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Sunset Volume 2: High Noon
Sunset (High Noon) Vol 2. Issue 37

Sunset (High Noon) Vol 2. Issue 37

Sol LAHQ. Large Conference Hall.

Jake had never seen anything quite like the LAHQ company Halloween party and he badly wished he wasn’t there. He’d let himself get pressured into coming, at least for a little while. He couldn’t even use being a telepath as an excuse to avoid a crowded room because they knew his control meant he didn’t ever hear thoughts unless he wanted to. It was an LAHQ tradition, they insisted, not something to miss, and from what he had heard, this year’s party was something truly unique, with Uranus’ new Third at the helm.

It was held in the largest conference hall, bedecked in spiderwebs, black lights, garland bats, and life-sized skeletons that appeared to be scaling the walls and hanging off the ceiling. One plastic skeleton had been rigged up to look like it had half-ripped a light fixture from the ceiling while it dangled from the wires, which sparked at intervals, a stark bright white in the dimly lit room. Clearly, a lot of time and work had gone into this thing and he couldn’t imagine how someone could gather that kind of effort.

The music was low, thrumming, and haunting, but mostly buried in the murmuring din of voices. The place was packed wall to wall with people, most in silly costumes or fake gore. Most, but not Neptune. A memo had gone out earlier to remind everyone that there was a manner of decorum Neptune agents had to maintain at all times. It wouldn’t do to have a Neptune agent dancing around in a clown costume one night and then conducting business in their Blacks the next. Jake thought it was silly. Neptune agents were people and he didn’t think anyone in Sol was naive enough to think they could get away with disregarding even a non-combat Reintegration agent actively in a clown costume. But he wasn’t one for disobeying orders, so, like most of the other Neptune agents, he wore comfortable street clothes. He saw a couple of agents he recognized in shirts with jack-o’-lanterns on them or things like that, but that was the extent of it.

That almost made it all worse. If he was back home, where he wanted to be, he and his team would be dressed up in real costumes, handing out candy to the neighborhood kids and playfully arguing over which horror movies to watch as they snacked on whatever candy hadn’t been claimed. Jake was heavy with guilt over the slew of unreturned calls from them, and more so over their last two voicemails, which he hadn’t even been able to bring himself to listen to. It hurt too much knowing he’d probably never get to see them again. He had nothing to tell them that wouldn’t just make them worry and hurt more. Their calls were getting farther and farther apart as time went on, which was probably for the best, but only broke his heart even more.

From his position near the door, Jake couldn’t find his Reintegration coworkers, the ones who had bothered him non-stop to come for an hour just to see what all the fuss was about. They’d never let him live it down if he just turned and left, so he began slowly wading through the crowd, moving deeper into the party.

All of it was so strange and surreal. People normally separated by floors, buildings, clearance codes, ranks, and, frankly, propriety were all mingled together in a chattering mass. To one side, just feet from Jake, he could see the head of Uranus hopelessly bumping into people in a huge Kool-Aid Man costume wearing a banner that read, “Beverage Tuesday.” He was doubled over laughing at what appeared to be the head of Saturn, having used the department’s flair for disguises to dress herself up to look just like the head of Uranus. These were people Jake didn’t typically bump elbows with and he didn’t feel the ambition to start now.

Still no sign of his coworkers, but he did make his way to the buffet table lined with spooky-themed hors d'oeuvres. Jake wasn’t hungry. If he had a drink, he would have something to do with his hands so he headed to a table lined with punch bowls made to look like large black cauldrons with smoke billowing in clouds rising from them. Two at the end had been labeled as non-alcoholic but someone, who’d clearly worked their way down the other punch bowls first, had scrawled, “Sad telepath juice,” on a piece of paper and propped it up in front of a blood-red drink with fruit floating in it.

It seemed appropriate, so he poured himself a glass and moved to continue his search. But as he cast his eyes over the room, he startled, seeing the crowd parting around a huge creature costume, maybe twenty feet away, towering above everyone. It looked painstakingly crafted—a looming, hooved cryptid covered in moss, sticks, and animal bones. Underneath that, it was covered in green-grey silicone skin and had multiple fey-like arms hanging from its barrel-like chest, some of which were animatronic, grasping at the crowd. Whoever was in there must have been balancing on stilts to reach that height. He couldn’t imagine the amount of work that must have gone into it.

Jake turned to keep going but couldn’t pull his eyes away, so he walked right into a young man. Jake put his hand out to make sure he was steady and checked to be sure he hadn’t spilled anything on either of them. He pitched his voice to sound above the din. “Sorry, I…” He pointed to the huge costume.

The man was maybe eighteen or nineteen, with light blue eyes and blonde hair cut short. “Don’t worry about it.” His voice was bright and loud. Friendly. They both stood silently for a second as they watched the creature make its way past.

Jake lifted his eyebrows and turned back to the young man. He was wearing jeans and a black, long-sleeved shirt that had a copy of a human skeleton overlaid where his bones would be. It glowed under the black lights. They both registered that they were looking at each other’s outfits.

“Neptune?” the man asked.

He nodded. “You?”

“I’m in Neptune post-grad,” he explained. “So, sort of. I’m Scott.” That explained some of his energy. The exuberance of being fresh out of training.

“Jake.” They shook and settled in shoulder to shoulder to stay out of the way of the buffet goers. He pointed to the punch bowls on the end, where Scott had been heading when he bumped into him. “Telepath?”

He shook his head with a sheepish grin and leaned in to get himself a glass of the same red punch. “No, I'm a sonic screamer, but It’s my first big company party and I don’t want to get sloppy in front of my new boss."

That was understandable. Jake tried to remember how to keep a conversation going, how to have small talk at all. He used to know how. Was good at it even, but every thought felt like he had to carve it out of stone with his fingernails.

"What division are you joining?" He forced out.

"Retrieval. What are you?"

He cringed. Why did he have to ask this kid that question? "I started in Cleanup but just got moved to Reintegration."

The kid didn't flinch. He always expected people to flinch. Instead, he raised his glass. "Someone from my foster team worked Cleanup before being transferred to Retrieval."

Jake pulled his eyes away from the crowd at that. Neptune teams weren't typically fosters. Ever. He opened his mouth to ask about it when Scott spotted someone in the crowd. He lifted an arm above his head, then switched to cupping his hand around his mouth and called out, "Darwin?"

A short, bright yellow shape walking by turned at the name. It sparked a memory in Jake too.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“It’s Scott,” he said, stepping forward.

Jake squinted in the dim light. His face was partially obscured by the hood of his oversized Pikachu onesie, but it was definitely the same shape-shifting guidance counselor from before.

Darwin’s face lit up and they hugged, knocking his hood off.

Jake moved to slowly back away, but Scott turned to him. “Darwin was my guidance counselor. I haven’t seen him since I graduated.” Scott’s open, easy-going smile only made Darwin’s awkward display of teeth appear even more like a grimace.

Jake found a thin smile. “Hi, again.”

Scott looked surprised. “You know each other?”

Darwin froze, speechless, for a moment. Long enough for Jake to pick up on the thread of his anxiety, though he was covering it somewhat better than their last encounter. Still, his flustered state was too much for Jake to just let hang over the pit like that, enough that it pushed Jake past his own walls. He took a breath and dredged up whatever willpower he hadn’t spent forcing himself to come to this damn party and faked it.

“We’ve just run into each other a few times since I transferred. It’s a small building, after all,” he joked.

“Yeah,” Darwin chipped in, finally. “How are you doing?”

Jake didn’t know how to hold his facade and answer that question with anything but the most bald-faced of lies, but thankfully he realized he was asking Scott.

“I’m great.”

“Keeping in touch with your foster team?”

“Yeah, of course. They’re good. I miss them.”

Jake was beginning to wonder if his insides hadn’t all flipped themselves upside down.

“How are you?” Scott asked Darwin.

“Oh,” he stammered. “I’m fine. Good.”

Jake didn’t have to be a telepath to tell it was a lie, and a bad one, but as a fellow liar, he wasn’t about to call him on it.

Darwin turned to him. “What about you? How are you feeling?” His voice was sincere. Worried, even.

“I’m fine,” he assured him. “But I’m supposed to be meeting some people, so—”

“Jacob,” a voice called. It wasn’t his coworkers; they wouldn’t call him that.

They all turned to see that Penn Harris was moving to join their little circle. Jake had met him twice during his time in Cleanup, and every time it was intimidating.

“Sir,” Scott and Jake chimed together, standing straighter. Darwin took the opportunity to move back out of the way.

Penn had on a t-shirt that appeared to have been printed for the occasion. It had a large illustration of a cell phone, underneath which were white block letters that read, “The scariest thing I could think of.”

“I thought that was you.” Penn shook Jake’s hand. “I was sad to lose you in Cleanup. Your mind is something else.”

Jake looked at the ground and swallowed. “I was sad to be transferred from Cleanup, sir.” There was a brief flare of hope in his heart that Penn could reverse the transfer. All his transfer requests had been denied, but maybe if Penn himself was on board, it would be different. “I’d love to rejoin the team, sir.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, with a dour smile, “that call came from above.”

He nodded. He never should have let himself think it was possible to get out. “Thank you, sir. I’m sorry to put you on the spot there.”

“It’s fine.”

They all turned as the large creature costume raised its head and let out a bellow of smoke, lit up with a sickly greenish glow.

“How many people do you think are in that thing?” Scott stammered.

“One,” Penn answered glumly. “Emmett, Uranus’ crazy Third.” He fixed his gaze on the teen. “Hey, is that Scott?”

He smiled big. “Yes, sir.”

Penn’s smile went all the way to his eyes this time. “I picked this kid up from a Catholic orphanage and had an impromptu day-long road trip back to LA, just the two of us. Looks like you’re taking to Neptune well.”

“Thank you, sir,” Scott beamed.

Penn shook his head at Jake in wonder. “Glad to hear it! But, boy, do I feel old right now.”

A voice across the hall began calling Penn’s name. He clapped both Jake and Scott on the back in response and said, “Scott, you wanna come meet my teleporter? I’ll bet Gage would enjoy meeting you.”

Scott looked at him, a little starstruck. “Sure,” he stammered. He wandered off as well, leaving Jake and Darwin alone in the crowd.

The two of them just looked at each other for a moment. He’d pulled his yellow hood back up. Pikachu’s happy face sat on top of his own.

“Hi.” Darwin’s awkward smile stayed unnaturally still as he talked. Jake could tell he was really trying.

Jake gave up on pretense. “You don’t have to make small talk. We both clearly hate it.”

“Okay, but are you feeling any better?” Darwin pressed his lips together. “Did things get sorted out?”

Jake studied his face. The tension there was more than just long-standing innate skittishness. Something was wrong and he wanted to have the strength and capacity to ask him what, but he didn’t. He couldn’t hold anyone else up. And it’s not like his situation was something he could just open up to anyone about.

“I ought to find my friends,” he said instead. “I hope whatever you’ve got going on works out.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Darwin assured him, talking fast and looking around to see if anyone was listening. “I’m sure I’ll run into you again soon,” he teased. His voice was tense as a bowstring and didn’t really sell the humor of it.

Jake smiled, putting in the effort to make it wrinkle the skin around his eyes. “You’re probably right.” He raised his glass and drank. It was tart and sweet. “Happy Halloween.”

Halfway out, Jake spotted his coworkers off to one side, in black shirts with ghosts and pumpkins on them, laughing and moving to the music. Jake knew he didn’t stand out. He could make it to the door without them noticing. It wouldn’t be a lie to say that he’d looked for them. He made for the exit.

---

Sanctuary. Prague, Czech Republic

Thomas took two breaths with his back against the wall to try to calm his heart, then immediately started cooking—anything to appear normal. He’d been in one Sol raid before, but never alone. He had water on to boil and a bag of noodles open on the counter when the bang of someone kicking in the door gripped his chest. He rushed out into the front room, steak knife in hand, so it wouldn’t look like he was expecting them, and prayed they weren’t trigger-happy or, worse, a telepath.

The door was on the floor along with the hinges and screws. There were three of them in full Neptune black. The one in front made a gesture and the steak knife was yanked from his hand and thrown across the room to slide underneath the couch. Focusing on what he’d been taught, Thomas dropped onto his knees, hands laced behind his head. He closed his eyes. It made it easier.

Thomas could hear the swish of their long strides, two of them going past him, quickly moving from room to room, clearing the house. Heavy footsteps pounded the floorboards above him. He heard one stop in front of him.

“You’re Church?”

He didn’t like the way they talked. All Sol people really. Their language was too close. Too tight. You weren’t in Sol. You were Sol. He wasn’t Church, he was a member of the Church. A Child of God. Thomas managed to swallow all this with a deep gulp.

“Yes,” he said, opening his eyes. The genderless face looking down at him had blue eyes.

The other two came back into the room with him.

“Nothing,” one said shortly.

The first one looked down at Thomas. “Where are the Icarus?”

Never lie to Sol. “There is no one else in this house.”

“Where are they then?”

“There were other Children of God staying here, but they left.”

The agent shook their head at the others. “You’re saying they were all Church members?”

“We have ways of knowing each other.”

“Did you know they were ex-Sol?”

“‘Never forget to show hospitality to strangers and outsiders, for in doing so, some people, without knowing it, have sheltered angels.’”

“What the fuck is that?” one asked, a woman.

“Hebrews thirteen-two.”

“Jesus Christ,” the shorter man muttered, thick with disdain.

“Technically, it’s Old Testament.”

He clocked him good for that. Thomas reeled and took it, folding his elbows in around his face.

“How many were there?”

Thomas straightened again. Two of them had guns pointed at his face now. “Three.” They were taken aback by that, though he didn’t know why. He guessed his new friends weren’t telling him everything.

“Three?”

“Yes.”

“When did they leave?”

“Not long after we woke up.”

“This isn’t right,” the one who’d hit him said, his voice tight.

“So scan for their knacks,” the one in front barked without looking back.

He stepped back, pulling down the lower half of his mask, and closed his eyes. And right about then was the part where Thomas knew he had to not look like he was sweating that. He breathed and he silently prayed.

The one in charge cocked his head. “Are you suicidal or something, being a smart-ass like that right now?”

Thomas furrowed his brow. If he tempered, they’d know he was lying, and deploying what he felt was his natural charm had already failed him. He knew his poker face and he knew who Sol thought the Children were. He cocked his head back, stretching to present the ragged bite scar on his throat.

“You’re not the scariest thing I’ve come up against in the past twelve hours.” He smiled and hoped there was blood on his teeth. It tasted (and felt) like it.

The agent’s eyes crinkled like he was smiling underneath the fabric. That was the moment the agent at the back called over, “Just him, but he’s a pocket creator. My money says he hid them.”

Well, fuck.

And then, there was nothing but black.

***

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