Cj was violently pulled back to consciousness by a firm shake. He blinked against the disorientation, his head heavy and throbbing.
"We've arrived, Cj," Alistair Thorne said smoothly, though his voice held a hint of apology. "Apologies for the sedative. It was a necessity."
He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe. He looked at Thorne, and for one terrifying instant, he felt the need to rip and bite. He had to shove his hands deep into his pockets to hide the brief, sharp sensation of his fingernails lengthening into claws. This overwhelmed him at first as it is not an emotion or feeling he normally emits.
Cj looked around, instantly confused. The limo idled in a desolate lot, surrounded by towering neon-lit skyscrapers a chaotic skyline far removed from his quiet hometown. Even the driver was different, a new, silent figure in a dark suit standing by the door.
His gaze finally focused on the structure dominating the lot, a colossal, but completely normal looking skyscraper. It was the sort of monolithic, glass and steel building that housed a thousand anonymous corporations. It announced its presence with sheer height, not with any distinguishing architecture.
This was where the DCO hid, the building was a colossal but entirely normal office block, indistinguishable from a dozen others in the skyline. The DCO didn't need secrecy; it relied on anonymity, hiding its operations in plain sight behind a mask of everyday business.
The limousine driver climbed out, opened Cj's door, and Alistair announced, "It's time I introduce you to the company, and why you're here."
They both stepped out, and Alistair asked Cj to follow him.
Cj hesitated wanting to question the whereabouts of Juniors body but gave up being fearful of the new environment his in, walking into the building. Once inside, he was immediately struck by the extravagant luxury of the lobby a clear declaration of overwhelming wealth.
At the reception desk, a stylish assistant sat talking on the phone. The language she spoke was foreign, and sharp, sounding like German or Dutch. Because Cj understood Afrikaans, he could make out conversational words and phrases.
The combination of the strange, dense cityscape outside, the new driver, and the foreign language hit Cj with a cold, unsettling certainty, he wasn't just in a different city, he was likely in another country entirely. The DCO hadn't simply driven him away; they had taken him across the world.
Alistair Thorne led Cj past the opulent reception desk and deeper into the facility. He guided him down a pristine hallway and into a small, windowless room that felt less like an office and more like a clinical interrogation chamber.
Thorne gestured to a chair at a small metal table. "Have a seat, Cj. I will be back here shortly. A little patience, please."
Cj sat down, the quiet hum of the room grating on his nerves. A large television screen was mounted on the wall, tuned to a global news network. The news was reporting on a massive meteorite that had recently struck a farmland region in the United States, leaving behind an enormous crater. The announcer explained that fragments of the object had scattered across the globe, but thankfully, no casualties were reported.
Cj stared at the image of the impact site, the news report confirming a crucial, terrifying part of his memory... the falling object. The fact that Thorne brought him to a room showing this specific news report was no coincidence. It was a direct, chilling message that Alistair Thorne knew everything or so he though
Moments later, Alistair entered the room. He carried nothing but a small notepad, which he placed on the table with a decisive tap. Thorne sat opposite Cj, leaning back with a relaxed confidence, his legs crossed.
"The news report you just saw is why you're here, Cj," Thorne began, his voice dropping to a confidential tone. "That meteorite fragment is what started this whole unfortunate business. My people are currently on route to recover the remaining shards scattered across the world."
He paused, letting the scope of the operation sink in. "Luckily for us, while searching for the fragment that landed near your town, our team picked up an unusual energy interference. We decided to scout the area from a distance and were fortunate enough to observe the entire incident at your school."
Thorne leaned forward, his gaze intensifying. "The Beast' you absorbed, is something we are trying to catalogue and understand. As for the being you fought... that arrogant creature who called himself a Demi-Angel? We already have extensive information on beings of its class. Let me assure you, Cj, they are nothing more than a low-tier Demon."
Cj felt a cold wave of disbelief wash over the shock. Beings like this exist? His mind screamed, instantly rejecting the mundane life he'd lost. And why me?
But the questions about demons and meteorites were immediately drowned out by his one overriding concern. He took a deep, shaky breath, pushing the fear aside to ask the only things that mattered.
He gripped the edge of the metal table and asked, his voice raw but resolute, "What happened to Junior? Where is he?" Cj then narrowed his eyes, the anger finally resurfacing. "And why was I brought here? What does your organization even have to do with me?"
Alistair Thorne let out a slow, deliberate sigh and finally abandoned his relaxed posture. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and meeting Cj's gaze with unsettling seriousness.
"First, Junior," Thorne said flatly. "His death, unfortunately, has been covered up. We couldn't allow such a horrific event to cause public panic, so the incident is now officially a gas leak, thanks to our prompt intervention."
Thorne then nodded, confirming Cj's growing terror. "And yes, Cj, you are in a whole other country. Germany, to be specific."
He straightened up again, his expression hardening with finality. "As for what happens to you, and why you were brought here we've already ensured your old life cannot interfere. Your memory has been surgically scrubbed from the minds of everyone who knew you. From this moment on, Cj, your life will simply not be the same."
Cj's anger finally broke. His foot started tapping a frantic, unstoppable rhythm against the floor. He clenched his fists, and with a terrible surge of the Beast's power, his fingertips sharpened into short, black claws that scraped loudly against the metal.
"How can you decide that?!" he shouted, his voice cracking with rage. He surged forward, roaring, and violently threw the heavy metal table over in one catastrophic motion. "It's my life! You have no right to wipe out my memories from everyone I know, or decide how it plays out!"
Thorne simply regarded the overturned table and Cj's terrifying display with a cool, utterly unbothered expression. He didn't flinch. "I assure you, we have every right," he stated, his voice devoid of sympathy. "From this moment forward, this building... this organization will become your new home and your entire way of living."
Cj's body was shaking, fueled by the Beast's savage aggression. "And what if I just refuse to stay here? What if I walk out that door right now?"
Alistair Thorne leaned back, utterly unperturbed. His gaze was fixed not on Cj's face, but on the flickering rage behind his eyes. "Then you would become a liability, Cj. Not to us, but to yourself. That thing you absorbed is not a pet, it's a volatile engine of pure aggression. Without our resources, without our containment and guidance... you will inevitably become your own first, and final, casualty.
Cj stood over the wreckage of the table, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Every instinct, driven by the furious Beast, screamed at him to tear his way out of the room. But the raw, cold image of Junior's severed body flashed in his mind, overpowering the rage. He realized the horrible truth: without control, the monster inside him would claim more than just his life it would claim the lives of the innocent.
He slowly lowered his hands, the black claws receding back into his fingertips. "Fine," Cj ground out, the word tasting like ash. "You're right. I can't do this alone. If staying here means learning how to control this... this thing... so no one else gets hurt, then I'll stay."
Alistair Thorne's face softened into a professional, satisfied smile. "I'm glad you see the wisdom in that, Cj. Now, come along. We have much work to do." He rose and gestured toward the door. "Follow me."
As they walked, the silence of the luxurious hallway was broken only by Thorne's measured voice. "Our organization is the Defense and Containment Office," he stated with businesslike efficiency. "Our job is to keep the peace by scrubbing evidence of supernatural events and ensuring the masses remain safely oblivious. You aren't our first case. The method is always the same: contain the Beast, utilize the asset."
Thorne stopped before a massive slab of reinforced concrete sealed with glowing blue strips. The heavy door slid open with a grinding, pressurized hiss, revealing not another hallway, but a cavernous, neon-lit lab. Cj's steps faltered. The room was a terrifying blend of science and the forbidden, filled with the unsettling hum of specialized machinery. Along the wall were rows of high tech surgical bays. On one of them, a young man was lying motionless, hooked up to an array of monitors.
"Welcome to the Engine Room," Thorne announced, walking directly toward the figure. "This is Andre Dubois. Andre has been with us for six months and has progressed faster than any subject we've encountered."
Slowly, Andre sat up, pushing the monitors aside. He had a shock of dark, very long hair, which he swiftly gathered into a loose knot. He turned toward Cj, a genuine, if slightly strained, smile touching his lips. His eyes were a striking, clear blue.
"Hey," Andre said simply, offering a slight nod. "Welcome to the facility. It sucks here, but at least we're not alone."
Alistair didn't wait for Cj to process the shock. He pointed to the empty surgical bay next to Andre's. "This is your spot. This room is one of many, built to house two subjects at a time. Time to settle in." He gave a brisk clap. "You've got thirty minutes. Once you're done freaking out, Andre will give you the rundown on the facility and the schedule. He's your guy now."
With a casual nod, Thorne headed back toward the concrete door. "I'll be back shortly to talk training. Try not to break any more furniture, will you?"
And with that, Alistair Thorne was gone, leaving Cj alone with the humming machines and the watchful, unsettlingly calm stare of his new partner, Andre Dubois.
Andre slid off the bay, effortlessly disconnecting the last monitor cable. He reached for a pile of folded clothes, a simple, dark shirt and pulled it over the thin, clinical medical gown he was wearing. As he changed, he met Cj's eye, his movements relaxed.
"Don't worry about me, man," Andre said, his voice dropping slightly. "I know I look like a lab specimen, but I'm just as new here as you are. Six months is nothing in this place."
He stepped closer, finishing buttoning his shirt. His striking blue eyes held a serious, sharp focus.
"Listen. You've seen the corporate front they put up and the way they treat us like property." Andre leaned in just slightly, his voice barely a whisper against the hum of the machinery. "The DCO isn't what they pretend to be. They're not just looking for containment; they're looking for control. They are the cage."
He paused, letting Cj absorb the warning. "Don't go against them, Cj. Not yet. Not out loud." Andre straightened up and gave a small, knowing smile. "That stays between us, though. We're partners now."
Andre finished adjusting his dark shirt and gave Cj a serious look. "No time to stare. Let's go."
He led Cj out of the cold Room and through a quick tour of sterile, functional spaces: the Training Grounds built more like a combat gym), the dark Meditation Room , and then the huge quiet Cafeteria.
As they approached the entrance, a loud, electronic bell blared, and the hall immediately filled up. Dozens of other teenagers, all wearing similar simple clothes, poured in from every side.
Andre quickly pulled Cj toward an empty table wedged against the back wall. "Heads up," he muttered, his eyes darting across the crowd. "I don't trust anyone in this building. Not the staff, and definitely not the other assets. Don't be an idiot and assume any of them are your friends."
He settled into the seat with his back to the wall. "We keep our distance. It's the only way to stay out of the DCO's way." Cj sat down, feeling the heavy, assessing weight of countless eyes on him, realizing just how public and exposed his forced isolation had become.
The loud electronic bell signaled the start of the meal, and the cafeteria instantly filled with dozens of other young people in their late teens and early twenties.
A small group of four, clearly acting as a gang, detached themselves from the crowd and swaggered toward Cj's table, their movements loud and deliberate.
"Well, well. Look what we have here," the leader, a towering figure with a sneering grin, announced. "So you're the new recruit we've all heard about." He leaned over Cj. "It's a shame you're stuck with this loser."
Andre just gave them a chilling, menacing stare.
The leader ignored him, refocusing on Cj. "You're skinny. Pathetic, even. You should worship us if you want to make it here." The bully laughed, then clamped his massive hand down on Cj's forearm. The muscles in his arm immediately expanded and coiled with thick, bulging veins, aggressively pressing Cj's arm against the table. Cj flinched, biting back a grunt of pain.
Before the pain could truly register, Andre vanished.
The movement was too fast to track; Cj hadn't even seen him stand. Suddenly, Andre was standing directly behind the bully, one hand raised. His two fingers the index and middle were precisely poised at the bully's neck, positioned right where the necks artery pulsed.
"Lay another finger on him," Andre's voice was a low, silken threat, "and I won't mind separating your head from your shoulders."
The other gang members scoffed and reached out, trying to grab Andre's hand. But Andre's power was absolute. He didn't just resist he outpowered them.
With a whisper of energy, two wickedly curved, obsidian Owl Talons materialized from his fingertips. Andre slowly, deliberately, began to press one of the points into the bully's neck, the sharp tip just breaking the skin with blood droplets forming.
"Do you want it to go further?" Andre asked, his clear blue eyes locked on the bully's face.
The leader hesitated, the bravado draining from him. His entire gang was shocked into silence, but then a wave of scornful laughter erupted from them, directed not at Andre, but at their own leader.
Suddenly, a massive hand slapped Andre's hand away from the bully's neck. The bully, white faced but saved, immediately mumbled, "Sorry," before turning to glare at his mocking friends.
Andre simply stepped back, the Owl Talons instantly receding. He didn't speak, but his message was delivered. The gang quickly dragged their humiliated leader away, the cafeteria noise returning to a tense, low hum.
As the gang retreated, Andre didn't immediately turn away. His striking blue eyes remained fixed on the bullies until they had reached a table across the vast cafeteria. The humiliated leader, sat down, positioning himself deliberately so he was facing Andre and Cj. His expression was no longer arrogant... it was a mask of cold, concentrated killing intent.
The intensity of Stark's glare was impossible to ignore. Cj felt the venom of the stare and finally broke the silence.
"Who... who was that?" Cj asked, his voice low.
Andre glanced briefly at Cj, then returned his unsettling stare to Stark, who was now directly horizontal to them. "That," Andre replied coolly, the contempt evident in his voice, "is Mario Stark. He's one of the assets this organization keeps a very close eye on. Basically, he's their prized distraction or so I think and mainly used to keep us all in line."
Cj remained silent for a beat, eyes narrowed as he planned his next question for Andre. But before he could speak, the grim reality of the cafeteria shattered.
A young woman walked past their table, and Cj's breath hitched. Her hair was a molten cascade of orange, her eyes twin shards of emerald vivid, impossible to ignore. Her skin was exquisitely pale, like marble or the surface of fresh snow, emphasizing the vivid color of her presence.
As she passed, she briefly turned her head toward Cj, and the contact was immediate, startling. In that instant, a rush of overwhelming emotion flooded him: a dizzying combination of fatal first love and a forgotten, ancient déjà vu. She was the single stroke of color in his nightmare.
Then, he heard the chilling, familiar voice from the day prior the second being inside him spoke, the words a raw whisper only Cj could hear within his mind:
"How. I thought she was gone."
Cj's internal shock was absolute. He stared at the retreating figure and blurted out, loud enough to cut through the cafeteria noise, "Who are you?"
He waited, tense, for the internal voice to reply, but received only silence.
The young woman, however, had stopped dead in her tracks. She turned around slowly, her pale cheeks flushing a beautiful pink, clearly believing Cj had called out to her.
She offered a shy, quick smile. "Hey, I'm Kyla Flynn." She rushed off in a hurried wave, not stopping to ask Cj's name, leaving Cj utterly breathless and love-struck.
Beside him, Andre let out a small, genuine chuckle... the first real emotion Cj had seen from him. Andre lightly bumped Cj's shoulder, a teasing grin cracking his stoic facade.
Cj couldn't help but smile, a soft, involuntary feeling of warmth washing over his fear. But as the image of Kyla faded, the mystery of the internal voice lingered, a terrifying question mark lodged deep in his mind; "Who is she, and who is the part of me that is mourning her absence?"
A moment of silence passed, Cj still lost in the glow of Kyla's image and the confusion of the voice.
The moment was abruptly shattered as Alistair reappeared, his approach silent and commanding. He stopped directly at their table.
"Enough of the socialization," Thorne announced, his voice snapping with authority. "Follow me. It's time to discuss your training regimen and, more importantly, how you two will earn your stay here."