inside, he couldn't help glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting to see her standing there, watching him with that knowing smile.

Eleven

"Are you aware that some humans consume solid food more than once a day?" Tristan asked pointedly as Hugo saw to his morning ritual of pouring hot tap water over instant coffee grounds.

"And?" Hugo grumbled in advance of taking a gulp of the acrid brew.

Isolde gently offered, "I believe what my marvelous companion is suggesting is that you'd perhaps experience better moods in the morning if you treated yourself better."

"I did my ten klicks before sunrise, same as every day."

"Are you opposed to breakfast?" she persisted. "Or coffee that exists for a reason other than waking you up and suppressing your appetite?"

"Neither opposed nor in favor," Hugo muttered as he headed for his tiny apartment's bathroom. "Just don't see the point."

He started to strip off his sweat-soaked shirt only to groan in pain as the rough fabric grated across the angry road rash on his forearm. He inspected the wound in the mirror and was dismayed to see that it was once again bleeding.

"Damnit," he growled in frustration.

He pressed the shirt he held against his arm to stop the bleeding, only to hiss in pain as the salt from his sweat mixed with his blood.

"Go to your bedside table," Tristan instructed.

"I'm kinda busy here, in case you hadn't noticed."

"And we're trying to help you," Tristan continued warmly. "Trust me, Hugo. Go to the table."

Hugo shrugged and retreated from the bathroom. Upon reaching the table, he spotted something out of place. His wallet, keys and phone were still in his running shorts, but they each had their designated spot on the table so that he could reliably reach them even in complete darkness. Now, however, there were two new items on the worn, but otherwise spotless table. The first was an opaque cylinder, twice the circumference of his thumb and as long as his ring finger. As with the device which had mysteriously appeared on his key ring a few days' prior, the cylinder was utterly featureless. It was heavy for its size and his first thought was that it represented something akin to a poor man's brass knuckles. He held it in his closed fist and shadowboxed for a few seconds.

"Clever," Isolde chuckled. "But not quite what we had in mind. Open it."

Hugo silently instructed the cylinder to open, just as he had done for the device attached to his keys. It clicked obediently and he hinged it open lengthwise. Inside there were several dozen vaguely translucent items which looked not unlike over the counter medicine.

"More nanobots?" he guessed.

"What gave you that idea?" Tristan retorted drolly.

"As Derek would say," Isolde continued, "it'll cure what ails ya. One pill should cure most maladies."

"You're saying one of these would knock out full-blown Covid in a grown adult?" Hugo asked incredulously.

"Any illness which your body manages to fend off for at least a few hours," Tristan agreed.

"Whoa," he breathed reverently.

"Don't forget about the other item," Isolde prompted.

Hugo dutifully picked up the other container, which was of a similar size, but rectangular rather than cylindrical in shape. He opened it using the same method employed for the other devices which Tristan and Isolde had purportedly birthed into existence. Inside, he found a stack of nearly transparent films which we so thin that he suspected there could easily be thousands of them in the small case.

"Lemme guess," Hugo suggested. "These are like those breath strips which dissolve under your tongue."

Hugo could almost hear the shrug in Tristan's voice as he said, "That would certainly work if you had a grievous wound in your mouth. But perhaps it would be more instructive if you placed one on your arm."

"Holy shit!" Hugo yelped after doing as instructed and watching an area twice the size of the strip fade in seconds from angry, bright-red road rash to healed, scarless skin. Even his arm hair returned, all in the span of a few dozen seconds. Even more striking was the surrounding skin which remained very much injured.

"Well said," Isolde snickered. "I think a couple more of those will make your arm good as new."

Tristan added, "And don't forget about your hip."

"Or your face," Isolde finished.

Two minutes later, half of that spent being consumed with finishing the job of undressing, Hugo's wounds had gone the way of the dodo. He stood before the mirror for several moments, staring in wonder at his healthy skin.

As he stepped into the shower, he asked, "You're saying I can heal basically anything? Wounds or illness?"

"Within reason," Tristan replied. "Obviously you have to stay alive for long enough for our offspring to heal you."

"And the more widespread the damage," Isolde added, "the more of our children will be required."

"So, one pill should do the trick for the flu, but if you've got cancer raging through your body..."

"Maybe err on the side of caution," Tristan replied smoothly. "We can always make more."

"I ask because Derek's had this wicked cough for as long as I've known him. He says it's nothing, but I've seen some of the meds he's taking. I think that's part of the reason he keeps talking about finding someone to take over the place. Seems like he thinks his days are numbered. I wonder if maybe a couple of these might fix him up."

"They're really meant for you, Hugo," Isolde began. "To ensure you're able to accomplish your mission."

"There're dozens of pills in there!" Hugo exploded as he shut off the water and yanked the shower curtain open.

"Firty-four," Tristan provided. "And so long as you keep the number above twenty, as many as fifty additional pills could be generated daily."

"What are you expecting from me?" Hugo shouted. "That I'll get H. I. V. and cancer and heart disease every day? How could I ever possibly use so many?"

"It's referred to as a tactical reserve."

"Will they work for other humans, or just me?"

"They'll work for any mammal," Isolde replied.

"Great," he grunted as he stalked into the bedroom to get dressed.

***

Hugo walked into the downtown hospital, his eyes flitting around with a nervous energy born of the fact that he had yet to formulate even the beginnings of a plan. Despite that, he was overburdened with resolute purpose. He pulled his hat lower, hoping to avoid yet another instance of seeing his name in the papers. The sterile smell of disinfectant and the soft hum of medical equipment greeted him as he entered, mingling with the soft murmur of conversations and the squeak of a rubber-soled shoes on the tile floor.

As he made his way to the intensive care unit, Hugo's mind raced with possibilities. He envisioned a day when every patient could be healed instantly, when diseases that had plagued his fellow citizens for years, even decades, would be gone by sundown. He knew he had the potential to make a difference, the only question was whether he could get away with it.

Reality intervened, however, with a stern, "Can I help you?" from the nurse's station at the entrance to the unit.

Hugo spun around, realizing too late that he could scarcely have looked more suspicious. He smiled anxiously at the nurse and declared, "Hi!"

"This floor is for patients and registered visitors only. You'll need to get a pass at the front entrance."

"Oh! Sure!" Hugo enthused. "I'll get right on that."

He about-faced and headed back toward the hospital entrance, his mind racing to find a solution. As he walked, he spotted a sign for the emergency department. On a whim, he headed in that direction. After a few moments' consideration, he even convinced himself that his new destination would be an even better option. He reasoned that with so many people constantly coming and going, he would have a far easier time disappearing into the background.

True to his suspicion, Hugo managed to walk right past the entrance to triage station without anyone taking notice. The area was teeming with activity, and the cacophony of noise emitting from both man and machine caused him to shudder. He put his head down, mindful of his objective.

"Holy shit that hurts!" a man's voice rang out from seemingly everywhere. "Are you people honestly just going to let me lay here and bleed out?"

Hugo looked around furtively, scanning for both the source of the voice and any staff members who might have already noticed his presence. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the former but not the latter, and he approached a gurney which looked to have come from an ambulance which was parked toward the end of a hallway. On it, he found a man who was obviously in the middle of a very bad day. His clothes were in shreds, and he had bloody bandages on both his head and his thigh. He was grimacing in pain, but he appeared quite lucid.

As Hugo approached, he muttered, "Please tell me I don't have to take this poor bastard's bandages off to heal him."

"The strips will pass through the bandages," Isolde replied softly. "It will take longer for them to take effect, but that will also give you time to beat a hasty retreat."

"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded of Hugo as he approached.

Hugo immediately discarded his initial inclination to claim to be a doctor, opting instead for a fiction more in keeping with his attire. "I'm with the sheriff's department, just doing a bit of follow up."

"Are you serious?" the man snapped. "A dumb kid, likely with their face glued to his goddamned phone, ran a red light and fucking t-boned me."

"I see," Hugo said slowly as he pulled both his phone and the case containing the healing strips from his pockets.

Whether it was a desire to focus on anything other than his agony, or simply a wounded ego, the man needed no further encouragement to start ranting about the manifold failures of the parents of the boy who had crashed into him. While he raved, Hugo surreptitiously extracted several healing strips and laid them across the bandage on the man's leg. He kept one in reserve, wondering about how he might go about healing the man's head wound.

Just as it seemed as though the man's exhaustion would overwhelm his anger, he pointed angrily at his head and shouted, "Do you see this? I might have a concussion, for fucks' sake."

Hugo leaned in, gently placing a healing strip over the bandage as he studied the wound. He then straightened and said, "Let's find out what the doctors say and then we'll see if we have to consider new charges. We'll follow up with you when we know more."

He turned to leave, only to have the man yelp, "Wait!"

Hugo quickened his steps as new voices joined the shouts chasing him. He hurried around a corner and then ducked into the first room which had a darkened window. He quietly closed the door behind him and tried to stealthily peer through the window without giving away his presence.

"Can I help you?" a soft voice spoke behind him.

Hugo whirled around, his eyes landing on a woman sitting on the edge of a hospital bed. Her blonde highlighted brown hair was held in a messy bun which paired well with her rumpled, oversized heather-colored hoodie which fell off one shoulder, exposing a motley collection of tattoos covering her upper left arm. Burgandy capri leggings and a white tank top completed her ensemble, not to mention showcasing her staggering curves. Her sapphire eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and amusement as she studied him.

"Well?" she prompted.

"I... uh."

"Wait a minute," she declared, her expression turning triumphant. "You're that guy! The one who saved the woman from getting gang raped and then the boy from getting kidnapped!"

"What makes you say that?" he asked defensively.

"Oh, my goodness! Are you kidding? You're the best thing to happen to this city since I moved here." She looked toward the ceiling and murmured, "What'd she say your name was? Hugh? Hubert? Humperdinck?"

Hugo snickered despite himself and said, "Hugo."

"Yes!" she yelped. "Hugo the Hero."

"Hardly," he deflected. "I'm just a regular guy."

"A regular guy who saves damsels in distress and innocent children!" she corrected. She then smiled coquettishly and added, "Although none of the videos I watched mentioned how handsome you are."

"Bullshit," he muttered reflexively.

"And humble," she added with a smirk. She extended her hand and added, "Faith."

Hugo shook her hand, unable to resist either smiling at her friendliness or noting the pleasant jolt of electricity which shot up his arm at her touch.

"Not to be insensitive," Tristan interjected gently. "But perhaps you could consider using her obvious knowledge of your good deeds to facilitate your mission."

"Indeed," Isolde added. "She's obviously here for something internal since she has no visible injuries."

"We are still mostly ignorant of the ways of your countryman," Tristan continued. "But I suspect it is the rare individual indeed who would take a mystery medication offered by a stranger."

"Oh," Hugo grunted in response to his silent companions. He then noticed that Faith was staring inquisitively at where he still held her hand. He dropped her hand as though scalded and whispered, "Sorry."

"I don't mind," Faith replied with a warm smile.

He glanced around before taking out the container of pills and saying, "Listen. I'm kind of here on... um..." He blew out a frustrated breath before continuing. "I'm trying to help people."

"And?" she asked excitedly.

He opened the container and shook a pill into his hand. "This. This pill can help you."

"How?" She asked with an understandable degree of suspicion. Her expression then clouded noticeably. She looked toward the door for a moment before adding, "Who told you why I'm here?"

"No one," he replied immediately. "I have no idea why you're here. I just want to help you."

"Then how do you know that will help me?" she asked, glancing at the pill in his hand.

"It's hard to explain," he admitted helplessly. "I know you have no reason to trust me..."

"Perhaps," she admitted with a shrug. "But I'm not suggesting you're trying to hurt me, either. I'm just trying to understand what makes you think that will work for me."

He sighed helplessly, the hopeful look in her deep blue eyes amplifying the sense of failure he felt.

"Tell her the truth," Isolde murmured.

Hugo glanced around before saying, "What all did you hear about the attack the other night?"

"You mean when you saved a woman from being gang raped, only to get shot in the head for your trouble? Something you somehow miraculously healed from almost immediately."

He held up the pill. "This. This is how I healed."

"But pills are, like, super specific. Something you take for a headache won't fix syphilis." Her eyes widened alarmingly, and she quickly added, "I mean a bacterial infection." She looked away, trying to hide her shame as she muttered, "Jesus Christ!"

"Not these," Hugo assured her. "And I assure you they can get rid of any kind of bacterial infection."

"You swear you're not fucking with me?"

He held up his right hand solemnly. "On my honor." Then, struck by inspiration, he added, "How about this? We'll both take one?" He popped the pill in his mouth demonstrably and dry-swallowed it.

"Men," Fath huffed with a smirk. "Always have to show how tough you are."

He shrugged shyly but made no direct response. Instead, he asked, "Does that mean you'll take one?"

"I'm thinking about it."

On a whim, he snatched a piece of paper off a nearby counter. Glancing at it, he identified it as one of the countless admonishments against failure to pay which clogged all hospitals. He turned it over and wrote down his number and address. He averted his eyes self-consciously as he awkwardly set it down within her reach.

She grinned at him and asked, "What's this?"

"Um," he stammered helplessly.

"Lemme guess," Faith continued, her eyes glancing toward the bottle in Hugo's hand. "Take one of these and call you in the morning?"

"I just figured you could, you know, call me if anything, um..."

"You're not trying to score my number with nothing more than a couple of sugar pills and a handsome face?"

"I..." he began helplessly, but he could think of nothing to say.

After regarding him for a long moment, Faith held out her hand, her expression playful. Hugo placed the pill in her palm, again feeling a jolt when they came in contact. He then took a long step to the counter and filled a paper cup with water. Faith took the pill without fanfare before handing the cup back to him with a smile.

She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted as someone stepped into the room and barked, "There he is!"

Twelve

"What was that sound?" Tristan asked incredulously.

"I do believe he's humming," Isolde ventured.

"Impossible! He is literally the dourest human we've ever encountered."

"Indeed. Perhaps he's suffered from a stroke which fundamentally altered his personality. At least until he drops dead in a few moments."

"Preposterous!" Tristan declared, even more forcibly.

"You're right," Isolde soothed. "Our offspring would never allow it."

Hugo had been successfully ignoring his invisible companions throughout both his short drive across town and his pleasant saunter though the upscale downtown area which surrounded his ultimate destination, but Isolde's final comment broke through his defenses like a berserker.

"Excuse me?" he asked loud enough that a fellow pedestrian looked at him in alarm.

"Our offspring would heal such a defect long before it became life threatening," Isolde repeated.

"Listen," Hugo murmured. "I know you two have been somewhat cagey about your physical location beyond, 'somewhere in my head'. But now you're telling me you've got whole colonies of nanobots in there with you?"

"That's not what I was saying," Isolde retorted.

"Although your statement is undeniably factual, Hugo," Tristan interjected. "Just not in the way you implied."

"What the fuck are you two talking about?"

"Our offspring, specifically those designed for healing, will always be with you, dear boy," Isolde soothed. "They will maintain a sufficient population to both sustain a critical mass to heal any malady or injury you may suffer, and to replenish their numbers quickly should that become necessary. Mostly, they exist in your bloodstream so as to maintain maximum mobility, but they also maintain a sufficient population in your vital organs to respond to any urgent threats."

"Define critical mass," Hugo hissed through gritted teeth.

"Only a few million," Tristan answered.

"Million!" he gasped, startling an elderly man to the point where he glared Hugo and grunted, "Asshole."

"You forget," Tristan continued. "Our offspring are quite small. Even that number would be barely larger, in totality, than the phone you carry."

"That's still pretty big to be lodged inside me."

"But they don't exist in mass. The only time any of them come into contact with one another is when they're actively healing you."

"We did not mention them to concern you," Isolde soothed. "Merely to reassure you that you are now quite resistant to both injury and illness."

"I see," he answered slowly. "Well... thanks. I guess."

"You're quite welcome," Tristan replied. "Now. Back to the matter of your mood, and what it portends."

"Can't talk," Hugo answered as a wide grin spread across his face upon entering his destination. "Busy."

Hugo's eyes scanned around until he spotted a familiar face, whereupon Isolde murmured, "Oh! I see."

"Hugo!" Maria gasped as he approached her table. "Thanks so much for coming!"

"Of course," he managed to reply without stuttering, a noteworthy feat considering her outfit.

She smiled dazzlingly as he took a seat across from her. Once he was seated, he saw a sign she might be experiencing some of the same apprehension which was coursing through his body when she glanced away and then nervously took a sip of her water. This action caused a drop of condensation to fall onto her lap. His eye was drawn to the movement like a moth to a flame, and he watched transfixed as she used her napkin to dry her salmon-colored sundress. As she rubbed the napkin frantically against the thin fabric of her dress, it highlighted her alluring figure by causing her breasts to jiggle slightly while simultaneously giving him brief glimpses of her flawless thighs.

He raised his eyes to find her regarding him with a questioning gaze and he suddenly realized she had spoken again. He shook his head as though to shoo a particularly insistent fly before stammering, "Pardon?"

"I was apologizing for how clumsy I am, but it would seem you don't mind in the least."

"Wait... um... what?"

She laughed throatily and reached out to caress his forearm. "Oh, my goodness. You're just perfect." She shifted in her seat for a moment, an action that caused her dress to creep even further up her thighs to the point where his peripheral vision loudly trumpeted a sighting of black lace. She continued, "I'll be honest, I'm a little surprised Mrs. Van der Mewre lets you out of her sight."

"She passed away when I was in high school," Hugo reported, his features going flat.

"Oh, shit," Maria gushed as she took both of his hands in hers. "I'm so sorry, Hugo." She frowned as she took a long breath. "Although, I will admit, I was referencing your wife."

"But I'm not married," he replied slowly.

"Girlfriend?"

He looked away as though he found the lobby which the restaurant shared with an upscale apartment high rise to be the most fascinating thing in existence. "Negative. Too busy."

"Indeed? Well, that will make things less complicated."

"Excuse me?" he asked; more for clarification than out of anger or resentment.

"Nothing. Tell me Hugo, what do you look for in a woman?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Never really gave it much thought."

"But you are interested in women," she prompted. As though to make her point, she leaned toward him as if about to share a secret. Her eyes twinkled in satisfaction when his gaze betrayed him by dropping for the briefest of moments to behold the modest cleavage she had placed on display. She grinned and added, "Thought so."

He took a sip of his own water to mask his discomfort.

As though sensing an opening, she glanced at the ceiling and said, "My apartment's upstairs. Perhaps you'd like to come up and we could continue our discussion?"

Without waiting for an answer, she stood and walked from the restaurant. After a brief hesitation, Hugo stood and dropped a few bills on the table before stalking after her. She was waiting for him by the bank of elevators, a triumphant smile on her face.

After she pressed the call button, she turned to him and said, "To be honest, I'm somewhat surprised you accepted my offer. I'm by no means ashamed of my body, but I'm not sure I hold a candle to either Ms. Curry or Ms. Burbridge."

"Who?" he grunted as he reflexively took a step back, causing him to bump into a kiosk which housed a building directory.

Maria smirked judgmentally. "You really must do better about acquainting yourself with your conquests if you're going to take full advantage of your cult hero status. Lauren Curry was the woman you saved in the alley where you got shot. A woman who, I was unsurprised to discover, managed to hang on in Los Angeles for several years in her late teens as an adult model.

"Faith Burbridge is one of several people who you were seen on camera talking to last night at County General. And, while it's possible you were hoping to arrange a tryst with Mr. Lensky, the auto accident victim, or any of the four nurses who asked you to leave, my instincts tell me you were most taken with Ms. Burbridge. Hardly surprising." Maria glanced down at her low-cut dress. "It's not exactly unusual for men to be interested in breasts, and hers are certainly quite impressive."

"What are you talking about?" Hugo groaned in confusion. "I thought we were going to..."

"Oh, we most certainly are," she replied sultrily. "But I was hoping that, after we fuck, you might tell me more about what you've been up to. And, more importantly, how you keep managing to pull miracles out of your marvelously sculpted ass."

"That's all this is about for you, isn't it!" he spat. "A story for your channel. You don't want me."

"Untrue," Maria retorted, her smile somehow growing even wider. "I won't pretend I don't want to tell your story." She closed on him until their bodies were molded together, whereupon she dragged her finger down his chest, over his belly, and toward his groin. "But that doesn't mean I don't also want to have a little fun at the same time." The elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal a small lobby containing several doors and a bench which looked as expensive as it likely was uncomfortable. She gestured with her forehead toward one of the doors and added, "Shall we?"

***

"Where the fuck did I park?" Hugo snarled over the SLAM of the emergency exit door crashing into the exterior wall.

"We are not your..." Tristan began before Isolde cut him off with a whispered, "Not now."

Hugo glanced toward the sky to find the sun before storming north toward his vehicle.

"I fail to understand why he is so angry," Tristan continued, albeit much quieter. "I understood that human males' literal reason for existing was the pursuit of a woman willing to engage in coitus."

"That was no woman," Hugo seethed. "She's a cockroach wearing a skin suit."

"So, the issue was her intention to question you?" Tristan persisted, sotto voce. "And please believe, I'm not trying to ridicule you, dear boy. Merely attempting to avoid angering you. It was quite evident that you considered her attractive."

"He's upset because she wasn't interested in him for the right reasons," Isolde soothed.

"She wasn't interested in me, at all," Hugo snapped angrily.

Tristan continued as though Hugo had not spoken. "We've been with him for over two weeks, and he's yet to share intimacy with anyone. It makes no sense that he would refuse her offer."

"Can't you see?" Isolde pleaded. "He is not like other human males we've encountered. He is uninterested in sex."

"That can't be," Tristan huffed dismissively. "He's pleasured himself multiple times since we joined him. According to our offspring, he's currently aroused."

"I swear to all that's sacred and holy," Hugo growled. "If you don't shut the fuck up..."

"I'm so sorry, Hugo," Isolde sighed. "He spoke inelegantly."

"Indeed," Tristan added. "Please accept my most sincere apologies. It was not my intention to denigrate or belittle you. Please understand, we have known a great many humans throughout the ages. It is rare indeed to find a male who would do what you just did. I only ask these questions because, the better we understand you and your situation, the more effective you'll find our assistance."

"Whatever," Hugo muttered, a sound drowned out by the deafening squeak which rang out when he slammed the door to his truck.

"There is another point we should consider," Isolde said gently as he set off.

"I'm done talking about women," Hugo snapped.

"This is unrelated to your fear of interacting with attractive women..."

"Hey," Hugo groaned. "I'm not afraid!"

"Unwilling, then," Isolde allowed.

Tristan said, "What my exquisite companion is trying to tell you is that Ms. Hosokawa made mention of something which may be illuminating in the context of our larger mission."

"Forgive me for being moderately successful at purging the recollection of that exchange from my memory."

"You were at the hospital the day before yesterday," Isolde replied. "And this reporter has already positively identified you from video surveillance. This despite the fact that you took precautions against exactly this eventuality."

"Not too much I can do about it," Hugo sighed. "The inescapable fact is that nearly all public spaces have cameras. So, unless your little gizmos can shut that down..."

"Well, they can," Tristan answered slowly. "But only if you can physically place them on each of the cameras."

"So, we're fucked! Those hospitals have hundreds of cameras."

"We have an alternative proposal," Isolde chided softly.

"The Shroud of Obfuscation!" Tristan declared triumphantly.

"How long were you working on that one?" Hugo chuckled ruefully.

"I thought it was rather an elegant title."

"What is it?" Hugo snickered. "A cloak made up of millions of tiny robot spiders."

"Don't be obscene," Isolde scolded. "Our children are not robots, and we told you that calling them nanobots was misleading. In any case, we did not say cloak. We said shroud."

"They will form an invisible barrier only a few micrometers thick. It will act like a second skin; totally undetectable to you."

"Then what's the point?" Hugo murmured as he pulled into the parking lot behind his apartment.

"Humans won't notice anything amiss, but all forms of electronic surveillance will see nothing but an unfocused, human-shaped blob. Should the need arise, they could also obscure your features to direct observers as well."

"That could be... handy."

"I agree," Isolde simmered. "We will get to work on them right away."

"Oh, fuck," Hugo groaned.

"Such coarse language," Tristan scolded. "That's unbecoming of such an upstanding young man."

"There's always the chance that we'll inspire you to find your own happiness," Isolde offered.

"I already told you," Hugo growled. "We're not talking about my love-less life."

Isolde took a moment before answering. "You needn't always forgo a moment of contentment just because you don't believe it will lead to life-long happiness."

Tristan added, "We have seen some of your kinds' greatest love stories first-hand. Not all of them seemed fated from the outset."

"Some of them even loathed each other in the beginning," Isolde pointed out.

"I'm not interested in meaningless sex, all right! I'm sick of the whole goddamn charade. I'm just done with all of it."

"You've said that before though," Isolde prompted softly. "Haven't you?"

"Every time," he whispered. "But this time I mean it. Women either want to use me, or they couldn't care less about me." He shrugged resignedly. "None of them have the slightest interest in being there in the morning." He shook his head in dismay. "So be it."

"We shall see," Tristan replied sagely.

Hugo started to retort but was interrupted by a breathy sigh from Isolde. Rather than endure another of their lengthy lovemaking sessions, he headed toward the garage in the hope that the cacophony of equipment would drone out their cries of passion.

Thirteen

"Get in there, dammit," Hugo seethed.

He attempted to reverse his grip on the troublesome component, but that only caused it to slip from his grasp altogether and clatter noisily as it dropped through the engine bay to crash into the concrete floor below.

"Fuck!" he snarled as he stood to briefly stretch his back before he went in search of the troublesome module.

"Point of clarification," Tristan inquired regally. "If you'll allow it."

"This isn't the senate," Hugo huffed. "What's up."

"The youth center is closed one night a week. The quote, unquote, sabbath."

"It's not a religious organization," Hugo interjected. "But Will's only day off is when they're closed. And, since most of the kids we see there show up after school, it makes sense to be a weekend day."

"I see. My question was..."

"Hang on," Hugo interrupted. "Quote, unquote, sabbath?"

"I do not understand the question," Tristan replied after a pregnant pause.

"You certainly seem to be implying that the concept of the sabbath is a fabrication."

"Many of your kind observe the sabbath, do they not?"

"Sure. But that wasn't my question."

"The etymological origin of the sabbath is a day of rest, on the seventh day. Said to be in honor of the Almighty who rested after fashioning creation in six days. Yes?"

"That seems to sum up what was taught in Sunday schools."

"But you don't believe it?" Tristan pressed.

"No, I do not."

"Even after having met both an angel and enjoying the company of my ravishing companion and myself?"

"I won't lie," Hugo admitted. "I've certainly amended my beliefs on the existence of powers beyond the capacity for human comprehension. But that's a wildly different proposal than the entirety of the universe being created in a week. Especially considering the entire concept of creation wasn't a point in time event. Unless science is wrong about nearly everything, it's an ongoing process."

"See?" Isolde murmured happily. "I told you he was brilliant."

"Indeed," Tristan agreed.

"I'll take your comments as a concurrence with my hypothesis," Hugo said with a chuckle. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to place a quick call with the Nobel committee."

"My question," Tristan declared, "before we got distracted by our host's philosophical meandering, was as to why he spends what should be his one night off working on what is, by all accounts, an absolute tragedy of an automobile."

"You're not wrong," Hugo muttered as he got down on the floor to reach beneath the once and future hatchback. "This thing is a complete disaster. A true Frankenstein's monster of a car. I think she's up to five different cars I've sourced her from. But one day soon, I'll bring her back to life."

"But why? This is hardly a classic."

"All she needs to do is be reliable and safe. One of the kids at the shelter; his mom's car got repossessed when his docs changed the meds he's on to help with his autism, and she couldn't afford both. Now she spends three hours a day on the bus, and he barely sees her."

"You're giving it away?"

Hugo opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by a piercing sound coming from his phone. He pulled it from his pocket, thinking to silence it and toss it on the workbench, but the unfamiliar notification stilled his impulse. He tapped on banner which read, 'MISSION BRIEFING' and which had an icon in the shape of a golden circle, not unlike the Ring of Power.

The video which next appeared on his phone filled Hugo with a mixture of rage and helplessness. It showed a crowded elevator, but his eyes were drawn to a couple standing in the back. As he watched, the man gripped the woman's arm savagely and snarled something in her ear. Hugo could not hear the words which were spoken, but the look of terror in the woman's eyes was unmistakable.

"Where," he growled, but nothing happened other than a pensioner in the video shaking his head minutely in response to the woman's pleas for help. Hugo took a breath and hissed. "Artoo, where was this video taken?"

The image on his phone shifted at once to a navigation app, showing a destination mere minutes away. Hugo was out the door of the garage and racing toward his truck without even pausing to lock his workplace's door behind him. The rear tires spun on the damp pavement, forcing him to saw at the wheel to keep control.

"How in the hell did it know she was being attacked?" Hugo muttered as he kept a wary eye out for any authorities who might take a dim view of just how far in excess of the speed limit he was traveling.

"I presume the 'it' in your inquiry refers to the phone our offspring improved," Tristan prompted.

"Obviously," Hugo grunted.

"A colony of that variant of our offspring resides in your watch," Isolde continued.

"But I don't wear one of those preposterous smart watches."

Isolde sighed tolerantly before continuing. "As you could no doubt surmise, they have a slightly different mission. Whenever you touch any type of computing device, a few dozen of our offspring who have not yet fissioned drop off and begin replicating. Within a day, they will have full control over the device in question. If it's connected to the internet, it will then become part of Artoo's expanded awareness."

"But... why?"

"For your protection. And to give you insight into incidents such as this."

"So, I'm, like, the Johnny Appleseed of hacking?"

"After a fashion," Isolde allowed.

"Remember," Tristan interposed as Hugo pulled into the parking lot. "The Shroud of Obfuscation will shield you from electronic surveillance, but your fellow human will see you clearly unless you instruct Artoo to the contrary."

Hugo nodded in acknowledgement. "So, keep my head down. Got it."

As he walked toward the building, he took out his phone and whispered, "Artoo? Show me what unit he took her to."

The phone dutifully replayed the video of the altercation in the elevator, but the video ended after the couple departed. More worryingly, there was no indication of the floor where they had exited or the unit to which they had gone.

"That's all you got?" Hugo pressed.

"Yes," the device replied flatly.

"Fine," Hugo growled as he passed through the door to the apartment high rise, which he now realized was the same building where Maria had invited him for coffee in hopes of exchanging sex for an unguarded interrogation. He murmured, "Guess that explains how I have access to the elevator cameras."

Passing through the lobby as though nothing was amiss, he nodded in the direction of the security guard who, for her part, barely looked up from the video she was watching behind her desk. Proceeding to a door just off the lobby marked, 'Official Personnel Only', he took one of the same spheres he had used to possess Ben's phone and pressed it against the electronic keypad. Only seconds after the sphere was absorbed into the lock, he felt a soft CLUNK which preceded the door opening to his touch without resistance.

Stepping into the room, he found a rack of computers. Surveying it for a moment, Hugo determined that most of the rack was taken up by hard disks and networking equipment. Identifying what seemed to be the master control computer, he dropped another sphere onto it and waited for it to be absorbed.

Moments later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Taking it out, he saw a notification named 'MISSION UPDATE'. Clicking on it, he found blueprints for the fourteenth floor with a flashing golden ring over the entrance to unit fourteen-ten.

"What are you doing in here?" a suspicious feminine voice called out behind him.

Whirling around, Hugo spotted a woman who looked vaguely familiar staring at him with a bewildered expression.

"Pardon me," he muttered. "I must have gotten lost."

He hurried toward her in a manner he hoped was non-threatening despite his haste. She seemed taken off guard by his sudden movement and stepped back into the hallway. He took the win and rushed past her and toward the bank of elevators.

"Hey!" she called out. "Get back here."

Knowing every second counted, Hugo bypassed the elevators rather than risked getting waylaid by not only the woman, but also the security guard. He took the steps two at a time, giving silent thanks to the fact that, with the exception of the two memorable instances when he had been recuperating from getting shot, it had been more than a decade since he skipped his morning run. He heard footsteps behind him on the stairs, but the sounds grew more distant with every landing he passed.

By the time Hugo made it to the fourteenth floor, his legs felt like jelly and his lungs were screaming, but he gave no thought to pausing for breath. He burst through the door from the stairwell with such intensity that he heard it rebound off the wall. He approached the door to his destination and took the briefest of moments to inspect the lock, sighing in relief when he saw it was the same kind of electronic lock he had encountered on the door to the server room downstairs.

"Artoo, do you have access to open this lock?"

Hugo's answer came by way of a soft CLUNK. He reached out to twist the knob and push the door open, only to hear another THUNK as the bar lock engaged to keep him out. Through the sliver of an opening, he could hear the frightened whispers of a woman begging for mercy.

Without a second thought, Hugo took a step back and delivered a heel stomp to the door, just above the knob. He rushed into the apartment without even pausing to collect his balance.

"The fuck?" a shirtless man snarled as he turned in Hugo's direction.

Hugo had no eyes for the man, however. All he saw was the terrified woman at his feet, her clothes in tatters and her wounded body exposed, and the wicked looking knife in the man's hand.

Noticing Hugo's gaze on his weapon, the man waggled it an added, "You want some of this?"

By way of answer, Hugo balled his fists and approached warily with his eyes fixed on the knife. It moved erratically, causing Hugo to take stock of his opponent. Within seconds, he saw the telltale dilated pupils and the twitching muscles which heralded the influence of either cocaine, or the functional equivalent. His training caused him to absorb these details in an instant, and his reaction was just as ingrained.

He took a step forward; his hands held high, and his eyes still fixed on the weapon. When his opponent lunged, Hugo dodged the poorly aimed thrust and delivered a snap kick to the knee, sending his enemy sprawling to the floor. Hugo heard the knife clatter against the tile floor as he pressed his advantage, dropping his knee onto the attacker's kidney.

"What the hell are you doing?" he heard a voice yell from the doorway.

Hugo looked up to find the woman he had encountered downstairs staring at him in horror, her fingers already busily tapping on her phone. He gestured over his shoulder at the woman still huddled against the kitchen counter and gasped, "Help her."

The newcomer's phone clattered to the floor as she beheld the victim's condition. "Oh, my God!" she breathed as she entered the apartment without hesitation.

"Fucking bitch!" the attacker snarled.

The worrying sound of metal scraping against tile led Hugo to realize too late that he had allowed his attention to waver for too long. A scream ripped from the newcomer's lips at the attacker slashed wildly with the knife, catching her in the calf. He rolled as he delivered the blow, his hateful eyes landing on Hugo. His wicked gaze fell upon Hugo's exposed throat, and he hacked wildly. Hugo blocked the blow reflexively and felt a thud against his forearm. His opponent's eyes widened in amazement. Hugo took advantage of the attacker's hesitation, hammering his fist down onto the man's nose. He felt the satisfying crunch along with an agonized scream. Gripping the man's wrist, he twisted with all his might. He felt the blade pressing against his inner arm, but he kept twisting until another cry escaped the man's lips and the knife dropped to the floor. Kicking it well clear, Hugo carefully punched the man in the face, knocking him out.

A pained gasp behind him reminded him of his opponent's victims. Turning quickly, he found the women huddled together as they tried to stem the flow of blood from the newcomer's leg wound. Hugo rushed toward them as he dug into his pocket for the container of healing strips.

"What are you doing," the woman from downstairs asked in a panicked voice as he laid the first of the strips over her wound.

"I'm healing you," he replied, wincing to himself at the inelegant answer.

"Holy shit," she gasped as her wound began to close.

Hugo added a half-dozen more strips along the length of her wound, teasing a new round of reverent oaths from her lips as the slice on her leg healed before her eyes. He turned to the attacker's original victim, his eyes flitting over her bruise and battered body looking for critical damage.

He spotted a few defensive wounds on her arms and started to apply the healing strips, but a voice beside him yelped, "Wait!"

He turned toward her; his gaze suspicious. "She's hurt."

"I know," she replied shakily. "But if you heal her, the cops might think nothing happened and let this guy," she kicked at the unconscious attacker, "off the hook."

As if to punctuate her words, Hugo heard the growing sound of sirens in the distance.

Hugo nodded grimly, his attention returning to the woman mutely staring at him from where she still sat against the cabinet. "It's up to you. I can heal you now, or we can let the cops take their pictures first." He glanced at the container of strips he held. "If you choose the latter, you should take some of these with you. After the police get everything they need, you'll be able to heal yourself."

"Whatever it takes to put him behind bars," she whispered resolutely.

The authorities arrived moments later, and both Hugo and the woman who had joined the battle were told to wait in the living room while they waited for the paramedics and took the victim's statement.

As they waited on opposite ends of the couch, Hugo took a moment to give himself a surreptitious pat down and was stunned to find that he was unharmed. He had a clear memory of taking at least two hits which should have resulted in knife wounds, one to his forearm when blocking the slash aimed at his throat and the other on his wrist as he disarmed the attacker. Yet, not only did he have no visible wounds, he could not even feel the harbingers of any bruising.

He was making a mental note to interrogate his invisible comrades about the phenomenon when his very corporeal, and undeniably beautiful companion whispered, "How did you know?"

"Huh?"

"How did you know she was being attacked? I saw you come in from the parking lot. How could you possibly have known what was happening up here?"

Several fictional responses flew through Hugo's head, each more preposterous than the last. He ultimately sighed in defeat and murmured, "The same way I healed your leg."

"That's no answer!" she whisper-yelled.

"I have these... things. They tell me what's going on around the city and help me heal people."

"Is that how you saved that woman the night after you fixed my car for free?"

"Huh?" he repeated, very much feeling as though he would have had an easier time controlling the weather than the current conversation.

"You really don't remember me?" she asked, almost seeming hurt. "The day of the thunderstorm when my shitty car was cutting out? You fixed it, and wouldn't let me pay you?"

He took a moment to truly look at her, taking in her beauty which was undeniable even after having been involved in a battle. With each of her features he beheld, the memory of their encounter at the auto shop grew sharper in his mind. Her petite frame; her hazel eyes; her supermodel curves; her undeniable confidence. Even in the wake of all the impossible events which had defined his life since getting shot, the staggering collection of beautiful women who had crossed his path, she stood out easily. "Um... Carrie? Right?"

"You remembered! Finally. Although I never got your name."

"Hugo."

She reached out to shake his hand, her breath catching slightly in time with Hugo feeling a surge of energy radiating up his arm. She blinked several times before regarding their clasped hands and quipping, "A pleasure to finally properly meet you."

"Same," he murmured, the unwelcome feeling of awkwardness in the presence of a beautiful woman returning with a vengeance. He looked away, his eyes finding the detectives in the other room who were supervising the loading of the still-unconscious attacker onto a gurney. "Listen, these guys are going to ask questions I can't answer."

"And?" Carrie asked pointedly. "Just tell them you heard a commotion and kicked the door in."

"But how can I explain what I was doing here? I live across town."

"I'll tell them you were here to collect payment for fixing my car."

"Why would you lie for me?" he asked in amazement.

Carrie glanced toward where the paramedics were helping the victim, now wrapped in a blanket, onto a gurney. "I think you know why."

Fourteen

Hugo leaned against the wall of the youth center; his eyes tracking a group of teenagers playing basketball. The rhythmic thud of the ball against the court was a comforting backdrop as it echoed off the surrounding buildings. At his side, Eli's exuberant chuckling provided what passed for the evening's entertainment.

"I ask you, who puts avocado on a burger? I'll tell you who. The same people who'd look at a water balloon launcher and immediately think of kittens. It's an abomination against good sense. It's like you're asking the chef to sneeze on your food, except it costs more."

"I'm getting the sense you're not a fan of avocados," Hugo murmured with an irrepressible smile.

"They're appalling. Everyone responsible for this recent trend of putting them on everything should be made to swallow an avocado pit. Whole."

"Alrighty then."

Eli ripped off another of his signature cackles. "I'm telling you, dude, the food around here is a joke," Eli said, gesturing wildly. "You'd think being this close to downtown, you could find a decent meal. But no, it's all soggy burgers, limp fries, and tacos I wouldn't feed to a cockroach. I'm dying for something with flavor, you know?"

Hugo smirked, half-listening as he kept an eye on the game. "I take it you were a chef before your little unscheduled rendezvous with the boys in blue?"

Eli opened his mouth to reply, but the sharp snap of designer flip flops cut him off. Both men turned to see a woman striding confidently towards them who possessed such mesmerizing beauty and confidence that both men were literally struck dumb. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded in waves, moving with each step like a model from a hair products commercial. A perfect smile paired with a figure straight from the runways of Paris or New York.

"There you are!" she enthused, her voice bright and slightly breathless as she stopped in front of them. She stuck her hand out in Hugo's direction and offered him a dazzling smile. "I'm so glad I finally found you."

"Me too!" Eli chortled, recovering his wits enough to speak but not quite managing to resist the urge to ogle the way her skin-tight jean shorts and nearly sheer, midriff-baring tank top showcased her made-for-sin body. "I'm Eli."

"Olivia," the woman responded, although she neither wavered in her attention on Hugo nor moved her hand to acknowledge Eli's greeting.

"Hugo van der Mewre, I presume?" she queried, a flirtatious edge to her tone. He shook her hand briefly. She smiled in triumph. "I've heard so much about you."

"You shouldn't believe everything you see on the internet," Hugo muttered.

"Like what?" Eli prompted suspiciously. His eyes then grew wide, and he yelped. "Dude! I knew it! You're fucking loaded, aren't you? That's why you're always hanging around here. Because you're some kind of secret Robin Hood type. Giving to poor people while acting like you're just another shlub. Hey man, if you're rich, can I have, like, a scholarship or something?"

"Is that why you're making such a name for yourself," Olivia prompted. "Are you some kind of secret, billionaire vigilante?"

Hugo only offered a clipped, "No," by way of reply.

Olivia stepped closer, her smile widening. "No need to be modest, handsome. Everyone knows about your incredible heroism."

Hugo shifted, her aggressive nature making him more uneasy than her otherworldly beauty. "I should get back inside."

He gave Eli a parting nod before heading toward the building.

"Hugo, wait!" Olivia pleaded, reaching out for his arm to bring him to a halt. Her eyes twinkling with what she probably thought was charm. "Don't rush off. I thought we could get to know each other."

"Maybe some other time," Hugo stammered, gently prying her hand from his forearm.

As he turned to leave, he heard Eli ask. "So, Olivia, what's your favorite kind of food?"

Hugo didn't wait to hear her response. He pushed through the doors of the youth center, feeling a wave of relief as he escaped into the quiet hallway.

The sounds of teenagers arguing over the comparative merits of various incarnations of a comic book character he had never heard of echoed from the media center, but the building was otherwise quiet. He headed down the darkened corridor with no specific destination in mind, but he could only tolerate the burden of idleness for so long. Where a normal human would pull out their phone and start doomscrolling, Hugo felt only an irrepressible desire to make himself useful.

Wandering aimlessly in search of a task that needed doing, Hugo found himself outside a small classroom utilized by toddlers during the day. The room was cluttered, with toys strewn across the floor and art supplies haphazardly shoved into a cabinet. He decided it was as good a place as any to kill some time, so he rolled up his sleeves and began organizing the mess.

The work went quickly, no great surprise considering Hugo was in his element: busy. The task required little in the way of brainpower, however, and he soon felt his attention drifting. He tried to focus on the car he was rebuilding, mentally planning out the next components he would need to scour the junkyard in search of. His mind, however, was not so easily distracted. The fact that Hugo found musings on the profound and remarkable changes he had undergone in recent weeks to be an exercise in futility did little to attenuate his racing thoughts. And, as had so often been the case since his encounter with Sam, he found himself asking questions which had no answers; the most urgent of which were 'Why me?' and 'What am I meant to be doing?'.

"There you are!" a voice called out behind him, rudely jerking him from his reverie.

Hugo turned to face Olivia, whose exultant smile had the unsettling undertone of a lioness having cornered a gazelle. Her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine.

Without another word, she crossed the room. There was a purpose in her stride, a determination that nearly caused Hugo to retreat. He opened his mouth to ask her what she wanted, but the words died in his throat as she reached him.

Olivia didn't waste any time. Her hands were on him before he could react, deftly unbuttoning his shirt with practiced ease. Her touch was firm, almost rough, as she slid the fabric off his shoulders and tossed it aside. Hugo was too stunned to move, too caught off guard by the suddenness of it all.

"Olivia, what..." he started, but she silenced him with a look that brokered no argument.

"Hush" she murmured, her voice low and husky. "I'll take care of everything."

There was a dangerous edge to her words, a challenge that sent a shiver down his spine. Before he could respond, her attention shifted to his trousers. Her hands moved with a practiced confidence that bordered on aggression: her intention was not to seduce him; it was to claim him with a bold assertion of dominance. He found himself swept up in her pace, his body responding even as his mind sounded an anxious alarm.

After removing the last of his clothing, Olivia took a step back. Her eyes roamed his body not altogether unappreciatively as she slowly unbuttoned her shorts. She waggled her hips in an effort to peel away the ultra-tight denim. He thong soon followed her shorts to reveal the smooth apex of her thighs. Her tank top and bra joined the pile of clothing, leaving her bare for his eyes. She struck a pose, justifiably convinced that she stood comfortably above all other mortals with respect to raw alluringness. She advanced on him, pressing him back against a desk as her hand found his traitorously swollen manhood.

Hugo stammered, "Wait!"

"Don't act like you don't want this," she whispered sultrily, giving his shaft a squeeze for emphasis.

Without another word, she dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth. He looked for escape, but she had him effectively boxed in. Her movements were demanding, her manner relentless. Hugo could see the naked avarice in her eyes, the way she looked at him like he was a prize to be won. Her touch was skilled, but there was no warmth in it. Her goal was not pleasure for either of them; it was power. She was proving to him, and to herself, that he was hers to toy with.

She released him from her mouth and gulped in a breath of air before standing slowly as she dragged her tongue from his groin to his neck. She pushed him back onto the desk and climbed on top of him. A loud moan escaped her lips as she sank onto him and her slick heat stretched around his turgid cock.

"Yes," she sighed wantonly.

Hugo resigned himself to the experience, trying to permit himself to at the very least enjoy the physical component of the liaison with his undeniably gorgeous lover. For Olivia's part, she evidenced all the typical signs of the perfect lover: whispering promises of the perfect ecstasy she could gift to him in his ear as she climbed toward her release. But she was trying too hard, overcompensating in ways that only highlighted her desperation. He could feel it in the way her nails dug into his skin, in the way her breath hitched when she feared his attention was waning. It was no delicate, romantic tryst; it was raw, primal, and unapologetically physical.

For Hugo, the act was hollow, a stark reminder of how empty physical intimacy had become for him. He found himself anxious for her to finish, to be done with him. He did not even bother participating. Not only was he fundamentally uninterested in his partner, but she also showed no signs that he was anything to her beyond a means to an end.

At long last, Olivia collapsed onto his chest; her heavy breathing filling the room as her sweat dripped onto him. "That was amazing," she huffed. "You were amazing."

Hugo remarked inwardly that he had not even finished, a fact which upset him not at all. He waited patiently for her to rise off him, whereupon he quickly stood to get dressed.

"I mean it, Hugo," she panted. "That was incredible. The apex fuck of my young life."

He did not deign her comment with a response, instead heading toward the unguarded door like a bee to honey.

"Wait!" she yelped. "Where are you going?"

"The hell away from you!" he growled.

She glanced back at her clothes beside the desk before apparently deciding continuing to be nude better served her objective. As she returned her attention to him, her gaze grew hooded.

"That was just the beginning, lover," she murmured. "I'm going to do things to you which are beyond your wildest dreams. Anal? Whenever you want it. Threesomes? Absolutely. And I'm no shrinking violet either. I'll eat out any girl you want. And you can fuck anyone you like, too. I only ask that I get to participate."

"Not interested."

"Bull shit," she retorted confidently. "There isn't a red-blooded American male who'd ever turn that down."

"Gay guys? Married guys?"

"Please," she groaned. She gestured to her still naked form and added, "No one can resist me. Not even you."

"Perhaps," he allowed, hating himself for both the admission and the truth of her words. "All the more reason to get the fuck out of here."

"And I can do so much more for you besides fucking you whenever you want." She closed the distance between them before adding, "And I do mean whenever you want. You'd get unlimited access to this!" She held her hands out like she was being crucified and smirked at him triumphantly. She lowered her arms, placing her hands on her hips seductively as she continued. "There are so many ways I can help you, Hugo. We'll be partners. In everything. I'll help you manage your growing fame. With me at your side, there won't be a man, woman, or child on this planet who doesn't know your name. We'll be rich!"

Hugo stared at her for a long moment, a not insignificant part of his consciousness arguing that no human in history had made a better case for suspending his firmly held rule against striking a woman. He shook from his stupor, however, when inspiration struck in the form of noticing her shorts on the ground with the corner of a cell phone sticking out. He crossed the room and bent to retrieve the garment, making sure to use his non-dominant hand. Although it was likely unnecessary, he even rubbed his watch briefly against her phone.

Job done, he held the shorts out to her and said, "Get dressed. There are children here."

"I'm not the only one who just fucked in here," she snapped.

"Well, you're the only one who's still naked. So, unless you want to spend the rest of your life notifying local schools when you move, you might want to rectify that."

He stepped from the room without another word and stormed in the direction of his truck. After exiting the building, he muttered, "Artoo. From now on, I want to know if that woman is within a city block of me. And, if it isn't too much trouble, how about wiping anything related to me off her phone."