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"A query. If, hypothetically, a black hole were to enter our solar system, in proximity of our planet, how long, approximately, would it take for the supernova to swallow our Earth?"
The Suit stood soberly before rows and rows of Armament Society field agents, all dressed in the Society's trademark head-to-toe black Kevlar. Whenever the Suit gave a briefing, his stern voice had a way of somewhat compelling his listeners. Not one person dared to object to his explanations. According to him, he called this his verbal concoction; a precise combination of fear, respect, and admiration. As a leader, he often prided himself on his oration capabilities, as he did on his many other capabilities. Towards those ranked lower than him, he applied this precise verbal concoction, dosed enough to glue them to his words. This was one of the many cornerstones of the Armament Society's focus and success.
"No one? No volunteers?" the Suit prompted. "Well, I will let you know that if, hypothetically, a black hole were to devour our planet, it would take no more than a mere ten to fifteen minutes. Barely half of an hour. Now, would we be able to prevent this black hole from decimating the human population in this time frame?"
Yet again, the audience remained hushed. It was unclear to them whether to answer with a "yes" or a "no." They knew all too well that making a thoughtless misstep would mean risking the Suit's wrath.
"No! No, we would not! We, along with everyone else on this planet, would become nothing but fodder for a supernova. Which is why we must take anticipatory acts. We have to know what is going to happen, and when. And, of course, my gambit to save the world? The board of directors have selected a handpicked team of expert scientists more than capable of overseeing the progress of Project: Supernova. The project will begin progress immediately, despite our lack of confirmation from Meyers. As of now, your assignment is clear. Extract the sample, and return. You knew the risk of this mission when you signed on. We've prepared as much as we could to keep you safe, but ultimately, your life will be in your own hands. Godspeed."
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23:35. The precise time was emblazoned on the Suit's Chinese Ormolu clock, a pure gold antiquity beheld on his mahogany desk. The Suit sat at his desk, observing a row of radiant computer monitors whilst having the hallmarks of a late Norwegian middag. The Suit's meals were carefully hand-cooked with only the best ingredients by none other than himself. Though he was indeed an industrious man, he strived to still allocate certain amounts of time to his needs. The reason he prepared his meals with his own hands were for his own security. Apart from his explicit trust issues, he entrusted his own personal safety to no one but himself. His bodyguards were simply proxies, deployed as cannon fodder for snipers. His security was in no one's hands but his own. He had accumulated far too much fame and fortune to perish. He could never expect who would turn on him, who would dupe him. He prided himself often on his superior deduction abilities. Despite this, he still took the necessary precautions for his personal security. There was far too much at stake for him to be eliminated, and far too many suspects as to who would plot against him.
The Suit was a man of plentiful talents. Combat, strategy, science. None would expect the daring leader of the Armament Society to be adept in culinary. In stark contrast to their opinions, the Suit viewed the arts of preparing meals as a necessary skill. His culinary expertise could be needed in dire situations. He'd prepared himself his own unorthodox middag meal; a slow-roasted polar bear paw steak, served on a silver platter with roasted baby potatoes and dished out with a glass goblet of Montrachet, the Suit's preference. His steel-minded mentality drove him to constantly prove himself as a superior, going to such lengths as familiarizing himself with the unwonted idea of consuming predators to take their place as the apex of the food chain. The Suit knew that humans could never survive a one-on-one encounter with a polar bear. Thus, what better way to assert his dominance than to consume the polar bear?
The Suit cut himself a clean slice of the stout meat, savoring the oleaginous flavor of his own recipe, washing it down with a sip of his wine. He paused, taking a long, anticipatory breath.
"I know you're there."
A subtle, raspy chuckle swept across the room, imbuing it with an ominous, somewhat eerie sense. The sunset had cast the room in complete darkness, save for pale slivers of light illuminating from the floor-to-ceiling window. A series of light footsteps treaded softly towards the Suit's chaise lounge, a contour moving swiftly through the gloom. A lanky figure in head-to-toe black velvet, a bowler hat and attire similar to that of the Suit, stood tall on one end of the room, opposite from the Suit's desk. The silhouette luxuriated on the corduroy chaise sofa, his gloved hands behind his head in a restful position. Its face was downcast in dullness, its eyes masked by blacked-out sunglasses, staring at the Suit contemptuously from the ill-lit corner.
"Ah, you caught me. You caught me. I'm surprised you keep your office this gloomy. You always looked for the light. Nonetheless, I'm glad the Armament Society relocated. This overhanging palace is far more suitable than that godforsaken dump back in KΔ±rΕehir. Don't you think?"
"What do you want, Jonas?" the Suit growled through gritted teeth.
"What do I want? Hm. I want what you took from me. I want it all back. You know, I had the Armament Society in the palm of my hand, just waiting to be crushed. Oh, those where the golden ages. Until you and your Norwegian gorilla swiped it from me."
"His name is Isak."
"His name may as well be 'ashes', considering that's what we'll all be in due time."
"So you've heard."
"I have."
"About proprietary Armament Society intel?"
"I may have been cast out, but I still have my ways of prying information from sealed lips. And my contacts."
The Suit froze. "Double agents?"
"Double agents, moles, call them whatever you want. Just know that you won't have enough time to conduct a thorough security sweep before that," Jonas pointed objectively at a computer monitor displaying a red, green and yellow shape, representing the imminent black hole,"swallows our planet whole, and destroys mankind."
"The Armament Society has its contingencies. And I have a plan."
"Don't tell me. I know what you're going to do. You're going to try and resurrect Project: Vortex, even though you already know you're going to fail miserably," Jonas jeered, "especially with the test subjects. You're sending human operatives into an abattoir, and you called me inhumane?"
"It's for the good of the planet."
Jonas guffawed. "The good of the planet? Spare me the Good Samaritan nonsense. The world isn't black and white. It doesn't justify what you're doing. So far, about morals, I know only that what is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after."
"Ernest Hemingway."
"Very good, Suit. Before you do this, just know who you're doing it to."
The Suit stood, calmly striding across the room to face Jonas. The two, every inch the same height, stood nose to nose, a menacing look in Jonas' raven-black eyes. Where the Suit once stood adjacent to a man in the shadows, he now faced nothing but his chaise sofa. Jonas had gone. The office remained the same, everything where it was beforehand. Everything except for the Suit. Had he been dreaming? Was that what happened? Why he sat by his desk one moment and stood by his sofa the other? No, it couldn't have been a dream. A hallucination, perhaps. He hadn't been keeping tabs on Jonas, but he couldn't have been in Norway. The Suit once again looked out at the picturesque view from his window, watching the snow-capped mountains blanketed in darkness.
"Mr. Suit?" a nervous voice called from the corridor. The door to the Suit's office was ajar, gently pushed open.
"What is it, Anthony? Come in," the Suit muttered, unfazed.
"The jet is ready for your flight to Washington."
"Great."
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The Suit stood unwavering in the briefing room where he had stood no more than two days ago. The Warren's briefing room was a spacious hall drilled into the depths of the mountain, illuminated by bright yellow lights lining the concrete walls. The walls themselves were painted with history's record of its greatest conflicts; the Third Crusade, the Battle of York, the Habsburg-Valois wars. The Suit was confident that one day, the Armament Society's own war against the black hole would go down in history alongside them. The War of Humanity. A little extravagant, but the Suit had a flair for the dramatic.
Quite ironically, the people standing in an immaculate row before him were a collection of the five finest and most infamous world-renowned terrorists, known for conflicts of their own. Bombings, drug deals, cyber attacks, arson and even ranging to mind control. The Armament Society mainly dealt with what the military or worldwide law enforcement could not handle. Predominantly, those tactical enough to avoid the radar. The Suit faced a row of shackled prisoners in bright orange jumpsuits, all extracted from Djevelens Munn and having been brought to the Warren.
"Listen up!" the Suit roared, demanding their focus to his stage. The inmates were instantly silenced as a lull fell upon them. "We have quite the menagerie here today. Each of you have quite the rap sheet. Cyrus, I see you've brought your affinity for fire into the prison. But the reason I assembled you all here is more than mere punishment. The world is in grave peril. A black hole has entered our solar system and threatens the safety of our planet. Now, most of you have developed, to say the least, strong feelings of hate towards the Armament Society and its agents. Just know that it was your fault in the first place, causing mass death, destruction and terror, which landed you in Djevelens Munn. But now, it is indispensable that we put our differences aside for the time being and help each other safeguard our planet."
The Suit straightened his posture, heaving a deep sigh. He had given the same speech he had to his employees, yet with a harsher tone and a theme of seething disdain. While the assembled prisoners murmured amongst themselves, everyone turned at the sound of cacophonous clapping. The guards at the doorway parted to reveal Adrianus Adelram, showered, fed, groomed and dressed neatly in a lavish raven-black bespoke suit. Where his beard once hung wildly, his chin was now nicely trimmed to a thin goatee, his brunette hair elegantly slicked to the back. Behind him was none other than Isak Pedersen, fitted with a tight, Armament Society-issued Kevlar uniform, a standard Armament Society gas mask in one hand and a firearm in the other. Pedersen stood towering behind the dwarfed ex-prisoner, both of them striding confidently into the briefing room.
"Mr. Adelram, Mr. Pedersen. Welcome. Mr. Adelram, you're welcome to join your colleagues, if you'd like. I see your tailor has not failed you this time either."
"Oh, yes. My suit is... what's the word? Kingly."
"We don't have time for this now, Adrianus."
"Oh, lighten up, Suit. Since when do we not have time for some light banter?"
Adrianus noticed the Suit's satiny, pure gold alloy Rolex, strapped tightly to his wrist and hidden slightly in his pocket.
"That's a quality timepiece. How much'd you pay for it? What, $36,000?"
"37, actually. Thirty seven thousand, four hundred and fifty dollars, to be precise."
The Suit took the opportunity to glance at his watch, checking the time and flaunting his priceless jewelry.
"Ah, the Everose. That's a nice one. I myself went for the Submariner," Adrianus said, lifting his arm to brandish his wristwatch. "It has a different feel to it. I guess you get what you pay for, eh?"
"I suppose so. Now, I'd suggest you join your colleagues, Mr. Adelram. We're not done here."
"Chill out, Suit," Adrianus crowed, lumbering to join the inmates' row.
"As I was saying, the fate of the entire world depends on the success of this mission. Assembled here is a collection of the Armament Society's most capable inmates. Each of you have a particular skillset that you misused, which landed you in Djevelens Munn. Cyrus Tyson, pyromaniac arsonist on a terrorist level with a surprisingly strategic mindset. Hugo Alden, high school dropout turned computer hacker who staged a cyber terrorist attack on the World Bank. Made off with roughly 12 billion dollars. Well, almost made off with it. You shouldn't have thrown your life down the drain, kid. Ramona Sage, ex-Marine who stole proprietary explosives and a military bomber plane just for revenge in response to being dishonorably discharged. This would have been the Army's jurisdiction, but the government themselves told us we were more than capable of taking matters into our own hands. Viktor Hernandez, worldwide drug dealer based in Mexico responsible for cities worldwide being out of control, thanks to his heroin operation overpowering the police. Nevertheless, he's got a mind for tactics. Conrad Broderick, a researcher for a private facility working on proprietary mind control projects for the government. Your devices could be of great use for whatever you find on the other side in the duration of this mission. Of course, you're all acquainted with Mr. Adelram."
"You can call me the Eidolon. Of course, that's what I called myself when the incident in Tokyo happened," Adrianus interrupted.
"Why the 'Eidolon'?", Hugo enquired.
"Well, my dear boy, the world is a cruel place. I felt weight on my shoulders, so why not let it fall. That's what inspired my research on molecular density shifting. Thus earning myself the moniker of the-"
"Eidolon. We get it," the Suit snapped. "Now, as for the supervisor for this mission I will be placing this in the hands of Mr. Isak Pedersen. He's served as the head of security for the Armament Society for a whole of twelve years, and I can say that I have never had the honor of working with someone more worthy of something like this."
"Well, that's a lie," a raspy voice cooed from the corner.
The Suit instinctively turned, shocked. Standing in the darker corners of the room was Jonas himself, dressed immaculately in head-to-toe black clothing, as usual, sporting a black wristwatch. A Suunto.
"Where did-",
"Face it, Suit. There's no pencil-pusher you've worked with better than me."
The Suit stepped off of the stage, approaching Jonas. The two were once again face to face, when Pedersen grasped the Suit's shoulder.
"Mr. Suit? Are you okay?"
With the blink of an eye, Jonas had gone. It was as if he were never there. The Suit stared speechless up at Pedersen, then at Adrianus and the other inmates.
"What? Oh. Yes, I-I must have lost focus there. Isak, bring the subjects to their temporary quarters. We'll begin the procedure first thing in the morning where Project: Vortex was built. As of now, I think I'll head to my office."
As Pedersen and the guards ushered the inmates out, the Suit contemplated to himself. What had happened back there? Was Jonas really there? Had he disappeared in the blink of an eye, or had it been no more than a hallucination? A trick of the light? It was just like the morning before the Suit had headed for Washington to see Meyers. Jonas was there, and they'd had a conversation, but the next thing he knew, Jonas had gone. Whatever was happening, the Suit had no control of it whatsoever. Not even a recollection. Was the issue really in his mind?
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The Suit stood undisturbed by his floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the mountains in the distance. He never tired of the same view, always focusing on the aspects that had changed. He relished a contented sip of Suntory, poured from a bottle that he had collected from the Yamazaki distillery itself, located in the Mishima District of the Osaka Prefecture. Coincidentally, his sojourn to Japan was also the first time he'd encountered Adrianus. A brazen scientist, determined to become the best of his generation. He never liked to address it, but maybe he saw a little bit of himself in Adrianus.
"Well, well. Brooding, I see."
"I'm not brooding, Jonas. I'm contemplating."
"What about?"
"How did you do that? You were there one moment and gone one next. In the blink of an eye."
Jonas paused, heaving a sigh.
"Ooh. Is that a bottle of Yamazaki, 1972?"
"Answer my question, Jon. How?"
"I heard," Jonas sneered, "All about how your mind's been playing tricks on you. Seeing things that aren't there. It's not me. I was never there. Maybe the problem's been you all along."
"That is not true," the Suit snarled, setting his glass on his desk. "You're trying to get in my head, knock me off balance. It won't work. I'm not giving you the satisfaction of playing with my insecurity."
"You're admitting it. That's a good first step. But maybe the next step is to confront the root of the problem. Look at what you've been hiding in your drawer this entire time. Who knows, maybe it'll give you some closure. I'll let you think it over."
Jonas swiped the bottle, pouring the whisky into his mouth and gulping it down rapaciously.
"Ah. You don't mind, do you?"
The Suit shook his head weakly.
"Good. Good. I like that. Yeah. For the mean time, think on what I said. I can't wait to see what other mistakes you wind up making."
Setting the bottle back on the desk, Jonas left the room with a patronizing cackle, leaving the door open behind him, disappearing like he always did.