Repurposed 17.0

Interval 17.0 Binding Contract
September 14, 2017
1100, Location Unknown
Specific Location Unknown



"Oh, she was right. This room really… needs… some work," Paxton said with a chuckle as he glanced slowly around it. His deep voice, though already quiet, was swallowed up further by that admittedly-nice carpeting. He'd found this locale easier to get a grasp on, Vortally, than any of the Mystery's other haunts, perhaps because it was the one that was strongest in Melissa's memories. There were others, fleeting constructs that Paxton could almost see in the Vortessence if he let his mind wander on the subject. But none of them were really places he wanted to go visit, let alone where he believed the Mystery would be with any frequency.

For the briefest of moments, Paxton wondered: where was he now, for instance? Not 'here' in his own office, that was extremely obvious. Did he wander the Outlands? Have a nice place set up in one of the Cities? A fake but pleasant home like Wilson's? Or was he simply not there when people weren't looking? Oh now that would be something to work on. At this time, however, Paxton wanted to concentrate more on his surroundings than postulation about his ancestor's other lairs, or his current whereabouts.

Paxton could tell why Mel would have found this place to be lacking, but for his part, and clearly for the Mystery, it did what it needed to. It got the point across. It was dark, intimidating, almost soulless in its sterility.

It had a desk, two chairs, and some lights.

Soon, it would have a desk, two chairs, lights, and an intricately detailed black and white marble chess set.

Paxton was positive that kallah-vahh knew how to play. He was less confident in what his reaction would be to having his personal space invaded and altered thus. But then again, Paxton knew that this was one of the things that the Mystery had dangled over Wilson for his own training years before: find it, enter it. Wilson had worked reasonably hard at that, but it was one of the things he'd had trouble with, too. Not in the making of his own, but in the breaking into of another's.

It hadn't been easy, either of those goals, even for Paxton. Finding it, not terribly hard: Melissa had been here on numerous occasions and he could utilize her connection to it, to reach the place. Getting in? That was the tough part. As he'd been able to get a Vortal hook onto Wilson in Xen a few months ago, though, once Paxton got his mind around locating a place that didn't exist, everything else fell in line. But he could definitely understand why Wilson had difficulty with this matter. These places were slippery as hell to hold on to, when they weren't your own. It was only because of Pax's training that he did as well as this anyway.

Paxton didn't feel too sorry for Wilson, not after visiting that house of his. That place impressed the crap out of Mel, it was nice. Frankly Paxton had learned more about Wilson just by exploring that snowbound home of his than in hours worth of banter while fighting. Wilson liked things clean and neat, though he himself was an adept assassin that enjoyed ripping people to shreds; he wanted to come home to something pleasant, relaxing, a contrast to those moments of bloodletting. Wilson was as much a creature of habit as anyone, Paxton included. Pax knew that he'd interrupted those habits. Not just by becoming the Mystery's heir. He'd invaded Wilson's home, as he was similarly doing here in the Mystery's office. But he'd been in Wilson's home with his permission. He'd been there because Wilson opened that door and allowed entry.

He now knew exactly where to find it, if 'where' could be the correct term. Wilson claimed that it had taken only a few days to really iron out the whole place. But then, admitted that that was because it had taken him that long to explore the real house out there in northern Europe. He'd taken what he wanted from it: the smooth textures, the rich scents, chill outside contrasted against the warmth within, and he'd left out what didn't need to be duplicated. Paxton guessed those things included neighbors, blood stains, and the owner's body. Wilson was justifiably proud of his home, his creation; even if it had its counterpart in reality, it was still a nice place.

The question really was: when no one was there, did it exist at all? Did anything like this? These constructs?

Turns out they did, at least… in a way. He could… what was the term the Mystery had used? Manifest it, so he could be here. It wasn't at all like his Sanctuary, in that regard. This place of the Mystery's left impressions on the people who had ever been within it. Melissa, Wilson, Eli, probably dozens of others from Black Mesa, Aperture, Armacham. But most of those others were long dead, and Melissa's memories of it were all Paxton needed to get a Vortal grappling-hook into it. The other constructs were fainter, less tangible, though he didn't doubt that he could manifest any of those too. They would come to life with his Vortal nudge. Like turning on a light, perhaps; a Vortal power supply was all they needed.

Paxton appraised the place, got an additional chuckle out of the 'door-less' feature once he'd noticed it, wondered what the windows usually displayed on…? In? Through? Through them – but didn't decide to try and make anything appear in them. That would be far more of an intrusion than merely showing up to deliver a gift.

Plus, Paxton wondered how long would he be able to just be here, before the Mystery caught him? He knew that every time he moved through the Barrier, the Mystery sensed it, even if it wasn't under his own power such as when he used the Relay. Wilson did too; he and Paxton were tied together Vortally even if they were at each other's throats much of their physical time together. Paxton had yet to sense either of them moving around dimensions like this, but he considered that learning to do so was only a matter of time and practice. As long as he was shown how to do it, at least once, he'd be able to recreate that effort.

Just like he'd been able to travel through the Barrier properly, since that first trip, carried by the Mystery from Xen into Black Mesa. Even though he'd been half-asleep and fully exhausted at the time, that was a lesson he eagerly learned.

Paxton's experiences on Xen, both good and bad, had taught him much. Primarily that it was considerably easier getting there, than getting out. Also, that it was easier for him to do it without that kallah; he'd accidentally done that again at least once while practicing. It was not, however, to Xen that he'd gone this time. He had been meditating back in his dorm, his own oldest secure haunt, in the Enrichment Center. A stop at the Sanctuary, mainly to refresh his own memory for that chess set he was delivering, and then, directly to this office. Why waste the effort of moving through a dimension he hated? He could go there later.

For now, however, it was his own version of hide and seek that Paxton played. Those old childhood games wherein he never wanted to play the bait? Now, the memories of them caused a little flicker of paranoia. Would he sense if the Mystery was looking in on him? Or was it easier to be unseen than all that? It wouldn't surprise Paxton if that was the case; his brother did it even without thinking. Paxton also realized just then and on that point: he would probably have to learn to tone down his own aura, his own presence, try and slink past either Wilson or the Mystery without being noticed. That would be difficult. Pax was used to being seen, and they were used to watching.

Paxton also had the strong impression that their exhausting training sessions weren't done just yet. These activities were more than just for fun, or merely testing limits and making tick-marks on a checklist. What those skills were eventually going to be for, he still didn't know. It wasn't like with his old keepers: he knew what they wanted, gave it to them easily. Wilson and his prime…

They liked playing games, that was for sure. Paxton hoped that this one would be interpreted properly. Or at least, without hostility. He could only imagine what Wilson would do if he broke in there. Well that wasn't true: he could show up, sit around, enjoy the fireplace. In fact he'd been invited to do so. All right, so it was Wilson's half-joking attempt at offering to spend quality time with 'dad' to make up for trying to drown him on Xen; but he couldn't complain if Paxton actually did show up there. He'd complain less if that visit also included leaving Melissa there for a while. Yeah, that'd happen. Paxton chuckled to himself. He might just drop by later.

Pax wouldn't, however, fuck with the place. It wasn't his. Melissa's shock at seeing what Paxton had created in her own mind-space taught him that he might want to think twice about jumping right in and altering someone else's work. She'd never presumed to enter his space, even though it was her mind it rested in. She wasn't one of those overly polite girls, either: she had done so out of respect for his privacy and not for fear of his reaction. So it was with that respect in mind that Paxton merely looked but didn't touch.

She'd chastise him worse than Wilson might; Mel would know if he did anything in any of their spaces, she was like that. She'd be able to sense it, if not spot it Vortally right off. That damnably good visual memory for genetic combinations at work. But even if this sleek and somewhat sinister office was a bit bland, Paxton knew better than to start redecorating it. Except for this one thing.

Paxton had created many objects before: items which remained within Melissa's mind, sound and whole, when he was not there directly. But this was a bit different. He had to make this out of someone else's space, using someone else's power, to keep it there. He wondered too, if the Mystery would sense this as it happened? Mel hadn't sensed it, when he'd used her power.

He had a chess set just like this at the Sanctuary, so Paxton already knew what he'd wanted it to look and feel like. Whether it would be here after he vanished? That, he still didn't know. He trusted the one in his Sanctuary to exist with or without him. But that was because it all ran on Mel's brainpower. Plus, a part of his own mind was usually there, keeping it occupied while he studied. Here, would his attempt to access the location allow him to further utilize whatever spare power remained… Or did this room appear, manifesting anew, whole-cloth, as it had originally been created by the Mystery? Was it really like creating the universe upon turning on that light switch? Or just illuminating what was already there, as he'd imagined?

Paxton chided himself: he was over-thinking it all. Wilson's place had all the signs of wear and tear that a normal home would show. When he'd finally looked around the place there were dishes in the sink, rumpled clothing in the laundry hamper, spare stubble from that insanely fast-growing facial hair he sported decorating the bathroom sink. Wilson's home existed if not continuously, at least contiguously from one manifestation to the next.

Logically, this place would do the same. He could take the chairs and switch them, they'd still be switched if he left and came back. He didn't bother trying that, to test the theory. Travel through the Barrier was far more difficult than merely teleporting, and there was nowhere to teleport to, here. Plus he noted easily that the chairs showed their own signs of having been well-used.

This chess set of his fully materialized on the desk, before his eyes, and Paxton smiled at himself. He inspected the pieces, they were mostly as long as his fingers, properly sized to one another. They had heft to them, they were not fragile.

The chess board looked nice on that big black desk. He'd made it of the same color scheme and texture anyway; the black pieces and squares bearing a slightly lighter graphite sheen in places, the white ones veined with pale streaks of quartz. They were reasonably traditional looking pieces, but far from simple designs.

If Paxton had ever seen a horse, it was now frozen in miniature marble form as a Knight. He'd given some thought to creating the pieces to look like people he knew, but felt that might have been a bit over the top. Besides, there were so many people he could have chosen as Pawns. Who to choose as Kings? Queens? He didn't want to make the wrong choices, he was picky.

As well, he didn't want to offend anyone with the portrayal. Who would he have chosen as a black Queen, to play opposite the obvious choice of Melissa as the white? Would it have been himself and his brother as Kings? How antagonistic; he didn't feel comfortable with the level of potential prophesy there, nor with leaving Alyx as that other Queen. No one jumped out at him as Bishops, either, really, since he wasn't completely sure he understood their societal role. Not only had he never been involved in any sort of religion (he was his own God, after all), it was a bit difficult to pin down what they'd done before the world ended. The Rooks, however, did bear a striking resemblance to Citadels. The Pawns, a bit like his Replicas – soldiers at least, with sword and shield.

The set now rested in the middle of that big black marble-topped desk, black facing the business end of it, white likewise out to the visitor's seat. He chose a Pawn, set it into its new square.

Paxton absently wondered whether he'd catch hell for any of it. Though perhaps that would be missing the point of the exercise entirely, and he knew better than to think that the Mystery would feel it to be inappropriate. The Mystery hadn't actually told him that he wanted him to do this. It was Wilson's discussion, about it and many other aspects of his own training before Paxton had been born, that inspired him to try. He wasn't trying to show off, or disturb anything else. He didn't go rooting through the desk's many drawers, though he was sorely tempted.

Paxton removed himself from the space, walked back into his own Sanctuary to place that pawn into its new location, even as he stood in his dorm to do the same on a far less impressive and much older wooden set on his desk.


***


It took three weeks and fifteen moves for the Mystery to beat Paxton at that first game, as well as for the two of them to be in the room at the same time. Paxton had come into the grey chamber, a few days before, with the knowledge that he'd lost; he'd predicted both the outcome of the game as well as which strategies would be in use when he saw the second move. But still, he wasn't playing to win.

Not the first game. Nor the second.

"It surprises me somewhat," the Mystery said, not taking his storm-colored eyes off of the board and pieces before him, "that you lost. Twice."

"Why is that?" Paxton said, his own eyes watching his opponent, rather than any moves he chose to make. He knew the outcome of this, their third game, as well. They had played the second over the course of several days, not silently but not terribly chatty with one another either. This time, however, was different in several significant ways. Paxton was playing to win, and they were having a conversation. This game had lasted no more than half an hour, so far.

The Mystery gave a brief confused frown, still didn't raise his hand to touch the pieces. There were only seven left on the board, and it occurred to him earlier that he was going to lose this time, to his young heir. In two moves, now, and that was only if he didn't forfeit. "It… merely was my assumption that you would play more… aggressively?" He didn't add, as you are doing now.

Paxton's faintest smirk didn't go unnoticed. "I could say the same thing about your tactics in the second game," he replied. "It took some effort to lose."

Without changing his posture, kallah-vahh flickered his eyes up to Paxton's. "I see," with that though, he did begin to smile. He hadn't expected this delightful twist: his obvious misinterpretation that his heir was that bad. It hadn't originally occurred to him that Paxton purposefully lost both games, until just then. The first game, certainly. But the second? That was intriguing, and he wondered why Pax had done it. "There is much more to all of this, then, I presume. It isn't about the game we're playing."

"Not in the slightest," Paxton admitted. "At least, not those games." He placed his fingers together, folding them over his knee. "It's never been about chess." Paxton hoped that it had been clear: that this was merely a way to break the ice, begin more formal talks about his duties. He didn't think for a moment that he'd been too subtle. And of all people, kallah-vahh knew from subtle.

Paxton could see so much in this room that was hardly obvious to the eye. To his eyes, the room was no different than it had been the prior times he'd visited it, with the sole exceptions of the Mystery's presence in it and the positions of the pieces on that chess board. But Vortally…

So many things had happened here. People disturbed the Vortessence with their distress or anger or worries. Not too many happy memories danced around this chamber. He had noticed some of these faint echoes on his prior trips, but it was only when the Mystery was there that they truly lit up. Though Paxton couldn't specifically detect individual events, he could surely feel the impressions that they'd left. And it was at those impressions that Paxton looked; whether the Mystery knew, wished him to, or cared what he'd find. Since he wasn't going to tell Paxton about himself, this was the best way to gather that information up.

There was more in this place than stark walls and a desk. There were echoes, energy that had been focused here. Not just other people's energies: the Mystery was not merely this room's creator. He was its primary inhabitant, one constant among all the instances of its existence. He'd had his angry moments, his silent triumphs, indignant defeats, unexpected surprises, right there where he now sat. He was not immune to this process; it was Vortal, it happened to everything all the time. Even in his own constructed realm. Perhaps particularly in his own realms.

His personal energies were more subtle, that was certain. Paxton was sure that all the normal people's imprints on this place were brighter than the Mystery's, or perhaps it was that the Mystery's energy eventually just bled into the background, a kind of static. It was difficult to detect, in that regard. But if that meant that Paxton had to look from other angles to get what he needed, he was used to doing so. He was used to seeing with far more than his own two eyes. The varied energies of times past, he learned, could be of extreme value here. Paxton could treat each stratum of Vortessence, each era and emotion, as its own unique sounding board showing another angle of this man sitting across the desk from him. That his history was shrouded in dire and dark layers, was obvious. But that was also obvious merely by taking a quick glance at the black-suited man.

If not only because of his stern features and choice of extremely formal attire, the Mystery's posture and gestures, expressions, and tone of voice, while they were also constructed, also not telling nearly the whole story, were enough for Paxton to go on for a more immediate understanding. He had to trust that the Mystery, having been Human enough for three-quarters of a century now, had gotten the hang of those expressions and mannerisms. After all, most normal Humans didn't get that long to practice.

The Mystery didn't smile often, except in close company; there had been precious little laughter in this room, but there was a hint that he'd have preferred there to be more, as his dark sense of humor was occasionally trotted out; he had punctuated otherwise stable conversations with ironic twists, and he enjoyed those moments even if he never showed it on his face. The Mystery's emotions were not entirely impossible to read, they were just more ethereal than most. Perhaps also, he chose not to allow himself to react as strongly as most people did. His guarded manner could still betray exactly the same amount of information as anyone who had been born Human and was trying to disguise their moods.

However, it was their games of chess that Paxton used to plumb the depths of the Mystery's personality. These other outside events and occurrences were incidental. This, this game and its two predecessors, were giving him the most insight of all. Things which perhaps the Mystery didn't even realize were part of him, bits which were unlikely to be expressed in words at all.

"Nothing is ever quite as obvious as one would like it to be," the Mystery said as though confirming any of Paxton's observations; finally making his choice and moving his remaining Bishop. Paxton didn't think for more than a moment before he'd placed the Mystery's King in check, it was done. Carefully, the Mystery nodded, ground his jaw a little, but there was a hint of a smile around his eyes at the same time.

"I thought that was your whole point," Paxton said, "not being obvious?" He paused and gave a wider grin, "what with that name of yours and all. You just don't like it when other people are mysterious, is that it?"

"If you did not already know the answer to that," the Mystery said, leaning back into the chair and watching his heir carefully, "you would hardly have said it." Paxton gathered the stray pieces under the Mystery's watchful, bright eyes, but did not set the board up again.

Paxton made note that the view through the windows was one of a simple night-time sky. There was a horizon, it was a field of some kind, wherever this room was placed – an imaginary field, but were they stars that someone might actually see? Or were they, like everything else here, made-up and entirely fanciful? He hadn't been aware of exactly when that landscape had appeared, but it hadn't been there when he first arrived.

Oddly, though there was silence for a few moments, it didn't feel at all uncomfortable. Not like silences with Wilson, which got awkward after a time. He wasn't reaching for the Mystery's mind to gain a deeper commune, wasn't even sure that that would be polite or appropriate, given how Wilson had reacted to that same effect. Paxton suspected Wilson's balking at that was more personal than professional. Of course, Paxton realized that the Mystery was reading all of his thoughts and emotions quite easily. Far from becoming angry or agitated about it, Paxton accepted it as part of the deal. He didn't need to guard himself from the Mystery. Not that he trusted the man, rather that he had no reason to mistrust him just now.

But there was much left to be said. In fact, all left to be said. Paxton thought about how to begin, having recalled his angry challenge on Xen and its sudden resolution, you just have to know the right questions to ask.

"You wanted to finish this game," Paxton commented after the quiet had been interrupted only by the other man's seemingly-labored breathing. He turned the black Bishop in his fingers and examined it before refocusing on the Mystery. "Instead of choosing to simply forfeit six moves ago."

With that, the Mystery's expression flashed to an amused one. He blinked, "that… is true, though I will admit that I'm a bit rusty on tactics." It had been since before Paxton was born that he'd last played this game, and even then his opponents had not been of Paxton's expected caliber. Six? He'd counted four. Interesting.

"That's not what I saw," Paxton stated, "and not what I was looking for anyway."

"Edify me, then," the Mystery said with a raised eyebrow, a slight smirk, and his fingers forming their traditional steeple. "What was it you saw? Did you find what you were looking for?"

Paxton met the older man's eyes, "I did see something. I saw that you don't like to lose, but you also don't like to lose… ambiguously. You would rather have ended it knowing that I would win, than let it play out any longer than necessary without resolution. You wanted to see the loss, even if it was your own. You were frustrated at how long it took to finish the first two games, because until you saw what I was doing, you didn't know how it would end."

"While, clearly, you did," the Mystery said, "without question." He nodded, he was not mocking Paxton, he was admitting it.

Paxton liked that praise. It wasn't like his old keepers' sarcastic words to the same effect, wasn't just a pat on the head and a trip to the infirmary to be healed up. They had most often thought that Paxton was joking, or acting like a spoiled brat, when he'd say something like I knew how that would end regarding any of their games. Chess or target shooting, it didn't matter.

But this acceptance of that statement said volumes to him. Even though Paxton still entertained thoughts of not doing whatever it was that this man, or his 'father', wanted of him, it would be difficult to find a replacement for that delicious flavor of praise.

That he still desired validation, Paxton thought briefly, was something he might have to try getting over some day. But if he did that, he might lose the drive that inspired it, along with the appreciation. Too much of a down side for that.

"I did know," Paxton stated, "and that was easy to see… But what I found," he smiled, reflected so very eerily in that expression on the man across from him, "is that you don't like making the first move." The Mystery's eyebrow went farther up, the smirk turned into an introspective pursing of his lips, his fingers folded around each other. Paxton took those things into account, as well. "If I had played even casually, you'd have lost that second game. You like seeing all the pieces on the board, but you don't like to see them disturbed unless you know exactly where you stand with them. Taking the first move, you have to become unbalanced, even if you have a plan of attack. Those plans can change." Paxton lowered his head, still staring directly at those eyes Melissa was so fond of. "It was all I could do not to kick your legs out from under you and end it out of pity." That might have been a tad harsh. But Paxton wasn't known for being restrained in either his praise or his criticism.

The Mystery's gaze went off of his heir's, glancing into the corners of the room even though he knew they wouldn't provide him with inspiration. They never had before.

"And," Paxton added a moment after the other man had started letting his eyes wander, "you don't like being told things. You would rather find them out for yourself. Which is an admirable quality," he said while looking at his fingernails and noting that they needed to be trimmed, thinking to himself that he'd seen the Mystery do this same thing, "except that it doesn't always work."

The surprise on the Mystery's face was obvious, and he must have realized that – a moment after that realization, further came to the decision not to bother hiding it. He took into consideration that Paxton had only been around him for a total of two weeks in the last seven years; this was an unexpectedly deep examination of his own personality quirks. "Your… observations leave me impressed," he swallowed, smirked, "slightly humbled, but impressed."

Paxton burst out with a deep laugh, "humbled is hardly a term I'd use," he said. "And you know I didn't mean that pity thing as an insult."

"None was taken," the Mystery said. He gazed over at the collected pieces on the side of the desk. "But now that you do know my… weaknesses, is there any challenge left in playing again?"

"I wouldn't be playing for those reasons," Paxton replied. "Neither would you." He saw the Mystery's deep nod, at least they had that common ground now.

"As a game, it is quite enjoyable," the Mystery said. "Serves as a proper conversation starter as well. Plus," he regarded those pieces and the heavy board, "the place did need a little… sprucing up." The Mystery said nothing more. He was avoiding anything more serious? Even with that extremely obvious opening?

This, Paxton realized, was what Wilson had complained about down on that Xenian island as they healed in both mind and body: that's all you'll get, he had said. Snippets of half-formed, if extremely convoluted and equally important pieces of information, with long silences that usually lead to the end of a meeting.

Paxton paused for a moment, made up his mind to speak, because he wasn't done yet. And more than that: he wasn't Wilson. "You also don't like telling people things, but… There's more to it than just your personal preference on that, isn't there." It wasn't a question. Mentally he added a tweak, trying to make it into one, and watched the Mystery's reactions once more.

The older man tried to keep his face passive, Paxton noted. Tried, failed; he was clearly having an argument with himself about whatever could be on his mind. And since Paxton wasn't yet privy to the Mystery's mental wavelength, he could hardly guess at what that personal discussion was about. For the first time, Paxton thought he detected outright fear. This wasn't the same agitation as he showed when presented with the dilemma of Eli at Black Mesa. It wasn't rage, specifically, either, but there was certainly a hint of that too, and thankfully it was both momentary and not directed at him.

The vivid spark of kallah-vahh's Vortessence roiled around him, a lightning storm within a deep cloud. It faded, withdrew, but still occasionally flared behind his eyes. Paxton suddenly realized that he'd been watching for such an aura: only detected it in that form, and now it was all but hidden again. He wondered what Melissa saw that he hadn't, all this time. Maybe it was a mixture with her genetic power, because she always came back to his eyes. And it was true: the spark was still there within them.

Finally the Mystery, whose eyes were still more intent on the surface of the desk before him than Paxton, spoke. "You are… correct, again. It should not surprise me." His voice was subdued, to Paxton it sounded a bit like he wanted to be more excited, more animated, but once again was restraining himself, having become more professional than personable. "But neither should it surprise you, to hear that I simply… cannot say what you want me to tell you." He did flicker his eyes up when Paxton's expression soured, "I wish I could," his voice was little more than a whisper, but there was a distinct passion in it. "Doing so would… most certainly endanger…" that pause provided more evidence for Paxton's theories. "Everything… I have worked toward." How many other words could replace those? Endanger what? Whom? In what ways? And why?

"Even on something as important as this?" Paxton, frustrated, waved his hand around, their general condition, if not himself, obviously the subject of discussion.

His voice was bitter, when the Mystery replied, "particularly on this matter." Paxton clearly wanted to yell, why? But apparently the Mystery had also tapped into Paxton's consideration of that first discussion on Xen. He sighed, "can, will and want to, as I recall? Except," he turned his eyes away once more with the faintest of sneers on his lips, "in this case I believe the terms are: should, may, and will. I surely want to."

Before he began badgering the Mystery about it, as he would normally have done when trying to dig at any other individual's secrets, Paxton leaned back and thought more deeply. Those reactions had hallmarks of something far different than he'd expected. It surprised him, he had to consider different ramifications now. He had expected to be blocked and to have to use different tactics of course. Mind games were the norm for the Mystery, his moves in their first game, as well as Wilson's expressed annoyance at any other interaction, proved he would try dodging any directness in other ways as well.

But this wasn't a mere challenge, it wasn't only an arrogant man's mockery of his apprentice's ignorance. This reminded him of… The ways that the children from the Enrichment Center would refuse to talk about their training.

Even if Paxton had always known what he'd do with himself based on that training, and his brother beside him as well, few and far between were those others in the Center's Paragon program that did the same. Maybe he ought to have paid more attention to those reactions back then, it might have saved one or two of them a good amount of grief that he'd inadvertently caused. Some allowed the questions but dodged the actual answers, while others shied away from the subject entirely, and a few outright scolded him: for asking, as their friend that he'd interrogated sat in tears. A couple simply ran away from him. One or two fought with him over it.

He had gotten into a lot of fights as a youth. Now that he was grown and had better things to contend with, more worthy opponents that actually stood a good chance of fighting back, Paxton realized that he had been a bit of a jerk both then and now. And that now was neither a good time nor with the right opponent, to continue that trend.

What he saw in the Mystery's face: that narrow line to his mouth, eyes pulled nearly as tightly shut under brows that had a crook of pain mixed with worry; everything about those things screamed he'd been warned not to speak. That changed everything.

Should, may, will. At the very least, he believed the man when he said he wanted to tell him more. Should, Paxton could understand. Whether the importance of the matters at hand really were that big of a deal, perhaps. Whether the answers might merely confuse the issue. It was the may part he was beginning to get a little worried about. He needed permission? From who? And why? As well: doing so would endanger him? Oh yes, this was complicated all right.

Paxton gave off a Vortal wave, a sort of peacemaking gesture. He dropped the subject before it became unbearable to either of them; it could have cost him this chance to discuss anything.

You don't start with a nuke, after all.

So Paxton drew in a long sigh, and tilted his head. "What can you tell me?"

That elicited a relieved breath, unconscious slump, a relaxing of expression from the Mystery. But he was silent for a moment or more longer, before fully having collected himself. "I wish I could say that there were plenty of other subjects that rest on… safer grounds, Paxton," he said with a twist to his lips, "there aren't many." He shifted in the seat, still visibly uncomfortable. "Would you mind terribly, if we… concentrated on something else for a time?" His index finger tapped rapidly on his knee, all this really bothered him. Paxton hadn't imagined the ways this man might fidget under pressure. He tucked that information away, too.

"There are things I'd been wanting to ask you," Paxton admitted, "but I suspect they're all off limits, so we'll…" he gave a dissatisfied snort, "get back to those on some other visit." He leaned back, "though I'm at a loss as to what to discuss, if not that."

"Then let me decide," the Mystery forced his fingers together as a grin spread on his lips and he tried to replace the worry on his forehead with something more akin to amusement. "Something to give you as a training exercise. You've been exemplary with all the others, obviously, you'll do fine with this one." Paxton rolled his eyes; more tests and training were the farthest from his desires just now, but at least it beat being given the cold shoulder entirely. "I believe there was something you'd glanced on quite early in your… invasion of my space."

"So you were watching," he saw the Mystery's nod, "and listening in," Paxton connected those dots quickly enough, "and I couldn't see you, or sense you, doing it. Even though I was trying."

Shortly, the mood brightened a bit with their discussion of that factor. The Mystery admonished Paxton that his energy was extremely vibrant, easily visible, just as Paxton assumed it was. It was an obvious reflection of Paxton's personality, of course; that while he was guarded and made every attempt to appear mysterious enough to some, his Vortessence had never stopped in its relentless brilliance. It was sharp, active, always seeking and prodding. To anyone who could see it, it looked dangerously intriguing.

"I understand that you would… want to show off," the Mystery stated, "but there will likely come times when that will be your… undoing."

"That sounds unpleasant," Paxton said, not quite sarcastically. He considered: the Mystery's words were will be, not might be. And if there was one thing that Paxton had understood implicitly after only their first meeting many years prior, it was that he chose his words very carefully.

Oddly, though the Mystery gave no verbal reply, Paxton noted that the scenery outside the office was suddenly different: Xen. It was extremely quick, and Paxton made another note; something more on the checklist of his own, to discover how that was done. Was this room on Xen now? Physically manifested instead of just Vortally? What did it look like from the outside? Or was the view still an illusion? Had the field been? Every time he thought about something that this man, with an unpronounceable Vortigese title and an abandoned Human name, did, there were a dozen new questions about how he'd done it.

For the moment, though, Paxton was content to look through those windows at his least favorite place. Since the windows were reasonably narrow, only a small slice of the alien landscape became visible. But a tall, orange and violet tinted light painted the room's walls from that massive nebula that churned overhead. The rocky ground had pockets of life visible, a shallow valley between two haphazardly angular hills was where a number of Houndeyes had gathered.

Paxton went to the window, leaned against the wall to look out of it. "What are you showing me?" He asked, and the Mystery joined him shortly. "Since you'd know more about the local wildlife, and all."

"A natural selection demonstration," the Mystery said, his eyes crinkled with a smile. "Do you see that pack," he indicated the Hounds. There were five of them, ham-shaped and healthy looking. Brilliantly yellow bodies with those lines of blue and green, black and red splashed across their backs. It looked as though two of them were smaller than the others, Paxton presumed they were young. "They're hunting. They seem to have cornered ruunden-ket, can you see it?"

"The… brown thing," Paxton said, "looks like a flounder. Not that I've ever seen one of those either," he chuckled as the Mystery gave off a sigh at his lack of ability to translate. The animal in question was quite large, flat; he wondered if it was normally airborne, surely not with that bland color. But it was also still alive, flopping its fins? Wings? In an effort to smack away the pack of Hounds. Soundlessly and safely seen through the window, Paxton watched as the Hounds readied their attacks.

One Hound's attack was quite painful, as Paxton knew from some of the wild ones he'd encountered while drifting through the Outlands. They delivered a loud, sonic blow that felt like a massive slap, it drove through matter in hard waves. It was Vortal enough that the attack could be seen, faintly blue ripples emanated from the Hounds as they produced it.

The attacks from multiple Hounds, however, were something that Jamie had always warned about: stay the hell away from the pack when they're hunting. There was a good reason they hunted in packs. One Hound could take down a small or evenly-sized animal by itself, using that attack and their belligerent tracking. But a group of them? Those sonic and Vortal waves smashed against one another, amplified themselves, producing a blast that could break down solid matter easily, let alone what it did to flesh. The five Houndeyes down there in their little valley encircled that dirt-swimming creature, and pulverized it. After a moment of trembling, it stopped moving entirely.

"Pretty brutal," Paxton said. The pack seemed to enjoy the fruits of their teamwork, the little ones jumped up and down; he knew the sounds that he would have been hearing: their yip-yips of pleasure. They started to bend over the thing, their belly-slung mouths tugging on the creature's flesh.

The reflection in the window of the Mystery's upward-drifting eyes caused Paxton to look up, himself. Against the mottled sky was a darkness. Moving. One of those manta-ray creatures flew silently down, and scooped up all five of the Hounds as well as their own kill, with a mouth that might have been as wide as the room the men stood in. The little dogs never saw it coming even though they had a face full of eyes.

"Camouflage versus intimidation," Paxton said, nodding. "Even a pack of Hounds aren't a threat to something that big, and they can't aim upwards to defend themselves, can they?"

"Not very well," the Mystery said. "There are other creatures that would attempt to eat them, but like many of Earth's animals, they warn off predators with their coloration. A few of Xen's predators have learned not to bother them, since they would easily be killed by a pack; other smaller animals adopt a similar pattern to throw their own predators off. Some… simply ignore it, or they are… shall we say, attracted to it." He waved his fingers at the receding shape of the manta-creature in the sky. "But shaa'nohaa are an excellent example of noisy, bright distractions." The older man moved his eyes once more to look at his heir, "your Vortal presence is quite noisy and bright. And while it does… warn away certain predators, it also—"

"Attracts attention from others," Paxton sighed. "Duly noted." Mentally, Paxton added, and you want me to feel safe on Xen, hiding from the Combine. I'm not afraid of Combine. Xen has predators. Gigantic, scary predators.

Everyone he knew could fit into that thing's mouth. Including his Replicas. The images in Paxton's mind of slobbery, maw-chomping doom elicited a sharp laugh from the Mystery.

"Xen has its own ecology," the Mystery said, turning and moving back to the desk, but not sitting. "Anything is a predator until proven otherwise, but you know that, from more than merely your visits there. It's true of any world." He picked up a Pawn from the chess set and examined it casually.

"But you're talking about my Vortessence; and you're not talking about animals hunting me."

"Indeed."

Paxton leaned against the wall, still, and with his own worried kink to his eyebrows, said, "any suggestions on that, then? Or am I supposed to just figure it out myself?" He also wanted to ask, from whom should he be camouflaging himself? But he was positive the answer wouldn't be on that safer ground.

The Mystery pondered that for a moment, "you have a… powerful imagination, Paxton." The Mystery now held the King, and was closely appraising the miniscule facial features on it. His continued awe at the depth of detail to anything Paxton created – his Sanctuary, this chess set – was something the Mystery carefully aimed toward his young charge. He arranged pieces on the desk, a ring of white Pawns, surrounding their King. "My… suggestion… is that you use it." He waited for that slightly annoyed grunt, and added, "though I will also say, since your use of those Replicas is something you rely upon frequently enough, conquering this issue of you… standing out like a neon sign against the Vortessence might be a bit… problematic."

"I've already tried—"

"I am not suggesting that you stop using them," the Mystery clarified. "Merely that your use of them tends to… spread your Vortessence out into a more broad network, a web if you will. You cast a certain glow on that web. Vortally, you are a spider waiting at the center of it." Even if he was alluding to arachnids, the chess pieces made an appropriate representation, which Paxton saw after the Mystery moved out of the way. Brightly white against that dark desktop. Just like individual spirits seen against the blackness of mental space.

Paxton silently pondered these things. It was a good image to work with: even out here in this non-space, Paxton could sense his Replicas now. That was an improvement; after all, he'd spent a lot of time and effort to maintain his connections to them in the past. Now that he'd fully accepted his role as the Mystery's heir, his competence with them had improved. The distances at which he used them were particularly affected by this training. But it meant that he did expend energy, a lot of it, to maintain those connections.

He had always imagined them as being connected at all times, they weren't autonomous enough that he could trust that they would stay alive out there without his constant checking-in. Not just lines from himself to each of them: between the Replicas themselves, delegated squad leaders had tight connections to the individuals in that squad. Sometimes he moved his senses from one Replica to another, other times he would return to 'himself' before going out again. It was a complicated process; but no matter which of the many ways that he could do it, those actions also went by in the blink of an eye.

Like electricity through power lines or a circuit board. Like neurons firing in a brain, or… Neon lights on a billboard.

Melissa had swept those lines of Vortessence away like brushing spider-webs off of a ceiling. She could obviously see them. The next time they were together, he would have to steal a few looks at himself Vortally, as well as visually. If she could see them, obviously, others might too. He'd felt somewhat at a loss when he'd traveled to Xen without them, and before then, off to Black Mesa, equally so when Melissa insisted on commanding his 'full' attention.

Spiders, though, like his Replicas and their connections to him, had a way of coming back. He remembered seeing a nest once, stuck up in a corner of an Enrichment Center lab. A cluster of entombed flies and bugs surrounded by delicate tendrils, leading to a clumpy egg sack. Incredibly tiny and entirely invisible drag lines suspended hundreds of baby spiders from their larger, whiter looking webs. An amusing and brief image in his mind turned the spiders to Replicas. Could he really attempt to disguise or tone down those connections he had?

Paxton realized that there were other possibilities, too: instead of removing the visible links, using them as distractions? Which of his many bodies might he actually be in at any given time? Zebras in a herd. He had always imagined himself as the lion. But even lions fell to hunters' guns. "Well," Paxton said with a sigh, folding his arms across his chest, "even when I do get that web situation fixed up a bit, you're more concerned about me, aren't you?" That was far more of a challenge than a question, of course.

The Mystery waited a moment, standing with his back to Paxton, and didn't answer. He was all about timing, and that was something that all of his family had in common. Paxton spoke again abruptly when he didn't reply quickly enough, "you'd better be," and they both laughed a little.

"I am," the Mystery finally said, turning, "though it is something that only you can solve. Though you are my heir, your own abilities seem to have developed in different… directions than mine ever did. I will be more than happy to give… critique on your progress. Any of my own… protective instincts clearly could not apply to yourself. Perhaps ask Wilson," he tilted his head, "or your brother, now that I think on it."

"His head's made of rock," Paxton muttered, and the Mystery stifled a chuckle. "I can't emulate Geoff, I'll tell you that much. There's a reason I made my Sanctuary within Mel's mind." To the older man's concerned furrowing of eyebrows, Paxton added, "Melissa will say something about whatever donors we had that made us this different. I've asked. Geoff runs dark because he's like that. I know he can concentrate on… running invisible, I guess." He shrugged, "I suppose it can't hurt to ask, at least. As for Wilson," his cold-blue eyes adopted a gleam, "will he give me straight answers about any of this?"

That brought another smirk to the Mystery's lips, "I sincerely hope so. He, after all, is not… bound by certain… restrictions on the matter." A moment later, and on seeing Paxton's conspiratorial reaction to that, he added, "however I have my doubts that he knows the answers you'll be looking for. He may not even realize he knows them, if he does. We do share a certain… rapport, he and I. Things which may have been obvious to him, or at least implicit, might be those very issues. But I cannot say for sure, either way. I… haven't spoken to him about them, directly, either. Mostly because he's never asked. But also because I wouldn't be able to tell him any more than you." His expression once more betrayed an annoyed distress over this. However, it changed a moment later, something seemed to attract his concentration. Paxton didn't interrupt his thoughtful pause.

Finally the older man returned to his comfortable chair behind that dark desk of his. His posture on the way betrayed something other than defeat. Of all the times that Paxton wished he could tap into this man's mind and memories, that would have been a key moment for it to happen. He couldn't, still; but it wouldn't matter shortly. Whatever the Mystery had just thought of had relaxed his shoulders and given him a more confident calmness. "You can plainly see that I am… more than a little frustrated at this situation. And I wish that I could even do you the service of telling you whether your… suspicions are correct or not. But… as for any other questions…" He tapped his fingers together, elbows on the desk, "might I suggest that you go ask Noah."

The Mystery's expression now was a strange mix: a knowing smirk that was rapidly turning into a broad, impish smile; head lowered with a gleam in those eyes behind his plot-curled fingers. He was doing more than suggesting this course of action, that was obvious. He looked happy with having finally found something of a solution to that argument he'd had with himself earlier.

"I will," Paxton said, sensing that this was 'all he was going to get', "but you know if I do that, I'll have to bring Mel along. I can't understand half of what Noah ever says, and that's if he even gets to his point, anyway."

"He repeats himself quite a bit, in Vortigese," the Mystery said. "Which I dare say you would know, if you bothered to comprehend it. You really ought to learn," he added with a tisk of his tongue, knowing that this trick wouldn't work to get Paxton to do so either: Melissa had complained about all the many methods she had tried. "It is an elegant language. I realize it sounds quite guttural at times, but the subtlety of it more than makes up for that."

"There's a difference between subtle and indiscernible," Paxton pointed out, still with that half-assed grin he would adopt when Mel brought up this subject.

The Mystery glanced away, then back to Paxton, "I have no objection to you bringing Melissa along. She will eventually ask the same questions of me, and I'll have to do this twice," he groaned as his eyes shut, pained, and allowed Paxton's laugh to humble him again, "and obviously, I am not looking forward to that." He gazed over to the chess board, and indicated it with his long hand, "however, I will enjoy actually playing a proper game with you now and again. I assure you I'm not bad enough to warrant a mercy killing." He adjusted his tie.

Paxton grunted out, "we'll see about that." While the Mystery chuckled, Pax nodded to his elder with a broad smile, and removed himself from the office silently.