RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block Vanguard no. 18: "Sic transit gloria mundi"

"Well, what do you think?" Quantos asked the Vanguards. Standing in the parking lot outside of Glover Memorial.

"Doc, are you okay?" BF asked, feeling the man's forehead.

"Of course, why do you ask? Just look at it. It's the answer to all of our dreams!" Quantos continued, staring up into the night sky as a light drizzle of rain began to pour down.

"Poor tosser. He's finally snapped." Grissom noted, putting an arm around Banshee. Quietly he mouthed the words "We should go." to his teammates. Nodding, they began to make their way to their various homes.

Dr. Quantos continued staring off into the night sky, outside of the hospital. The Vanguardians dispersed quietly, Quantos sighing and repeating "Beautiful. . .beautiful. . ."

"Wake up !!" a small voice came from the side.
"wake up !! you Wretch. Wake up"
"Where am I?"DreadMoore asked as he crawled out ofthe fur lined sheet.
" did i get ...... Ouchmy head is killing me !" Dreadmooresaidas he begain to walk tothe door of the spinning room ,

Whammmm!!!!!
As he layon the floor he could onlything that there must be some place that was safe. some place that Praxis couldnt get to him.

LaPerdita Hiltim (About 79 posts ago)

"Do you have a reservation?" the scouling clerk Barked.
"Umm yes the names DreadMoore Philup." the man in the blood red Zute Suite with Black pin stripes andrunning Shoes said.

" I'm Sorry For the Inconveniance sir but it would seem that we have been getting a lot of Riff-raff in here tonight and we must keep the lot out .. you underetand dont you ?"

" Yes , Yes i do. Now can you show me to my room ? " Dreadmoore said.
turning on his heals Phil know that he was in the Wrong place at the right time.. humm.. Mabey i can find a Job andlive herefor a while. mabey .
not paying attenchen he walked straight in to the Midrift of a large Purple skined Biker.

"Comrade i am being so sorryfor not seeing your being there here please be leting me, bemoveing out of your ways." BlackWulf said as he moved to the left a bit.

"Thank you verry Much!!" Dreadmoore said as he made his way tothe Elevator.

"Comrade If you are to be looking for work than i might be being of help to you ."Wulf said as the elevator closed.

Rewind!

"That was weird," said Brianna. She sat down on the bed in Grissom's room. The sodt comforter and sheets felt wonderful to her sore muscles. "Very weird. I get the sneaky feeling I'll wake up tomorrow and forget about this entire affair." She turned to Grissom, one eyebrow up. "By the way, what is a monologue?"

Grissom was taking off his shoes. "It's a monologue. It's...I dunno luv, it's a monologue. Sort of a personal speech for the sake o' talking. A literary device used by writers to explain characterization and plot through verbal and oral techniqes."

Brianna nodded. "I see."

Grissom always found Brianna's inquistive nature amusing. Mostly because he like being useful. He went on. "It's like the fourth wall."

"The what?"

"The fourth -- oh nevermind. I'll explain it to you some other time."

"Oh." Brianna shuffled uncomfortably on the bed. "I think they all know."

"About us?"

Brianna nodded. "Apparently Phil told Leslie. She called while you were downstairs. And I'm sure the team's figured it out."

"And this bothers you?" The bird nodded again. "It doesn't bother me."

"Ha. I don't know why it bothers me. It's just...between the team, and Leslie, and everyone else --" by this Brianna was thinking of her family back in Ireland "-- no one wants this to work out. I can tell that they..."

Grissom sat down behind Brianna, and she felt his lips at the bottom of her neck. "And you? What do you think, Bree? It's your happiness I concern meself with, not theirs."

Brianna smiled to herself. She'd have to ask about the fourth wall again...in the morning. "I think I'm making the dangerous choice of falling for you."

"Well," said Montag, pulling her back towards him. "No sense in falling by yourself, right luv?"

It was very late, or very early, depending on your perspective. The nightlife of the island was just beginning to quiet down, even as the sleep-cycles of most Perditians began to warm their bodies in preparation for their awakening a few hours hence.

Rama Avatar, that newcomer to Vanguard who happened to share much in common with his predecessor, Mason Templar, sighed wistfully as he surveyed the lot where the Vanguard Complex had once stood. It was all that symbolized the once-mighty Vanguard International. It no longer existed, at least in that form, but he was confident that a form of it would always exist, somehow or another. His only concern was his part in it.

He, or Mason, rather, had come to Vanguard for a reason even Rama himself was not exactly sure of. Since Mason’s death, that reason seems to have expired, and Rama came to the team for no precise reason of his own. He supposed it was that last lingering feeling of friendship, of camaraderie, that Mason Templar had experienced through battle and fellowship with the Vanguardians. Rama himself, however, was out of place. He had wondered what his reason was for remaining in Vanguard, and he finally realized that he had none. He could not allow himself to grow stagnant; he thrived on change, on constant novelty. As much as he hated admitting it to himself, he was using Vanguard as a crutch, as an avoidance of his real purpose in life.

It was time to go.

He thought of Grissom Montag, his adventurous counterpart. In a past life he had known of a Montag very much like Grissom, a mighty pirate upon the sea. It was hard to imagine such an inveterate Lothario as Grissom Montag settling down with one woman, but it seems as though this was the case. He held out hope that anyone else could change in turn.

He thought of Brianna Fionghuala, the innocent Irish lass who reminded him so much of his own daughter, a century previous. He hoped that her life would be much happier than his daughter’s was. Perhaps things between her and Grissom could be different, could be successful; he hoped so. He did not want to have to return in order to set things straight once more should Grissom prove to be bad for her.

He thought of Phil Smith, the Unidentified, who took himself so very seriously. The talented Mr. Smith had assets coming out of his ears, was a force to be reckoned with like none other on the team, yet he still seemed to be seeking the approval of the other Vanguardians. He was glad Phil Smith was on his side, and he hoped Phil would still be on the right side when he finally realized his full potential, the identity he had been born to become.

He thought of Edulcore Cicciotto, the hero of many names, and he regretted that he had never gotten over his adversarial relationship with him. Strangely enough they had quite a bit in common; perhaps that was the reason Mason had been so standoffish when he joined the team. Though, come to think of it, Mason was that way with everyone.

He thought of the others: Danny Hearn, whose record of heroism and leadership could never be blotted out by his apparent betrayal of the team. Brute Force, the mysterious young man who seemed to pop in and out like a veteran familiar with the surroundings and not at all like the newcomer to the team he was. And there were so many others: Grimm, Dirk Bell, Blackwulf, Ozzy Baxter, Adem Different, Priest. They had all made an impression on the Legendary Swordsman’s life. Even that mysterious new guy in the red shirt and the irrepressibly lovable RoboSquirrel, Gob bless ‘em. It was difficult, but he had to leave all of them behind.

Rama whistled a soft shrill, and a few moments later, a gigantic pigeon-hawk the size of an elephant swooped down onto the empty asphalt of the street, almost soundlessly, defying reason and reality. Rama and all of his predecessors had always confounded reality, however; could he really allow himself, a born warrior, a lifelong wanderer, to settle down on this island, beautiful as it was? No. His soul could not allow him to rest, to relax. He had missions to perform, and adventures to seek.

The tall Indian warrior brought his arm gently under Erasmus’s beak and said in a low, husky voice, “Come on, girl. It’s time to go.” At that, he placed one foot in the stirrups and hoisted himself up onto the harness between the bird’s wings.

Never officially a Vanguardian except in his previous incarnation, Rama Avatar left La Perdita as an unaffiliated individual as he had been for most of his ancient lives.

As he rose into the nighttime sky, the wide ocean beyond the Caribbean Sea seemed to spread before him, beckoning him ever onward to experience the everlasting adventure of life.

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"How long has he been like this, doctor?"

"It's been three hours, now. I'm afraid he's suffered a major stroke."

"Will he survive?"

"I'd be surprised if he lasts another hour. It really took a lot out of him. One of the orderlies said that Quantos had apparently been seeing visions earlier. Just before he fell unconscious he just kept repeating, 'beautiful, beautiful,' over and over."

"Damn shame. Doctor Quantos was one of the best."

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***

Later that night, Doctor Henry Quantos had a dream.

He was standing on a high precipice again, holding on onto to the edge of the door, only now the doorway led into a huge, black nothingness with the sole exception of an ancient stone pathway leading off into the distance, which seemed somehow brighter, as if it could lead him somewhere wonderful.

He was not sure whether to go or not. He looked back, and he saw himself. His body, that is. His cheeks and eyes looked sunken in, as if he was already dead. His return could only mean a few short years of incapacitation. He knew a stroke victim when he saw one. He would probably never walk on his own again. He could certainly not practice medicine or work on any of his experiments any longer. He could not even be a father any longer. All he could do was breathe and watch life occur all around him.

Doctor Henry Quantos had lived a full life. There was no reason for him to remain. He looked forward and carefully stepped onto the first stone on the pathway. A chuckle seemed to emit from his ethereal body, and he let go of the door frame.

He stood there, wanting to look back but knowing he could not now do so. He could only go forward. He walked. And as he did so, it was as if the years fell away from him like scales. His 64-year-old frame, even in spirit form, seemed to become much lighter. He felt stronger, and his white hair grew into a rich, deep brown. He walked into the light.

***

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BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE*

"Turn that damn thing off."

"Is it--?"

"Yes. Quantos. He's gone."

"A shame."

"Damn shame."

"Did he have any family?"

"Well, I know he has an adoptive son. He was married and divorced once, as well, but he hasn't communicated with his daughter for years. I'm not even sure he knows where she lives."

"Someone should tell his son, then."

"Careful, though: he's still quite young. Only 14 or so."

"As I said, doctor: damn shame."

***

Doctor Henry Quantos's adoptive son, Axel, was informed by telephone of his father's death. When a representative from social services came by the apartment building where he lived shortly afterwards, the boy could not be found. A neighbour of the family, one Mrs. Darrows, said to the social worker that Axel had left with his grandfather. The social worker inquired further, but all Mrs. Darrows knew was that Axel had told her that everything was going to be all right. Quantos was free now. He was free. Mrs. Darrows told the social worker this in a very sad tone. She felt that the boy had somehow known what would happen for a long time now, and that he'd been in mourning all this time until the doctor's death. Now that Doctor Quantos was finally gone, the burden of that knowledge was gone, and he could grieve in reality, yet still rejoice that Quantos's eternal soul was in a much better place.

The End.

Euro awoke in his bed at the restaurant.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"At home, honey. But we will not remain here for long" said Rose, the little Amara sleeping in her arms.

Euro looked around. In the dim lit room, next to his woman and the little newborn daughter, were the Old Neanderthal, Myrrdin, and next to him a young boy of twelve/thirteen years of age, that Euro was sure to knew but whose name was not able to remember. The blow in the head was surely the cause. A few step behind, there was the armored figure of Tanya Landsvitter, the old Neanderthal's employeee known as Ameristar.

Myrrdin stepped further. "Ed, old friend... Eddie has been kidnapped while you were in the island. It has been Saros' work... but the dirty job has been done by Aurochs. The mage has captured him and has brought the kid into a different continuum... jumping from a parallel reality to another.
We have not time left if we want to be able to find him."

Ed shook his head... after so many illusions it was difficult to understand if that was real or not... but the sad and worried look of all the presents told him that was not a dream.

The Italian hero stood up, dressed up, and taking the backpack with his small arsenal of mythical weapons, looked at Ameristar and simply said: "I am ready"

The woman whispered something to her Gaia box, and Euro, his family and his allies disappeared from the Vanguard Universe.

Eurostar's family: the end

Phil sat in the garage of his island home, across the room from Bruteforce. In Bruteforce's lap sat Robo Squirrel, who he was currently polishing to look new again.

"You know, Robo Squirrel..." Phil began, surprised that he had reached a point in his life where he would be starting sentences in such a fashion. "You put your ass on the line for us back on the beach. "

"Robo Squirrel's ass is composed of nearly indestructible Squirlium. The risk was manageable."

"But still, the risk was there. You didn't have to do that."

"Vanguard International would risk their lives to aid those who needed them."

"Yeah..."

"It is only fair that Robo Squirrel is prepared to do the same for Vanguard International," Robo Squirrel said, with all the sincerity it was possible to have in his tinny robot voice.

"You know, squirrel... you're all right," Bruteforce said.

"You were worried about Robo Squirrel." The metallic, tiny voice sounded as the mechanized head turned towards BF.

"What?" He answered, surprised.

"When Robo Squirrel was being absorbed into the T5 robot, you called out in concern. You were worried about Robo Squirrel." Robo Squirrel's eyes looked up at BF.

"Uh, well, you know, I was just worried about a fellow teammate. I would've done that for anyone sucked into a giant uh. . .whatever that thing was." BF answered a little nervously.

"Anyone?" Phil looked up from where he was working on a car engine.

"Yeah, anyone." BF answered, mildly annoyed.

"Robo Squirrel accepts your generous offer!" The robot squirrel exclaimed, clamping it's tiny arms around BF's neck. "Robo Squirrel is proud to serve alongside friend Brute Force in Vanguard!"

"Gaahhk. . .kaahhk. . .choking. . ." BF stumbled around Phil's garage as Robo Squirrel clung to his neck.

"He's gone." Phil said.

"How do you know?" Montag questioned, pouring a steaming cup of coffee.

"I felt his mind....briefly...." Smith explained in a somber tone. "....the fact that I couldn't read it simply meant I would be the first to notice when it was gone...."

"That...umm...doesn't make alot of sense to me..." Brianna frowned, buttering her croissante'.

"I know. And it's nothing monopaths would comprehend." he nodded a bit. "But, let me put it this way.....just because you cannot see through a darkened window does not neccessarily mean that you wouldn't notice it if it disappeared completely."

"And, he's disappeared....completely?" Griss asked again, taking a seat at the elegant dining table.

"Utterly. No trace on the planet."

"You can't scan the entire planet....stop putting me on..." Montag winced.

Smith folded his arms with a smug grin.

"...it's a guestimation...fuck off...."

"So Ed's gone....just like that?" Bri pursed her lips. "No goodbye?"

"We should have seen this one coming." Montag replied matter-of-factly, stirring the cool cream into his coffee with slow revolutions. "....Ed has a family, now. He's got completely new responsibilities. It's Rama that surprises me."

Phil nodded, leaning in to slide the letter from across the table.

"What time did he leave this?" Smith asked.

"The bellboy said it was dropped off at the front desk around three-AM. Small asian man was the couriere."

"Mmm." Phil nodded, sucking in on his lower lip as he studied the note. He finally tossed it back onto the table, leaning fully back in his chair.

"Well, three down..." Smith commented solemnly, sipping his coffee.

"Three?" Bri asked.

"Didn't you guys hear about Quantos?" Smith frowned.

"No. What?" Montag shook his head.

"Cardiac arrest. Instant."

"What?!" Bri gasped.

"You're fucking with me!" Montag exclaimed, leaning forward in shock.

"I wish." Smith nodded, dead serious. "They said it was fast. He didn't feel a thing."

"...bloody hell..." Montag sighed, leaning back again. Brianna said nothing, just taking a moment to assimilate the news.

The three Vanguardians sat there quietly for a few minutes, Smith the only one still sipping his drink.

The doorbell sounded, shaking the trio from their revelry. Montag crossed the posh living room of the penthouse suite, opening the door to....

"Morning!" Ben Phillips nodded with a smile, walking in with a bag of breakfast treats. RoboSquirrel whizzed in, as well, following.

"Morning." Smith nodded, as they rejoined the table.

"Did you get the strawberry?" Brianna asked the muscled man taking the seat across the table.

Phillips reached into his sack, quickly sliding a jar of strawberry jam to her.

"Who loves you?" Ben smiled with a wink.

"That guy." she grinned, nudging towards Grissom.

"Okay, then...who thinks you're just damn hot?" he asked, his smile broadening.

"...everyone at this table..." she joked.

"And I'm watching every-bloody-one-of-ya'..." Montag commented, looking around with a faux-intensity and a pointing finger.

"Heh." Ben chuckled, unwrapping a loaf of wheat bread.

Phil just smiled in that subdued manner that he had, simply sipping his coffee. He looked up to his right...

"And where's my strawberry?"

RoboSquirrel, hovering near his head, made a few funny noises, a small computer disc finally ejecting from a slot just under his needled tail.

"Information as requested."

"What's that?" Montag asked, Phil pulling his laptop out of his satchel and injecting the disc.

"Something I asked our new little metallic rodent friend here to download from what we had saved on the archived mainframe..."

"You told him how to get into our hard drives?!" Montag exclaimed. "Are you out of your damn mind? You gave protocol and security access to a completely unknown technological....THING?!"

"Relax." Smith moaned, still uploading the info to his laptop. "I didn't give him anything. I simply asked him to see if he could retrieve the information for me. I figured, if he couldn't, then, he wasn't supposed to.....and if he could...well, couldn't very well have stopped him, eh?"

Griss just huffed, sitting back in irritation and crossed arms. Phil recognized the sound, glancing up at him.

"...Griss...." he stated. "...it's not like we've got alot left to protect..."

Montag and Phil just stared at each other knowingly, Griss finally conceding the point.

"...what'cha got?" he asked, nodding towards the laptop.

Phil punched a few buttons, turning the computer for all to see. On the screen was a Vanguardian employee profile, a few security cam shots of a tall, bald man in gray robes...

"Turkish Stringfellow." Phil commented.

"What about him?" Griss said, leaning in to rest his chin against propped fists.

"Who?" Brianna asked, looking back and forth between them.

"Old employee." Grissom answered, looking at the screen.

"That guy was in Vanguard?" Ben asked between chomps of a extremely large sandwich of some bizarre fashion.

"Awhile back, yeah." Montag nodded. "Never worked with him, outright. He was gone before I got here."

"Me, too." Phil said. "But, we both encountered him, didn't we?"

"...that crazy shit last year..." Griss nodded, rubbing his eyes, as if the memory was confusing in and unto itself.

"Something happened?" Bri asked.

"It's waaay too long of a story." Smith sighed. "Suffice it to say, we learned a few thing about him. About a group called The Order. About his reasons for being here."

"What's all this about, Phil?" Grissom asked.

"This...new guy..." Phil replied.

"That homeless looking bum that helped us out yesterday?" BF asked, taking a chug of his Powerade.

"The very same." Smith answered.

"I know..." Griss replied to Phil, skipping down the logical path Phil was heading. "...it's the eyes."

"Yeah." Phil nodded. "The purple eyes."

Bri and BF frowned to each other, both staring at the picture on the screen.

"So what?" Montag finally offered. "So they have same eye color...."

"Come on." Smith grunted. "The memory problems....the fighting styles..."

"Memory problems?" Bri asked.

"Hey, that guy has purple eyes, too....just like the new guy..." Ben added, still looking at the screen.

"According to the file, Stringfellow was employeed under the pretense of having amnesia, and, nowhere to go." Montag explained, even as Phil turned the laptop back around to punch in a few keys. He slid it back to the others. Now on the screen, was the closest cam-shot they had of Turkish's face, and, an obviously fresh shot of this new stranger's profile.

"Where'd you get the photo?" Montag noticed.

"Had our little squirrel here dump a few visual shots he still had in his memory board from yesterday."

"Oh, now you're giving it access to your laptop, eh?" Montag chuckled, shaking his head. "Get ready for some wonderful viruses...."

"Impossible." RoboSquirrel chimed in. "This unit scans for extraneous system commands every tenth-of-a-secon---"

"Oh, be quiet..." Grissom interrupted. "...Phil, give it to me. You think this guy is Turkish?"

"No, no." Phil shook his head. "It's not Turkish. I mean, the similarities are there, but, the physical traits are pretty off."

"How can you tell with all of that hair?" Bri grinned, studying the perfectly smooth-skinned man on the left, and the bushy-haired man on the right.

"Point." BF nodded.

"He's got to be connected....or something." Phil sighed, leaning back again. "It's far too coincedental. Far too similiar."

"Yeah...agreed..." the thief mumbled in thought.

"So, what do we do? Ask him?" BF asked.

"If it were that simple." Smith commented. "Amnesia, and all of that."

"Have you tried dipping into his mind?" Montag questioned.

"No, of course not." Smith replied. "I'd never do that without his permission, and you know it..."

"Oh, don't give me that load of bollocks..." Grissom rolled his eyes. "...since when do you follow such a bloody strict code?"

"Are you questioning my honor, Griss?" Phil slightly grinned.

"For telepathy, yes!" Montag shot back.

Smith studied him for a moment, finally shrugging.

"Well, I haven't exactly had the time..." he admitted.

"Well, he's upstairs...in the library..." Brianna shrugged. "...why not go up there now?"

"He's....here?" Phil asked with a frown. "You let him stay here last night?"

"So?" Montag asked.

"He's a fucking stranger!" Smith exclaimed. "How can you sleep in the same building with someone you hardly kn--"

Phil caught himself, realizing who he was asking this question to. Montag cocked an amused eyebrow at him.

Phil turned to Brianna.

"Okay, how can you sleep in the same building with someone you hardly know?"

"I don't know..." Brianna smiled, spreading jam another croissante'. "...about as easy as giving security access for company mainframes to someone I hardly know..."

Montag broke out into a loud chuckle, Phil cocking a dry eye at her evil grin, shaking a lone finger her way...

"...he's corrupting you, you know..."

(To Be Continued)

He sat, this lone figure.

Nestled in the lush silk of the armchair, his posture refused to give way to the comfort of the moment. His feet remained together. His back, perfectly ridgid and aware. His body seemed poised for some response.......or some attack.

Except for his hands.

His hands moved in a fluid, elusive motion, caressing the pages of mortal consciousness. Sharp eyes, faintly purple, scanned the likes of Shakespeare, Alighieri, Lewis, Vonnegut, Meltzer, and Moore. The sheer verbal artistry captivated his gaze as he read.....as he devoured.....the classic wisdoms of humanity.

"Whew!" Smith breathed, wincing as he waved a hand in front of his face. "Time for a bath, don't you think?"

The stranger merely looked up at him, the rest of the group coming up the stairs behind Smith.

"Is it?" he asked.

"Phil Smith...." the telepath offered, sticking his hand out. "...we met yesterday..."

"...on the beach, yes..." the stranger replied, accepting the handshake.

"Yeah...." Smith nodded, plopping down in a chair across from him. "...listen, let's talk."

Grissom strolled behind them, leaning up against the bookcase next to Smith. Bri and Ben slid into an 18th century sitting couch, Phillips still munching on his sandwich.

The stranger, watching everyone assemble in the room, quietly closed his current read. He placed it gently onto the adjoining endtable, and folded his fingers together.

"Okay." he nodded.

Smith glanced at Griss, and back again.

"Ever heard of a guy named.....Turkish Stringfellow?" Phil asked.

The stranger paused, as if searching his lack of memory.

"...no..." he finally answered sincerely.

"Right. Okay...." Smith nodded a bit, still staring at him. "...let me ask something different......why are you here?"

The stranger looked up at Grissom, and back to Phil.

"Because he invited me?" he offered with a keen honesty.

"Heh." Griss grunted, as Phil leaned forward shaking his head.

"No, no, no...." he tried again. "....I know why you are here, in the penthouse...I want to know why you are here...on La Perdita?"

The man considered the question a moment, looking off with a frown. After a great deal of struggle, he finally sighed...

"...I do not know..." he admitted. "....I am sorry I cannot tell you more..."

"Why?" Phil cocked an eye. "Why are you sorry?"

"...what?"

"Why should you care?" Phil asked succinctly. "I mean, you know us about as well as we know you. Why get involved on the beach? Why save us?"

The stranger nodded.

"Those are a lot of questions."

"...I'll say..." Grissom grunted, cocking his eye at Phil with that 'Ease up or you'll get nowhere' expression.

Smith replied with the standard 'Piss off I know what I'm doing' look.

"Why did I involve myself?" the stranger began repeating. "Why did I intervene on your behalf?"

Everyone listened, waiting for an answer.

After a moment, they realized that he was repeating the questions back to Phil.

"...that's.......pretty much what I'm asking....." Smith finally breathed. "...yeah..."

"I see." the man nodded.

The room went silent again, as they stared at the man. He, in turn, continued to say nothing.

"...well?" Grissom finally said.

The stranger looked up at him.

"I'm sorry." he confessed. "What was the question?"

"Are you fucking with me?" Smith suddenly asked. He quickly turned to Grissom, the thief coming to full stance. "Is he fucking with me?"

"Listen..." Montag began, a steady finger pointing at the man.

The stranger immediately broke into a guilty smile, raising his hands in a submissive posture.

"I...forgive me..." he half chuckled. "...it is these books..."

He waved his hand at all of the tombs lining the floor around his chair.

"They...excite me..." he breathed with a deep appreciation. "...my mind feels...rejuvenated...fresh..."

He stopped, looking up at them.

"I mean you no harm." he began. "I realize that you do not know me. I realize that I do not know you."

He centered on Smith.

"Why did I help you?" he began. "Because, I did."

Phil opened his mouth to question, the man cutting him off...

"I know, I know....." he nodded. "...you wish for more. You wish to understand my actions."

He paused, looking at everyone.

"And I wish for nothing more, for my very self." he continued. "Who am I? Why do I feel compelled to...aid you? For that, I simply have no answers to give you."

Everyone remained silent for a moment, Phil finally leaning forward.

"There is....no denying that you helped us....all of us....by pulling us out of that...thing..." the Vanguardian began. "...and, I want to thank you for that. However, you have to understand, given the very nature of who we are, and what we do.....we have to know that we can trust you. We have to have some answers."

The stranger nodded, looking down a bit.

"I understand."

"As a solution for both of our problems, may I offer a telepathic probe? Into your mind?"

The man looked up with a slight frown.

"You want to...look...into my mind?" he asked a bit confused.

"Yes, please." Smith nodded. "I think I might be able to find what we are looking for..."

The man thought about it for a moment, and, finally sat back fully in his chair.

"I accept."

Phil grinned, leaning back himself.

Everything was silent..............except for the faint chewing noises Phillips was making.

Montag looked at Phil, and, then, to the stranger. And then, back to Phil again, getting ansy.

"Well?" he asked.

Silence.

"Well?" he asked again.

Phil slowly turned his head to glare at his friend.

"...well....what...?" he stated very slowly and with a touch of menace.

"Well, aren't you going to read his mind?!" Montag insisted.

"I am reading his mind." Smith stated very sharply.

"...okay, okay...." Griss nodded, turning away.

Phil turned back to the man, his eyes going closed.

Griss watched them, turning back and forth again. He did this a few more times, becoming impatient.

"Aren't you going to, like, extend you hands to his hea--"

"Bri!" Smith barked, eyes still closed.

"...Griss, why don't you come sit down over here by me..." Brianna cooed, leading a glaring Montag away.

Griss dipped his head back over to Phil....

"...I own a company, you know..." he quipped, Brianna quickly pulling him back.

Phil sighed.

And his mind....drifted........moved.......searched.......

Quote:

---

.....a sudden breeze washed over his face, the salty air almost burning his nostrils. Phil opened his eyes to see the wide, blue ocean stretch forth before him. Red tattered rags hung to his body in protest, and a thick, bushy black covered his face and head.

He looked around, in this fragment of someone else. The ocean stretched as far as he could see. He looked down to see his bare feet standing....literally....on the surface of the swaying water. And it felt....solid, yet...not. More like smooth, glassy clay...molding to his feet.

Smith turned to find his bearing....to understand where the man was during this moment in his life. He slowly turned all the way around, his eyes suddenly widening with a horrible awe.

Before him, a wall of black stretched straight up from the depths of the ocean, all the way into the hazy clouds above. Stretching as far to his left and right, Smith tried to take in the scale of it all.

It seemed endless in all directions, perfectly limiting passage in only one direction.

Forward. South.

To La Perdita.

Phil reached out, barely grazing the wall with his fingertips. And, with a sudden force, rammed a single punch into it.

Solid. Unbreakable. Impregnable.

He nodded, closing his eyes again......

---

.....and the wind died away.

Opening his eyes back up, he stared into the face of the stranger.

"....he's telling the truth..." Smith announced, Grissom walking over.

"What did you see?"

"A...block...the largest damn block I've ever seen in my life..." he admitted, rubbing his face. "Griss...it's staggering....every single thing before...I don't know...about one-hundred-miles north, in the middle of the fucking ocean.....blocked off."

"Are you serious?" Montag frowned.

"Completely." he nodded. He looked up at the stranger. "Memory-wise, this man didn't exist until two days ago."

Bri stood up, walking over, even as BF looked at RoboSquirrel.

"...I'm not really getting alot of this..." he shrugged.

"This unit is recording all." the droid replied. "RoboSquirrel will allow playback for Bruteforce at a later date."

"It's...ah...'Brute' and 'Force'....two words..." the man corrected.

"RoboSquirrel stated name correctly."

"No, see...you didn't..." BF replied. "You said 'Bruteforce'....all one word....it's not all one word..."

"RoboSquirrel stated Bruteforce's name correctly."

"You did it again!" BF insisted, clutching a half-eaten fifth sandwich. "You did it again!"

"RoboSquirrel is now returning focus to other members of Vanguard." the rodent said, before hovering away.

Ben threw a pickle at him.

Smith, Montag, and Bri stepped over to the corner of the room, talking low to themselves...

"So? What do think?" Grissom asked.

"I'm not sure." Smith replied. "I still don't feel like we got any more answers. I mean, if nothing else, his amnesia is real, if not artificial..."

"You mean it's...planted?" Bri queried. "Someone...gave him amnesia?"

"Yes, definitely." Smith nodded. "There is no way what I saw was a natural occurence."

"What if he was just in an accident, you know?" Grissom began.

"Even if he was in an accident, there is no way a natural block like that would exist so....flawlessly. I'm telling you Grissom, what I saw was made. On purpose. It was a work of mental art."

"Hey, why not find this Turkish person?" Bri suggested. "Get him in here, and see if he knows why this guy is stealing his motif?"

"Good...." Montag nodded. "....but, I have no idea how to get in touch with Stringfellow."

He glanced at Phil.

"You?" he asked.

Phil, chewing on his fingernail, just shook his head.

"Then...what do we do?" Bri asked.

Grissom thought for a moment, pondering the routes he should take with this. Finally, he simply leaned back up, and began to walk back across the room to the stranger.

"So....nowhere to go....nothing to do?" Grissom asked the stranger.

"Not that I know of, no..." the man replied.

"Right." Griss shrugged. "Normal applicant description for this lot."

"So.....he's in?" Brianna asked.

Griss looked at Phil.

"....can't very well discriminate against the amnesiac...." Phil stated.

Griss glanced back at Ben.

"Input?"

"The more the merrier, I say..." Phillips nodded, finishing the sandwich.

"RoboSquirrel approves canidate."

"No one asked, you buggery thing..." Montag dismissed.

"...Griss..." Brianna chided, poking him in the ribs a few times.

"What do you think?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"I don't think we should turn down anyone seeking to help us." she replied. "Especially not these days."

"Right...." Grissom nodded. He turned to look at the stranger that was simply taking all of this in.

"How about you?" he asked. "You want to hang out with us? Have a few laughs? Get into a few scrapes?"

The man stared at him for only a moment.

"Accepted." he finally nodded with a small grin.

"Good." Montag smiled. "Now, what the hell are we going to call you?"

(To Be Continued)

Ed's Restaurant

The sun hit the building of the restaurant giving it an almost majestic glow on the beautiful island day. A well dressed Priest stepped up to the door way with a smile on his face and a gleam in his eye.

"I can't wait to go over these new security plans with Ed. Oh what a beautiful day it is."

The 80 year old yet still striking youthful and handsome African American ex-solider from the future stated to no one in particular. He opened the door and stepped into the restaurant, only to find the lights off.

"Ed?" Priest stated with curiosity, "Ed, where are you?"

Preist stepped in and looked around. Ed and his family were no where to be found. Gone. Priest felt it deep within his soul, that Ed might not be back... for a while. Maybe ever.

"Shortest job I ever had." He stated again, to no one in particular before realizing what he should do, for Ed, for the Eurostar!

"ehy! In Ed's memory I will open this restaurant and I will keep his dream alive!"

And Priest did.

And Eurostar's dream will live on... forever.

"What is it?" Brianna frowned, staring at the snapshot.

The doctor shrugged, handing her the picture.

"I want to say it's a tatoo..." the physician replied. "...but, the raised indentions on the skin...I believe it was burned into him."

"Burned?" Grissom frowned, standing behind Bri, looking over her shoulder at the polaroid.

"Mmm." the man nodded. "It looks like it's been there for awhile, too."

"Burned as in......branded?" Phil asked, lounging in the waiting room couch.

"Given the delicate design, I'd say it pretty improbable as just a random scar." the man nodded.

"...weird..." Ben Phillips said, as he leaned over Grissom and Brianna, finally getting to see the picture. RoboSquirrel hovered up above his head, watching all.

It seemed to be a....symbol, of some kind. And something sparked in Grissom's mind...something familiar...

"Anyway....just thought you'd want to see that." the resident physician commented, turning to leave. "Other than that, he's in absolute perfect health. Scary, really..."

"Thank you, doctor...." Montag nodded, looking back at the photo.

Staring at it with squinted eyes...

"Think it's a cult-like-thing?" Bri asked, looking up at her lover.

"What does it matter?" Ben asked. "I mean, the doc said he was healthy."

"Phillips is right." Smith nodded, standing up.

"I am?" Ben asked with wrinkled lips.

"We've learned enough about this man." Phil continued. "It's one thing to be cautious, but, it's another to intrude on his privacy."

"Oh gawd..." Montag sighed with a roll of his eyes. "...here we go again with your supposed Code of Ethics..."

"Come on, I'm serious. And you know I'm right." Smith punched him on the arm.

"....i swear to god if you hit me one more time...." Montag grumbled through a nasty stare.

"We've always respected each other's privacy, haven't we?" Phil asked. "This doesn't have to change now."

"Yes it does...." Brianna interjected. "....I mean, I never knew this organized, military-swat-team-Vanguard you two seem to pine after. I must have just missed it...."

Phil and Griss kind of shuffled their feet, looking around.

"....but, whether I did or not, it's not like that anymore." she continued. "Vanguard is no longer an army. It's just us..."

She motioned around at the four remaining Vanguardians.

"...it's just us. And...us have to be closer than we used to be. We have to trust each other more fully, because, we are the only things we can count on, now."

Everyone paused, thinking about what she was saying.

"...so, what do you suggest?" Phil asked her.

"Well, how about this...." she began. "....if he wants to help, good. I'll accept him. But, he's going to have to earn our trust. We can't just heap it on him freely as we've done so in the past."

"Agreed." Montag nodded, hoping that everyone in the room was currently remembering that he was shagging this woman three weeks out of the month.

"Smart." Smith agreed.

Grissom's eyes danced back to the photo....

"Hey, as I said earlier....more the merrier...." Phillips added. "I'm down with the party, and I brought the potatoe salad, know what I mean?"

Phil looked over to Ben.

"...no..." he replied.

"Dude, you are sooooo 'white'...." he shook his head.

"Latin."

Everyone paused, looking over at Montag.

"Griss?" Bri asked.

"Latin." he repeated, pointing at the symbol on the picture. "That's what this is..."

"Latin? As in, the language?" Smith frowned, coming over to have another look at the picture. "That doesn't look Latin to me. I know Latin. I've never seen anything like that."

"It's old." Montag explained. "Very...very old. History-old."

"Explain..." Smith shook his head, confused.

"Old mentor was a history-buff, you know...." Montag began. "...had all these books about the great empires of history. The greatest of civilizations."

He looked back at the picture.

"I've seen that symbol before. It's how the old gladiators were marked by their emperor. It's their slave-name..."

Phil's eyes stared at the picture, amazed at this information.

"This guy....this guy was....a slave?" he asked.

"I'm not saying that." Griss answered. "Just saying...that's what this is..."

"Well, what does it say?" Bri asked. "What's his name?"

****************************************************************

Down the hall, the stranger finished buttoning the cuffs of a nice cream button-up. The burgandy vest stretched with splendor against a tightly-honed chest. Gray slacks, and black loafers made up the generous donation from Grissom Montag.

The man rubbed his face a bit, his newly shaven and bathed jaw a bit itchy. He leaned down, looking into the small table mirror in the examination room, staring at his own visage....



He leaned back up with a sigh, the face in the mirror a stranger....

He turned with the knock at the door, Grissom opening slowly.

"Can we come in?" he asked, Phil right behind him.

"Certainly." the man nodded.

"Hey, look at you..." Phil smiled in approval of his washed look.

"Yes." the man agreed, looking at Grissom. "I really must thank you for the clothes."

"Well, if you like that, you're going to love this...." the thief began. "...we think we have your name."

The man paused, staring at him.

"Really?"

"Yes." Montag nodded. "How does the name Tiberius sound?"

The man thought for a moment, the name seemingly ringing a bell with him.

"Yes.....yes...." he began. "....Tiberius...."

Grissom, Brianna, Brute Force, and Phil sat around the dining table in Grissom and Brianna's apartment, all staring down into their coffee cups.

"So that's it? New guy on the team?" Brute Force asked.

"Tiberius? Yeah. I think we can trust him," Phil said.

"Until the voice in his head goes crazy, takes over his body, and tries to kill us all and send our DNA to the future," Grissom added. The others at the table just glared at him.

"What? That was a joke..."

None of them said anything for a moment.

"Don't, Griss..." Brianna said softly, putting a hand on his knee.

"Of course, we do have the matter of another new member and another question of trust," Phil said, changing the subject and casting his gaze across the table, looking his teammates in the eye one by one.

"You mean Robo Squirrel?" Brianna asked.

"Yes. Robo Squirrel," Phil replied.

"Come on, we have to trust the little guy," Brute Force said.

"Why?" Grissom asked.

"He saved our asses back on the beach," Ben replied. "Plus... well, he's really cool."

"What?"

"Come on! He's a flying silver squirrel!" Brute Force said, a little too enthusiastically.

"We don't know where he comes from. What he's here for," Grissom said.

"We could ask him," Brute Force answered. Before waiting for a reply, he stood up and opened the door to Grissom's living room. Robo Squirrel was hovering in the middle of the room vacuuming, a vacuum cleaner attachment on his arm and a pink frilled apron wrapped around his midsection.

"Robo Squirrel? Can you come in here for a second?" Ben asked.

"Affirmative" Robo Squirrel replied, and buzzed right past Brute Force and into the dining room.

Phil stood. "We need to ask you some questions," He said.

"Robo Squirrel is happy to answer any questions for his teammates in Vanguard International."

"Right..." Phil paused for a second at the squirrel's declaration. "Who made you?"

Robo Squirrel hovered silently for a moment as Phoney Origin Story Subroutine 4-D ran itself.

"Robo Squirrel was designed and built by Professor Galileo Sharpe. Robo Squirrel was Professor Sharpe's prototype model for a series of robots designed to aid and protect humanity. Professor Sharpe was killed when thieves broke into his office and attacked him, intending to steal Sharpe's designs for Robo Squirrel. If it was not for Robo Squirrel, Professor Galileo Sharpe would still be alive..."

The squirrel trailed off into silence for a moment. Brute Force tenderly patted him.

"Professor Sharpe's plans were lost in the attack. Robo Squirrel is all that remains of his work. Robo Squirrel will continue to follow his directives, as programmed by Professor Galileo Sharpe. Aid and protect humanity."

Robo Squirrel hovered there silently, his story finished.

Epilogue: Grissom and Brianna

Grissom Montag pulled his shirt over his head, grunting slightly as he did so. From the bed, Brianna looked at him curiously, eyeing the scars and bruises that lined his back. The mercenary sank to the bed with a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her green eyes flashing playfully. "Age catching up with you?"

Grissom looked over his shoulder, grinning slightly. "It's not the years, luv... it's the mileage..."

Brianna cocked an eyebrow curiously. Grissom shook his head slightly, his visage dropping a bit. "Never mind, luv. I'll tell ya later..."

Then, running his hand through his hair, he sighed again, this one long and drawn out... almost tired. Worried, Brianna sat up, wrapping an arm around Grissom.

"What's wrong, Griss?" she asked, kissing his back gently.

"Nothing," the merc said.

"Griss..." Brianna said knowingly. "I know you better than that. Something's bothering you. What is it? Is it about Charlie, Rama, and Ed leaving? About these new guys? What is it?"

"No, no," Grissom said, shaking his head. "It's nothing like that..."

"Then tell me what it's like," the pigeon-lady cooed, pulling her lover's body down until his head was resting on her lap. Lovingly, she gingerly ran her fingers through his blonde locks as the Sandcrawler began to open up.

"It's... it's Omicron..."

"Johnny Omicron?" Brianna asked. "That guy from the Strikeforce?"

"Yeah," Grissom nodded, closing his eyes. "Something he said today. Out on the beach. It really got to me..." Almost absent-mindedly, Grissom's hand reached up to his throat, where Omicron's blade had held him at bay on the beach.

Sensing his discomfort, Brianna reached out with her free hand and took hold of his, grasping it tightly in her own. "What did he say?" she asked gently.

"He said I'd gone soft..." Grissom said. He paused then, breathing in deeply, as though attempting to regain his composure. His eyes clamped down harder as he exhaled, slowly. "I think he may be right..."

Brianna looked down at Grissom's vulnerable form. "Why do you say that?" she asked.

"I dunno," he sighed. "I've never been a team player before now. It's not necessarily something I'm used to. I dunno... sometimes I just feel... different... than I used to..."

"'Good' different or 'bad' different?"

"I think it's a good different, y'know?" Grissom said, looking up at Brianna, his brown eyes sparkling. "Still... I'm not the man I used to be. I've gotten older. I've gotten..."

"...softer?" Brianna answered.

Grissom closed his eyes again, nodding slightly... but he couldn't speak anymore. He lay there, silent, his feet hanging off the edge of the bed. His head lying in Banshee's lap.

Brianna leaned down, close to Grissom's ear, and whispered to him. "Listen to me, Grissom Luther Montag," she whispered, both with intensity and compassion. "You have changed, yes. You have grown. You're not the man you used to be... and that's a good thing.

"You have other people now. People that you care about..." she gingerly kissed his earlobe, "...and people who care about you.

"I've seen the way the others respond to you, Griss. They see you as a leader... and they need someone to follow. We have faith in your abilities. Faith in what you are capable of.

"Do you think Ben would trust someone who'd 'gone soft'? I don't. The new guys... Phil... me..."

Grissom opened his eyes as Brianna said that, noticing a small tear rolling down her cheek.

"We need you, Grissom."

The Sandcrawler sat up slowly, caressing Brianna's cheek in his left hand. Slowly, his mouth curved into a smile - not the smirk he was so famous for - but a genuine smile. "Thank you," he said, kissing her lips passionately.

After a few moments, the two separated, looking at one another lovingly. "I love you," Brianna whispered to him.

"I know," Montag answered, his cocky grin returning. The sudden glare he got from Banshee softened his visage a bit. "I love you too," he said, kissing her again.

And, as they sank to the sheets below, Grissom Montag and Brianna Fionghuala held one another close, knowing that the other would never let go.

God is in His heaven...

...and - for now - all is right with the world.