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Epilogue
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Major Moncha could hear his squamates before rounding the corner into the breakroom to see them.
1st Lieutenants Yazan, Gemon and there newest member, Petty Officer Helt.
The two middle aged pilots were in the middle of teasing the young Helt, causing Moncha to crack a fond smile. Noticing his presence, Helt turned his attention to Moncha;
"Major Sir, these two are taking me for a complete fool! They keep insisting on some mad story where the three of you fought a giant golden bird-Magi!"
Moncha grinned broadly, shooting his two wingmen a quick look;
"Aye, every word of it is true Helty, though that's ancient history now - Long ago."
Helt pouted, clearly feeling conned, but before he could protest Moncha rose a hand to indicate they all take things more seriously for a moment;
"So listen lads, just heard from the Captain, we're getting another new member - But this one we can't bully like Helt - She's a Magi, like a real high level proper one."
Helt began complaining about always being last in the pecking order, while Yazan sidled over to Moncha's side, whispering, "You mean a real person though right? Not a brain put into a machine of nothin' odd like that?"
Moncha nodded, having already cleared that question up himself and a satisfied Yazan returned to his usual expression.
In the years since the Phoenix, Moncha had been frequently reminded of the day he met the golden bird, its beauty had still never been surpassed in his mind.
And he swore to himself that this time would be different - This time they wouldn't correct the mistakes of the past, but rather make the future a better place, atleast that's what he hoped.
End
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It was a quant establishment - A small homely bakery, a counter to the far end, the kitchen concealed behind a partitioning wall. The rest of the narrow space filled with polite wooden tables and chairs in pairs of two and three.
It was wet outside, the rain poured down heavily - The shop was closed today, yesterday's newspaper lay on one of the tables: 'TA431--'
The shop door opened, the calming bell above the door tingled softly - The door had been locked, it had not been forced open however, simply opened.
"Hello?" Came a feminine voice from the backroom, "Sorry must of left the door, we're not open toda--" The voice paused as its owner poked her head into the room to see the visitor.
What stood, soaked through and dripping rain onto the floorboards beneath, standing in the very centre of the room - Was a figure dressed all in shades of black, a black poncho, black gloves, black rigger boots and most of all a blank, black mask with two tinted lens where the eyes should be.
For the first time in decades the woman felt immediate fear, she reached for her waist.
The black figure rose a gloved hand, "Ma'am I mean you no harm - It took alot to find you, I would simply speak with you."
The woman hesitated, clearly taken aback, hand resting on the hilt of her old friend. The man's voice was concealed, he spoke through an electronic filter of some kind.
Stolen story; please report.
They sat at a table for two - The woman somewhere between her thirties and forties, with short cut silver hair under her baker's hat and tinted contact lens concealing her eye's true crimson colour - Having pride in her shop, so she treated the man with hospitality and laid out a selection of small cakes, plus a pot of tea.
She would of been lying if she denied she wasn't also interested in whether the man would remove the mask to eat. To her disappointment he ignored the cakes, but indeed accepted the drink, his mask simply sidling away in part to reveal his mouth. The brief glimpse she caught of his skin was old and poorly cared for.
"Well what is it you came for, other than our finest cuisine?"
"You have children now I gather, two - My congratulations."
The woman bristled, resisting the urge to pull out her pistol;
"Who are you?" She retorted, the pleasantries gone.
"Me? I am one of the dozen or so people who currently knows that you are still live, and one of the half dozen who could actually find you."
"And, so what?" Her metallic arm itched, a phantom pain of sorts - Always on rainy days like this.
"Were you one, that is what I wish to know - Has this generation already passed?"
The woman looked on in confusion, the rain beat even louder against the old building - "One of what?"
"Were you a Key?!"
Silence. Laughter.
The woman couldn't help it - All this build up for that?;
"You're joking right, you tracked me down to ask about a fairy tale?"
"I would of thought a Magi of your level would be more aware of the powers that lurk in our world."
The man murmured darkly.
The woman frowned, "There's no magic in this world fella, the Keys are a legend, and sure some of the people in the stories might of existed as Magi but that's all they were, espers, psychics whatever - So ya I was once, but not part of some magic trio." She half laughed, then leaned closer;
"You're the one I guess? Some old friends got in contact for the first time in decades, told me to be on the look out for a strange figure, asking stranger questions - You got a name?"
A long pause, "BlackBox."
She raised an eyebrow, "That's not a name, no wait don't tell me that's why you're all in black?!"
"No, the poncho just happened to be this colour." The man replied flatly.
She shrugged, "Fair enough - Well that's all there is to it buddy, unless you want advice on cake recipes there ain't much more this humble business owner can offer."
The man rose, laying some change down as he did - "Thank you for the tea, I have what I needed - I doubt we shall meet again, best of luck."
The woman watched him approach the door, hesitated and then gave in;
"Hey look bud, I don't get involved anymore, not in a long, long time - But you look old and I don't mean that to be cruel. This world is harsh and you won't last much longer trying to cope using fairy tales - The worst that can happen is you actually meet one, you know that right? What would you actually do faced with something like that?"
The man stopped but a moment, perhaps saying something under his breath, perhaps not - And then he left.
The rain continued to beat down, her mechanical arm ached, it always did on days like this, and always would.