Archer weighed the weird-looking communicator in his hand, an object that looked like it had been built to survive an apocalypse. His fingers danced over the buttons, but he might as well have been trying to solve a Rubik's Cube blindfolded. He was a wizard in a boardroom, but give him anything more complicated than a smartphone and he was lost.
Reid, meanwhile, was sprawled on his favorite beanbag like it was his kingdom. He stretched out, arms extended and fingers splayed, in a pose that screamed, "I'm the king of the world, and this beanbag is my throne." Jill seemed to think she was the queen, mimicking Reid's stretch from her own lofty perch on the back of the sofa.
"What's up, Jill? No royal tantrum at the intrusion?" Archer was genuinely surprised. When Reid had nudged Jill into his pristine apartment, Archer had expected a revolt. After all, Archer was her arch-nemesis. Jill hated the man and Archer loved bullying her. But no. Jill had taken one look at Archer and pounced.
Archer was a neat freak, the kind of guy who carried hand sanitizer before it was cool. He was the kind of guy that goes straight to the shower even if he had stepped out of his house for one second. But when Jill launched herself at him, he opened his arms and let her land, embracing the feline like an old friend. Behind him, Reid's face twisted into something between jealousy and sour grapes. Archer started to shape Jill's cheeks in all ways possible and weirdly enough, Jill allowed him without any complaint. Eventually, Jill must've decided she had enough Archer-time and returned to Reid, shooting him a frown before prancing onto the sofa, commandeering the space as though she were planting a flag.
Reid let out an exaggerated eye roll. Archer just shrugged, "guess Jill hasn't changed much, huh?"
"Nope!" Reid punctuated the word with a playful raspberry. "She's the only one immune to my irresistible charm."
Archer scoffed, but before he could reply, his attention drifted back to the mystery communicator. He noticed a distinct mark at the edge, a sort of elongated scratch that seemed to have a gradient—lighter at the beginning, and more pronounced at the end. It was the kind of mark you'd only recognize if you were looking for it, and Archer knew exactly what he was seeing.
His thumb brushed over the scratch, and his eyes narrowed. Next to it, two diagonal etchings. It was a Mark. Kirby's.
"You tracked him down?"
Reid lifted one eyelid, giving Archer a lazy side-eye. "Scored the address earlier today."
Archer's face tightened, but Reid, sensing the silent interrogation, filled in the blanks. "I thought Jill had stole this gadget and forgot about it at first. But then I saw the mark and knew it was more serious."
Archer's eyebrows formed a V of concern.
"Yeah, I found Nobilm—Mr. Diamond Thief—and had a nice chat. Got Kirby's address out of him," Reid continued, his words dripping with casual swagger.
Archer's eyes narrowed even further.
"Okay, okay, relax," Reid sighed, burying himself deeper into his beanbag throne. "No hypnosis or supernatural trickery. Just me being an exceptional judge of character and saying the right thing at the right time."
Archer's expression remained hard as stone, which prompted Reid to snap, "What's eating you?"
"Pass me my communicator."
Reid frowned by tossed it over anyway. Archer's serious tone made Reid's heart race even more. Because if something was freaking Archer out, then it was serious. And serious for Archer usually meant dangerous for everyone else.
Archer's hand moved in a fluid arc as he grabbed the communicator from Reid's half-hearted toss. He punched in a series of numbers with an urgency that seemed out of character. Reid sat up, his body tense. Jill hopped onto his lap and tried to give him a comforting kiss, but Reid was too engrossed to notice.
The call connected.
"Upgrade the building's security. Maximum level. Starting tomorrow," Archer barked into the phone, his voice cold and authoritative.
Reid felt a bubble of irritation rise inside him. He grabbed Jill, the feline had meowed in protest, marched towards Archer who was sitting by the dining table, thrust Jill toward Archer, and blurted, "Jill, if you ever had a reason to scratch him, now's the time!"
Archer and Reid parked a block away from the location Nobilm had coughed up. Walking down the alley, Archer felt like he was stepping into a spy novel—the kind where the characters navigate dark alleyways to meet mysterious informants. A glance at Reid told him his friend was enjoying the vibe way too much. Reid was practically floating, a grin threatening to split his face, his every step oozing confidence.
"Ready to knock?" Reid asked, elbowing Archer as they reached the battered green door, where flaking paint gave it a rustic, if not worn-out, look. It was the sort of door that screamed, "Stay out unless you're ready for what's behind me."
Archer shot Reid a look that could best be described as 'not amused.' "Trying to trick me into being the guinea pig?"
Reid chuckled. "Worth a shot."
Archer sighed but went along with it. He raised his hand and knocked on the door—seven curt, evenly spaced knocks that echoed in the air like a coded message.
The door creaked open a fraction, and a set of wary eyes peeked through the gap. "Who the hell are you? What do you want?"
Reid seized the moment, nudging the door open wider with his boot and brandishing the peculiar communicator like it was Excalibur. "We need to talk."
Those eyes narrowed into slits. A hand reached for the door, slamming it shut. Or at least, attempting to. Archer had preemptively jammed his foot in the doorframe.
"I don't talk about my clients. Go away," came the gruff voice from behind the door, now laden with palpable annoyance.
Archer and Reid locked eyes for a nanosecond, a whole conversation unfolding in that fleeting moment. Understanding the unspoken message, Archer reached into his impeccably tailored suit and produced a checkbook. A few pen strokes later, he slid the check through the sliver of open door. "Is this enough to buy some of your time?"
The eyes flicked down, glancing at the piece of paper, then flicked back up. "I don't need your money," came the curt reply, accompanied by a wave of the hand that might as well have been swatting away a fly.
Reid frowned for a millisecond before nudging Archer with a quick jerk of his head. Archer got the hint. He pushed the door fully open, surprising the man—Kirby, presumably—enough to get them both inside.
"You used your Ability, didn't you?" Kirby spat out, accusing Archer. His stubby finger pointed in the direction of Archer, "the hidden rule! No Ability unless there was a threat!"
Reid chuckled. "He didn't use anything except good old-fashioned muscle."
Kirby stared, seemingly reconsidering the pair in front of him, before trudging back to a workbench cluttered with electronics. "Fine. You're in. Happy?"
Archer looked anything but happy. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the grimy windows, the mismatched furniture, and the chaos of wires, tools, and electronic parts strewn across the workbench where Kirby had now resumed fiddling with some kind of tracker.
Reid, on the other hand, waltzed into the small kitchen area as if he owned the place. Minutes later, he emerged, holding two cups of steaming tea. He offered one to Archer, who eyed it as if it contained some deadly poison.
Reid shrugged, placing the rejected tea on Kirby's cluttered table. Then he sank into an old, beat-up sofa that looked as if it had seen better days, lifting his own cup to his lips and taking a hearty gulp. "Ah, just like mom used to make," he said, sighing contentedly.
Kirby himself was a study in contradictions. Not particularly tall, but his presence filled the room. His fingers, stubby and calloused, moved with surprising speed and skill as he soldered something onto the tracker. His hair was a curly halo, errant strands darting out in random directions, and a layer of grime seemed to hang about him like an aura.
Archer looked like he was mentally calculating the time it would take to sterilize his entire apartment after this visit. He stayed close to the door, as though proximity to an exit could shield him from the room's grunginess. Had it not been for his deep-seated bond with Reid, he wouldn't have set foot in the place.
Reid, however, looked like he had walked into his grandmother's house on Christmas Eve. He was utterly at ease, a stark contrast to Archer's rigid demeanor. While Reid would happily spend hours sifting through a thrift store for hidden treasures, Archer wouldn't touch anything without first verifying its thread count and reading at least five customer reviews. Yet here they were, these two men so different yet so inseparable, bound by something stronger than mere friendship—brotherhood.
Reid took another long sip of his tea, eyes closing in satisfaction before falling on Archer.
Archer met Reid's eyes and, for a second, his posture relaxed. With Reid by his side, he could face whatever—or whoever—was behind that cluttered workbench. Even if it meant holding his breath for a little while.
Kirby finally looked up from his gadget. "So, what's so urgent you couldn't take no for an answer?"
Reid set his cup down, looked at Archer, and grinned. Showtime.
Reid leaned forward, staring at Kirby's cluttered workbench, gazing intently at the man who had rebuffed all his earlier attempts at negotiation. Kirby was nonchalant, his attention focused on a maze of microchips and wires strewn across the table, all but ignoring Reid's pointed questions about the mysterious communicator.
"Listen, Kirby, we're not asking for classified state secrets. We just need some intel," Reid tried again, his tone laced with a hint of exasperation.
"No can do," Kirby muttered, eyes still fixed on his gadgets.
"I just want to know how to revert this communicator to its original state."
"No!"
"We can buy your service to have it repaired?"
"No!"
At this point, Reid's patience was thinner than the gold leaf on a Michelin-starred dessert. He glanced over at Archer, who stood near the door, visibly shuddering as he glanced around the dingy room, taking in the menagerie of old tech and disarray. The very air felt sticky with a blend of soldering fumes, stale coffee, and layers of dust that might've been ancient relics.
Reid sighed, picking up that Archer wasn't exactly having a ball either. It was high time to switch tactics.
"Alright, forget the communicator," Reid finally conceded, waving his hand as if dispelling the topic into thin air. Reid tucked the communicator back into his coat. He moved closer to Kirby, who eyed him cautiously but seemed taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation.
"Let's talk about something else. What's this masterpiece you're working on?" Reid gestured toward the scattered components on Kirby's workbench, throwing in an appreciative nod for good measure.
The question seemed to flick a switch in Kirby. With an almost childlike enthusiasm, he started discussing his latest project—an ultra-sensitive tracking device capable of locating objects across great distances. He became absorbed, diving into a technical labyrinth of circuitry, quantum mechanics, and something he repeatedly referred to as "cross-dimensional wave manipulation."
Archer watched this whole exchange unfold, worry carving lines on his face. He knew Reid was up to something, that this was all part of some intricate tapestry he was weaving. Still, despite his skepticism and discomfort, he also knew Reid had his reasons. Reid always did, even if those reasons meant walking through fire—or in this case, tolerating a room that triggered every cleanliness alarm in Archer's being.
By the time Kirby took a breath, Reid had successfully chipped away at the man's emotional fortifications. "You're a genius, Kirby. Your engineering skills are up there with the likes of Ada Lovelace and Alan Turing."
Kirby chuckled at the flattery, visibly pleased. "You think so?"
"Absolutely," Reid affirmed, extending a hand. "Pleasure meeting a master of the craft."
Kirby shook Reid's hand, and in that microsecond of physical contact, Reid's passive Ability activated. A cascade of images, emotions, and sensations rushed into his mind. It was like diving headlong into a turbulent river, struggling to sift through the currents for the pebble of information he sought.
His grip on Kirby's hand tightened just a smidgen, a subconscious reaction to the mental torrent he was navigating. Then, almost as quickly as it began, he severed the connection, his face now a shade paler, albeit not noticeably so.
Archer moved closer and took Reid's hand protectively. Reid's fingers clenched around Archer's, a non-verbal but poignant 'thank you.'
Kirby looked bemused but didn't comment. He probably had a lifetime of strange encounters, and this was just another one for the books.
"Thanks for your time, Kirby. We will definitely meet again." Reid said, still recovering his composure. "We'll be on our way."
Before leaving, as if to give Kirby the false sense of security, Reid threw the question again, "any intel for the communicator?"
Kirby squinted and quickly shoved the two man out of the room and shouted," NO!"
Once the door shut behind them, Reid exhaled, his demeanor deflating like a balloon after a long-held breath. Archer squeezed his hand, an unspoken inquiry hanging between them.
"I got what we came for," Reid said softly, his voice tinged with a mixture of relief and lingering fatigue.
Archer nodded, his grip on Reid's hand relaxing but not letting go. Even without words, their brotherhood was a living, breathing entity, a formidable bond that not even the most hostile environments could break. And as Archer finally let go of Reid's hand, a tacit understanding passed between them: time to decipher the Rubik's cube.
Meanwhile, Kirby returned to his chaotic haven, mulling over the recent visitors as he resumed his work. He wondered, just for a moment, about the nature of their relationship. Then, he shrugged it off and continued working on his tracker.