Repurposed Interval 20.3

Interval 20.3
June 13, 2018
0900, BMRC
Administrative Wing / Conference Room



It had taken more than just the next day for Wilson's information to be shared. For one thing, Paxton and Melissa were still trying to get into their own rhythm of tending Darly; their free time was difficult at best to anticipate, and it was clear that they both needed to be there for any discussions. Melissa's 'surprises' were almost ready, but even the Mystery knew that she had to wait to learn whatever would be divulged at this meeting, before any further steps could be taken on that subject. Given that everyone typically available for such things would also be at that meeting, it was left to Melissa to find a babysitter. Paxton's suggestion that they use a Replica was met with a fairly loud outburst from Darly herself.

For another thing, Wilson needed to pull his prime aside into his own stern, sterile construct to settle a few things first.

The mystique, no pun intended, of being the unnamed was fine and good on its own, for many years. But Wilson's anger at having remained that way for so long without being told that it was some kind of reprisal had boiled up inside him overnight. It was eminently clear to the Mystery that Wilson might have wanted to remain unnamed. If only because, now, his name would rub the whole thing in his face.

The Mystery carefully defused that situation as well as he could, though it was harder than he'd anticipated. He had, on some level, been expecting this outburst, just not so soon. Perhaps Wilson was made more bold by that name, just as he was angered by it, as much as he was proud to finally have one.

Even though it had been said before, this name proved Wilson wasn't the Mystery's heir or indeed his replacement; didn't have either one's power nor their purpose… What purpose did he have, then? If he was the way the Mystery dealt?

To that, at least, kallah-vahh could say: to facilitate those deals more easily, more directly. The Mystery had breathed a little easier, metaphorically speaking, when the Vortigaunts hadn't chosen rach'naa-vahh, 'the Mystery's primary tool'. He had heard those words tossed indelicately into the naming circle, wondered whether Wilson had been paying attention just at that moment. Had it gone that way… Nach'lih kallah-vahh might have actually intervened.

Thankfully, now, Wilson could say he was the deal; not a puppet, not a tool. More like, the Mystery commented carefully, a glove. Surrounding himself with the flesh of the world, with just barely enough distance to keep himself safe from reprisal. Wilson, while he had always been different, had also always known what to expect, known what to do. That first imprint the Mystery had made on Wilson's still-growing brain, Vortally, sealed that deal. It was entirely likely that Wilson could never truly misunderstand his prime. At least, not by accident. They were, on so many levels, the same.

It was still dreadfully troubling for both of them: it was forbidden, it was dangerous, that admission. It was perhaps only because they were in Wilson's space that it was possible for the Mystery to say the words that could condemn him in the eyes of his own kind. That he'd come out and done so did impress Wilson enough that he didn't question further. Not on that aspect of his wide array of issues, anyway. He had to give the Mystery a little time to recover from that; it had been troubling to say the least.

Kallah-vahh had realized that he had to come out and say what he really meant. Because he had no wish to disturb Wilson's mind with direct contact (what with all the things he wanted to keep to himself), nor were there any other options. What was obvious was that anything less than offering those words would be seen only as dodging the issue once more. The Mystery couldn't just send Wilson along to talk with Noah on it, because at this point the aged Vort knew only so much and had little more to offer aside from cryptic fits of both laughter and coughing. Though he might be able to deliver a skewed Vortigaunt-sided explanation of why he'd been the unnamed, that was all fairly obvious already. And nothing that Noah would have said could ever equate to what Wilson needed.

So another apology was in order. It had been, very possibly, the most difficult thing that the Mystery ever attempted. He wasn't certain he'd succeeded, either. Whether the words came from his mouth or his mind, Wilson didn't seem to be hearing them. But then, the Mystery was a bit more distracted than either had anticipated as well.

Considering their discussion just a few days before, hours after Darly's birth, both their nerves were already raw, and it showed even more on the Mystery than Wilson expected. There was something he wasn't saying, and there were precious few hints as to what it might be. In order to discover what it was, dancing around the details had been Wilson's usual tactic, but it didn't work. And given Wilson's typical self-centered mindset, that got him thinking on the many ways that the Mystery had pissed him off over the years: because he figured it had to be about him. He didn't know what his prime had been talking to Eli about, after all, in the time he was up visiting Hoyle.

Wilson tried numerous other tactics, from blurting things out to pleading. They both learned of several deeply buried issues from that half-hour of self torture. Generally the only thing Wilson got from it were the words you said that, not me. It wasn't the Mystery's long-held disgust at just how physical Wilson was, or even pity regarding that same feature – though those feelings were both there, he wasn't apologizing for them; nor was it that faint jealousy between them over who had her first. They dragged that battle of wills out for a while, though neither of them really wanted to continue sniping at the other. But still… Something more was nagging at the Mystery, and it wasn't as though Wilson couldn't tell when his prime was keeping secrets.

Those ragged edges of his mind had been the tip of the iceberg, Wilson saw that much. In fact he saw it on the Mystery's face and posture, long before he ventured into watching with Vortal senses. But this particular session wasn't about him, and Wilson made sure that he knew it. When he was able to get a word in edgewise, the Mystery had finally said: that the thing which really was bothering him wasn't Wilson, so would he please shut up about it?

For that moment at least, Wilson had cracked a smile and let down his guard a little. During that moment: the Mystery opened his mind, and shuttered it again just as quickly.

What little mental communication the Mystery offered proved to be both intriguing and infuriating. If there was something that Wilson understood deeply and without words from that moment of contact, it was that his prime was not proud of having behaved so poorly toward him. That he knew how bad it made Wilson feel, it was shameful at best that he'd always snubbed him or been distant. But also that he was proud of Wilson. That it was more because of habit than purposeful antagonism that he'd regarded Wilson with anything less than a fierce, fatherly pride. Yes, he was slightly disappointed that he wasn't just like himself. But he was always impressed with the things he did manage to be spectacular at, and those were many indeed.

In so many words. Unsaid words. Still.

Wilson mocked the older man's inability to come right out and say the important things, as it was little more than an excuse, and he had aimed that thought directly at the Mystery with the same caustic Vortal texture as he had used a few days before. He wasn't under any kind of restrictions against saying those things. He just couldn't bring himself do it. Or was it wouldn't.

Once more, that was met with a hesitant look away, avoidance both verbally and mentally. Though he shrugged off an actual apology for that, the Mystery did then offer his assurance that his future behavior would be far more appropriate. Wilson had to settle for that, that was all he'd get. He didn't yet know what that could even mean. Neither of them did. Appropriate for what role?

And, stubborn things that they both were, it would take some time and effort to get them settled properly again. If they had ever been settled: to hear Wilson say it, there was never any kind of equity in this partnership. Because, he claimed, only until the day before, had that partnership been openly recognized. He seemed to have forgotten that whole partners in crime comment; the Mystery reminded him of it, and of their last discussion on that subject as well.

They went back over points of contention, some of which the Mystery considered long since solved. He realized that Wilson would bring them up again because he really was that bitter about everything else. His sexual frustrations, denial and anger, violent tendencies, even his own faltering fatherhood. It was, kallah-vahh pointed out, an extraordinarily Human thing to do, bringing any of that into this argument.

Wilson wasn't sure whether that was an insult or a compliment. Their argument ended, with that said. Their discussion about it began. The Mystery had run the risk of making Wilson even more angry, by letting him blow off all that steam. But in the end, Wilson realized the Mystery had done it just to be done with it. Whether there was more to Wilson's blustery rage, they'd find out later.

Even so, that sharp exchange, punctuated as it was by long periods which might have been silent if not for the gritting of Wilson's teeth and the Mystery's pained breathing, had ended on enough of a positive note that Wilson wasn't going to do anything rash, and the Mystery wasn't going to berate him for wanting to do it.

It all still left the two of them a bit jumpy, and that was something which everyone noticed. Everyone including Darly: for the first time since she'd shown any kind of response, she had a wailing, bright-violet shaded fit around both of them. Apparently cowed by that if nothing else, they silently agreed to disagree on a number of things, and moved on as they typically had for years. The afternoon wasn't very eventful; both sought out distractions to cool down from the morning's discussion.

Wilson stalked off to find Geoff, so they could possibly start throwing rubble around. That entertained far more than just the two of them: even though it was obvious that Wilson's emotional state had led to this contest of "raw, manly-man strength" (as judged by Alyx and Mars) they did get a few stretches of hallway cleared up in the process. Without using explosives: that was good on everyone's nerves.

The Mystery busied himself by making those arrangements: for a group of the important-enough people in Black Mesa to meet the morning after. He'd considered implanting suggestions to the varied people involved while they slept, but then decided instead to simply tell Eli, who would then relay the request to those individuals. The Mystery could have spent that afternoon tracking down those people, he was already prone to wander the halls of Black Mesa anyway. But his concentration lay elsewhere for the moment, and he did hear Wilson's distinct laughter following a good number of rending, crashing sounds. Best to avoid that area of the facility entirely.

By the time morning rolled around, both of them were feeling a little better. The Mystery knew that Wilson and the rest of his family would already be where they were needed, he hadn't much bothered to inform them on the details.

That once-secure conference room would do for this. It was no surprise that the pair of Replicas that were guarding the doors got a good number of double takes from any other people who happened by. Those refugees got shooed along their way with curt commands. No one could tell what expression those cloned soldiers might be showing under their visors, no one could know if they were just kidding around. They'd never done that before, either kidding around or formally guarding a door. But it was obvious that those guns the Replicas held could do just as much damage as any Combine weapon, so those stray folks kept their distance.

A pair of ELLs made the room presentable. Not that it hadn't been before then, at least according to any of the inhabitants who used it. But having the right number of chairs and some pitchers with water and whatever clean glasses they could find would be nice. They even got some of the dust cleared away from the shelving and cabinets around the room as well as the tabletop. They made sure that the big oak table was aligned properly in the middle of the room, parallel to the wide, broken windows. Each chair: settled the right distance from the next. Sixteen chairs, though they weren't sure how many would either be needed, or occupied, so they collected a few more and stacked them by the doors.

Neither of those ELLs would be in on the discussion, but two others would be. Those two came by and exchanged quiet words, hesitant smiles, didn't chatter or gossip with the other pair as was their wont. As usual, the ELLs peculiar sense about such things was pinging strongly. They didn't want to get caught in any kind of crossfire, old instincts never died.

Quietly, invisibly, the Mystery watched the preparations go on from the corner of the hallway beyond. Wilson's information was going to be reasonably important, he pondered. He hadn't snuck in any looks at Wilson's memory the day before, knowing full well that that would have been interpreted as an overstepping of his boundaries. Though Wilson did say that he hadn't met up with Snake Fist. That, it seemed, he wanted to get out of the way before anything else was brought up.

What else might he have discovered? Would it mean yet another change to everyone's plans? Very probably.

With that on his mind, then, the Mystery sighed, winced, and decided to let whatever was going to occur temper his own future schemes. He was more used to those future schemes being a bit… farther into the future than this. He was quite good at anticipating reactions and judging outcomes, predicting the best courses of action. But that generally relied on there being some kind of stability to compare to; getting results from a still-rolling pair of dice was difficult at best.

Still, he wasn't going to waste this opportunity to clear the air with some of those important-enough people. He only hoped that Wilson would be willing to work with him on it, had to trust that their own issues wouldn't get in the way. Had to trust that his own issues wouldn't get in the way. Or perhaps, that those yellow eyes of guilt didn't suddenly cause him to blurt out anything incredibly stupid and personal in front of other people. He chuckled at that thought. That wasn't just rolling the dice, that was an entire roulette wheel.

The owner of that pair of yellow eyes was already in the room, with Paxton on one side and Wilson on her other. The others were arriving now, almost all of them quite used to getting up early and keeping themselves busy during their days here at Black Mesa. Most of them were hopeful, eager, chatty. There was still a pervasive feeling of worry, but when hadn't there been, since the arrival of… well, everything?

Surely most of those gathering and pulling their chairs up to the now-clean table would be disappointed to learn 'nothing' about Snake Fist. Rosenberg wouldn't be too pleased, nor Eli, to learn certain key pieces of information. He'd considered telling Eli, earlier, but decided to let it wait. He wouldn't want to have to do this more than once. As it was, he would have to pretend like it was all just fine, and they would have to content themselves in that it was merely side-knowledge, but necessary to understand the bigger picture.

He'd spent his own night pondering that bigger picture and how best to approach it, while walking slowly through the dark, broken halls of Black Mesa. The Mystery had to step carefully in places that had once been quite secure. Though he wasn't exploring so much as retracing his old steps through the place, and had to admit that the damage that had been done was considerable. Rather a lot like the damage he'd done to so many other locations.

When the tour of the place ceased being metaphoric and started looking far more like that bigger picture, he teleported himself back to the dorm where Melissa, Darly and Paxton slept, to watch them instead, and clear his mind.

The one thing that the Mystery had realized on that half-hearted tour was that there were still many steps yet to be taken – these today would not be the bolder ones that anyone expected, or indeed, wanted. They were becoming weary of the hesitant, halting gait that had been the norm, and needed to feel like they were making progress.

It would require boldness to once more stride into that conference room and act like he was in charge of things. And just now, that mettle all but eluded the Mystery. Ever since his talk with Eli, the facts had gnawed at him worse than the tumor that grew in his lungs: time was no longer on his side, and the more he tempted fate, the less time there might be before the inevitable.

But he'd been tempting that fate for so long… By comparison, Humanity hadn't had a recorded history as long as he'd been at this game. Nach'lih kallah-vahh tried to concentrate on the tasks at hand, rather than stoking that nagging, perpetual cloud of doom. That said and done, however, there were still plenty of little doom clouds left over. It sprang like a sudden tornado into his mind, that he should have told Wilson what really was bothering him. Why had he kept that hidden? Didn't he deserve to know? Time for that, he pondered as he heard snippets of chatter from the conference room, if and when it became appropriate. Paxton hadn't been told, either, but kallah-vahh had to wonder whether he already knew.

His right hand made a familiar but useless gripping gesture, seemingly of its own accord. The Mystery realized that he had no idea where his old briefcase had gotten to, and he'd meant to look for it last year after the other talk with his confessor. It might have made him feel a little more comfortable on walking back into that room, once the others had filled their seats. On reflection, however, he realized that holding on to that object focused his prior worries, but had never removed them. He'd clutched on to it for dear life sometimes, but no one had to know that. This wasn't the first time he'd had to wonder if everything was going to change. Every time Eli walked into his office, that anxiety had welled up.

He couldn't seem to separate the tremendous distress left over from his discussions with Wilson or Eli, with that coming from the knowledge that any of his own plans could be the ones tossed into the shredder today. After ten years of riding those smoother roads, the bumps were starting up again. Boredom punctuated by disaster. It was nothing new.

It still felt new, and he wanted to attribute that to everything else that had gone on in the prior week. But one thing struck him as sharply as Darly's purple-hued Vortal anger: that these were going to be steps toward that elusive finish line. This marathon he'd been on for too many thousands of years was finally going to end.

Perhaps, he thought with a private, softer smile, that feeling wasn't really anxiety so much as excitement. He'd call it that, be content with that. Anything else was unacceptable. There had been enough negativity to last a lifetime already; time for something new and good. That he was still finding new things to define brought a little more relief to his posture.

That those doom clouds lurking over him bore a silver lining in the form of a dark-haired teal-eyed infant girl waiting to spit up on her father every chance she got, was what brought an actual smile to his face. She was in the care of Jillian and her family; the similarities between them were striking, including the infant's propensity to select her targets for regurgitation. This redemption wasn't going to be all that easy, but it certainly could be entertaining.

When the last of the dozen or so people had entered the conference room, the Mystery took another moment to collect himself; consciously straightened that tie, carefully made sure there were no unsightly pieces of grit on his suit left over from his impromptu disaster-area tour the night before. If only he could simply take a nice deep breath, that would complete the ritual – but he couldn't do that, and had been keenly aware of that fact for quite some time now. Vortally he shrugged it off, once more, and stepped quietly into the room.

Though he'd been watching as each small group or couple came in through the main doors, obviously a few had arrived through the other entrance, the side doors that led into the next meeting room. At least one such couple were Adrian and Renee. When the Mystery walked through the Replica-guarded portal, and the doors shut behind him, the Corporal stood up: but not because he was going to salute.

"I remember you," he said, his growl silenced everyone else at the table. Shephard had kept himself mostly military-grade, all this time. He wore camo combat gear out of habit, his hair was still cropped close to his skull, he sported no facial hair. Thus, his sneer and angry expression weren't hidden by stray locks or disguised behind a beard.

"I dare say you do," was the Mystery's reply. The sudden wall of anger that he detected was met with confusion from most of the others. But he said nothing more. Even though the Mystery had been around, here and there, within the facility for the last year, it had occurred to him that he'd never bothered to actually speak to anyone but Eli and Mars, and certainly hadn't made a point of being approachable by anyone else. It didn't appear that the Corporal had been among any of those folks who had incidentally seen him in that time. This wasn't a test of the Corporal so much as of himself, what would happen next?

Eli, and obviously the Mystery's direct associates, knew full well that he could just modify Shephard's mood, change his level of anger into something more productive. Even Mars and Rosenberg recognized how similar this all looked to those old meetings and discussions around this very table, but it would have been Eli standing and having a good rant. Since he was still seated and calm, that left a few of the other old-guard scientists to wonder just what exactly had been going on while their backs were turned?

The Mystery chose not to react, as this was hardly unexpected. That air was thick with emotion, it did need to be refreshed a bit. Both Paxton and Wilson got rather dangerous looks in their eyes, but took their own cues from kallah-vahh and remained in their seats.

"You… you trapped me in here," Shephard said, hard, and though he would have gone for his holstered weapon, Renee's hand delicately – but so strongly – kept him from it. "You locked me in this place, so I couldn't get out!"

Ah, that was it. The Mystery tried to keep himself from echoing the sneer on the Corporal's face. "Indeed I did," he said calmly, darkly. "And perhaps you should thank me for that," he dared to say, "as I recall your… entire platoon was wiped out after their own… escape."

He remembered, as did Shephard, that moment when their eyes had met. Through the scratched, double-paned glass set in a roll-up door; with an aircraft containing his squad-mates on one side, and the Corporal on the other. That noisy metal door could barely be heard to slam shut, over the steady beat of the Osprey's rotors. The older man was certain that the unique and energetic squeal of Xenian wildlife appearing in that transit tunnel took precedence over anything else that might have been heard by the Corporal at that time. Certainly not Keenan Lane's self-important chuckle as he walked away.

The Corporal's hands had both balled up, tightly, and it was clear that Renee was hard pressed not to just sit him down forcibly, to stop attracting attention. The Mystery let his lips adopt the faintest crook of amusement, when he added, "and you should thank her, as well," he flickered his bright gaze to the slender assassin, "since she has made your stay far more pleasant than it could have been, had either of you managed to leave."

Even Renee got a bit more surprised and embarrassed with that statement, than angry. The Mystery's eyes moved off of her, as he glanced to Eli. "You'll have to forgive me for this, I'm not going to try denying what has already been done," the Mystery muttered and turned back to the pair across the long table. Their own expressions had softened a bit, though the Corporal still stood. "You realize that anyone who had anything to do with your… operation here twelve years ago was silenced. Loose ends that could not be tolerated." He carefully and obviously looked at Renee, "yours as well. There were few survivors, and almost all of them are here. So for your sake, I am glad that you feel so… strongly about this. After all, you are alive, to do so." He had folded his hands behind his back, as Adrian and Renee looked at each other and then at the somewhat stunned faces around the desk.

Since it appeared that no one was going to speak up in that next tense moment, the Mystery took the opportunity to say, as he walked toward the opposite end of the desk and stood behind his own seat, "you have all done extremely well, in those years. Far better than could have been… expected, given the circumstances." His somewhat restrained smirk pulled into a more genuine smile as he looked at Paxton and Melissa seated to his left. He then blinked carefully at the Corporal and his lovely, diminutive companion, "please do have a seat, Corporal Shephard, I believe that no further… introductions are in order."

The rest of the group glanced around: they at least knew one another for the most part. The only people who were iffy were the Mystery, Wilson, the ELLs and possibly Melissa. Paxton was well-known as Geoff's brother, though not particularly by his appearance. Wilson had wedged himself into things at Black Mesa fairly well, though; for that reason Mars had wedged herself next to him at the table. Geoff and Alyx sat opposite them, with Eli gently holding on to his daughter's hand. Judith, Kleiner, Rosenberg and Magnusson were arranged by them on the side closest to the windows. Chell, Zoell and Barney rounded out the group on the other side. There could have been a few others on their way, but as it was, Simmons and Green and the others from the labs didn't much care for administrative discussions anyway, and would hear about this from those already present.

Most of them noted that no Vorts were attending, but anyone who had done any amount of thought on that subject realized that Vorts very rarely participated in Human round-table discussions. The more-oblong-than-round table was fairly well-packed already. It was almost like old times, the Mystery caught Eli's thought – it was shared by many. And though the Mystery took care not to invade his family's minds, he certainly didn't have any qualms about reading everyone else's.

It appeared that Renee had privately, mentally, asked Adrian about all this: she had the faintest inkling that she'd seen the Mystery as well, long before now. Probably at the Icarus facility; though her memories of that place were dim, subdued as they had been by the electro-chemical mind-wiping she'd had just before leaving it.

Rosenberg and Kleiner kept a close eye on Eli's behavior, by habit more than anything else. Rosenberg often removed his glasses and ground their lenses under an already-gritty cloth, while Kleiner tended to ignore any smudges on his own. Judith maintained a somewhat suspicious expression toward those on that end of the table. It had been a good number of years since she'd seen Paxton, had avoided much contact with Geoff even though Alyx and he were quite close. Barney gave a yawn and kept from tapping his fingers on the desk by scratching the back of his neck. The ELLs were patiently calm, and though they looked radically different from one another (as Zoell had never even considered letting her hair grow back out into the shoulder-length pony tail on the other, and Chell's light-colored eyes were much wider than Zoell's dark-blue ones, what with all the people nearby) they also radiated an eerie quality of sameness as they licked their lips and glanced to and fro, at nearly an identical pace.

Mars had the guts to snug herself up to Wilson, a fact which caused him to remark on numerous occasions in the past that she barely had the same mass as one of his legs. He had the good sense in his head not to say that just now. It didn't stop him from thinking it to his sons, both of them gave off their rumbling laughter. Though Alyx didn't know why Geoff had suddenly done so, Melissa seemingly had to refrain from her own outburst. And of course, all this closeness got her mind rolling on whether Mars and Wilson would make good samples together.

"Are you quite done?" The Mystery muttered behind his own half-grin. He still stood carefully behind the old chair: was it the same one he'd sat in all those times? "Are we ready to begin?"

Magnusson of course was his same old blustery self. "Well I should say so," he barked out, startling Rosenberg beside him, and causing Izzy nearby to wince. "I've been told that you," he gazed with an exaggerated backward tilt to his head, looking down his nose, toward Wilson, "have gone on a bit of an exploratory jaunt around the countryside?" He harrumphed, "must not have been much of one, if it only took you a few hours."

Sending Mars into a fit of stifled giggling as she fell against his chair, and a ripple of surprise through the rest, Wilson didn't even bother standing up before he teleported directly behind Arne. "I think you're forgetting some fairly important things about me, Doctor Magnusson," he whispered into the suddenly red-faced scientist's ear. Wilson seriously considered licking that ear, but refrained. He suddenly realized with that thought: that was where that kind of humor had come from. Nerves, he thought, all nerves.

The Mystery chuckled, only after the rest at the table had done so themselves. Most of them seemed to be aware that Wilson and Paxton could teleport like that, but it definitely was worth reinforcing. It might come up again.

The older man considered carefully, each of those here as compared to those old times, the important-enough group now wasn't terribly changed. The only people missing from this event would have been Breen and Silver, a couple of others from the Anomalous labs, perhaps a Department of Defense contractor or two; certainly the security guard wasn't one that had attended those old meetings, nor would the ELLs have been anything other than mobile drink dispensers. The Mystery seated himself, even as Wilson walked back to his own chair nearby.

"Now that that is out of the way," the Mystery drew in a rattling breath, "yes, Wilson has gone on a short trip." He narrowed his eyes, though he didn't look toward anyone in specific as he added, "I'm sure that some of these new… pieces of information will be a trifle disturbing to a number of you today." He saw that number of expected folks begin to shift uncomfortably. "But I will beg of you to simply put off any… outbursts." Now he did look up to Eli and said, "and once more, I will not attempt to apologize for what's already been done. I had very little to do with some of these… items." It was clear that not everyone understood that, but Eli surprisingly gave his own quietly thoughtful nod.

"Wilson, if you would, please explain what you've been up to?" The Mystery extended his fingers toward his younger iteration, then folded them carefully into a nest on his knee.

Wilson didn't bother to sit; he was just about to, though Mars would have had to be bodily moved from her continued and exaggerated slump over his chair. Instead he straightened back up, flexed his neck and shoulders a little, and took a long, slow and smooth look over the people seated at the table. He then turned and made note of the information that had been moved from the neighboring meeting room into this one: the maps, assorted codes, and other Snake Fist observations, all up on their old cork-and-whiteboard paneling.

To anyone who had been at those old meetings, Wilson displayed a very-slightly exaggerated version of Mister Lane's behaviors. He was louder, spoke clearer, didn't hesitate to move when he spoke, and obviously he was much bigger physically. His choice of more colorful clothing (at least today, dressed as he was in a pair of black slacks, blood-red shirt, and one of his many black leather jackets) stood out more than anything else. Actually with that color scheme echoed on the 'new' suit that the Mystery wore, they weren't all that different. Mars was the only one who'd ever given thought to what Lane would look like with a pony tail. Now she knew.

Still, Wilson moved the same: his gloveless hands splayed and curled carefully, his occasional head-tilts and private expressions looked so similar. How he would pace – in Wilson's case the word would be prowl – around a room looking at each inhabitant as though they had something delicious inside. Whether those were secrets or creamy filling, only Wilson knew. Their eyes were that same brilliant aquamarine-white, always able to penetrate into the very soul of whoever they gazed toward. He pried into several of the minds nearby: they were far less intimidated than he wanted them to be, but then he was far less inclined to be scary right now.

Except to Magnusson. He would be as scary as he could possibly pull off, to that guy.

"I'll get this out of the way first," Wilson said, "and I'm sorry, because I know some of you thought that I would be heading straight up to solve all of this for you… No such luck." It was to Rosenberg that he looked, when he said, "I didn't make it to Maury Island, some other things took precedence before I got there, and I wanted to bring this to your attention first." Everyone did slump: they really had just wanted him to be their magic wand.

"What I did do, though," he continued, wanting to pace. But he held back on that and instead merely stood beside the bigger of the satellite-photo maps of the Seattle area, "was meet up with an old friend of ours, former-Senator David Hoyle." He waited the moment it took for the older folks around the table to wrack their brains; he didn't bother wondering whether the younger ones did, assumed they wouldn't know or care. "Since he's up in that same area, I wanted to make sure that if I did find anyone answering to Snake Fist," he smirked at Mars who held her fingers up into a metal-horns splay, "that they'd have a safe place to go. I'm… assuming that once we do know who it is, and provided that it's not a trap," it looked as though none of them had thought of that, "they'll need to get out of the broadcast booth and into a proper safe house."

"Well that's all very kind of you," Magnusson blurted out, "but that hardly solves our dilemma."

Wilson seriously considered launching himself over the table at the man, but blinked, shifted his shoulders and felt the reassuring weight of those old, unused brass knuckles in his jacket's inner pocket. "It will be something you'll like, Doctor, I assure you."

Barney had an odd look on his face when he said, "Hoyle, Hoyle… Oh yeah, that was up where Gordon was from, wasn't it? Man, it's…" His green eyes turned a little sad, "it's been a while. He used to talk about some of the politicos up in Washington when we would play darts, I think he said something about Hoyle being pretty important to the competition."

It was the Mystery's chuckle that brought the man's eyes toward that end of the table, "he was indeed." As he'd garnered their attention, he continued, "the Senator was quite the… investor in Armacham's biological engineering department. He was also rather… important to the Department of Defense." The Mystery's gaze focused on Renee across the long table. "Without whose support, you, my dear, would not have been… recruited."

Renee mulled that over, then hazarded to say, "I'm not sure if that's good or bad."

"For the moment," he gave her a narrow-eyed smile, "consider it having been a blessing in disguise. I realize your training and… physical alterations were difficult and painful." She and Adrian exchanged a glance, while he continued quietly, "but immensely helpful, so I've gathered." At last, she tilted her head as though to speak, dark blond hair falling into her eyes. But she said nothing. To her curious mental voice, he answered vocally. "When were you there, at the Icarus facility, might I ask?"

The Mystery gave a brief but significant glance toward Wilson, as she said, "ninety, ninety-one, I was a kid, they hadn't finished any of my team's implants yet."

"Then yes," the Mystery said with a privately-amused smirk, "you very likely did see me there. I was… picking up some merchandise."

Wilson gave off an annoyed sound, to which the Mystery chuckled. "Wilson was there at that time," he clarified, "and… it is for that reason that I must say… I hope you don't remember your stay there very well." Renee got a confused look, and Wilson wasn't sure at all what he was getting at: maybe that he hadn't been paying enough attention or missed Vortally erasing himself from people's memories; until the Mystery leveled a serious look at the woman. "The process, I've found, is just as painful to endure as it was to watch. The less anyone recalls of that, I'm sure, the better." He flickered his glance toward Wilson, whose memories had been shared, on numerous occasions. It was one of the few things they openly agreed on, that they were horrible.

After a moment's pause, Wilson put in, "I second that." He glanced at Melissa, "and you keep wanting to put people in it."

Melissa bit her lips, glanced at Alyx who gave a little, nervous laugh, herself.

Eli ground his jaw a little, but it was Melissa that pulled in a shaky breath. "We wouldn't be here either," she said, glancing at Geoff and then Paxton. "I mean… because of this Hoyle person. I know that Disler and Wade both mentioned him helping fund Origin. Though it was all supposed to be hush-hush. I guess they never expected the kids to understand what they were talking about." She remembered her stay at Icarus, that was obvious; also obvious was that she'd rather not be thinking on it. She succeeded in nudging the reminiscing along into more productive banter, and relieved herself of that spotlight.

"Right, right," Wilson said, "so… Hoyle's place is secure." He turned to face the papers on the board again, tried finding the Enclave on the map and failed, but that was no surprise: it wasn't supposed to show up on maps. "Up in that part of the country there haven't been many Portal Storms or Combine incursions. So the whole area is actually pretty nice, still. No one lives up there any more, they're all in the City to the south. But Hoyle's bored out of his mind, and…" He tried to say it casually, "so is Wallace Breen."

With that said, the expected people all leaned back and huffed, puffed and generally began to mutter to themselves. It looked as though Eli would have started spouting off, but he stopped himself: he had been warned. There would be unpleasant things dredged up here, and obviously this was one of them. Eli then realized that if they were telling them these things, it couldn't be all bad. He held his hands up and urged the others to be silent. Wilson nodded toward him, shifted his gaze to the bulletin board and continued.

"Doctor Breen was… also one of our collaborators," he said, "and he would have chickened out on us. Except we did find a use for him, one even he thought would be worth while." Wilson sighed and sought his elder's eyes, and to him he muttered, "there isn't an easy way to deliver this, is there?"

His prime shook his head slowly, they both knew how much this would hurt.

"We sent four of his clones out to the Cities," Wilson stated, and that did draw the requisite amount of startled gasps from the rest. He spoke over them. "And unfortunately, he lost contact with one of them a while back." The Mystery furrowed his brows, what could that mean? "He doesn't think that that one's dead, mind you, just that he's not contacting the others."

It was fairly clear that most at the table didn't really understand the significance of this. They did understand that it could be quite bad – if someone they'd trusted had betrayed them. But that wasn't the confusing part for most. Minds around the table all begged for explanations: Breen had clones? He had lived? Was he on their side, still? Or ever? Did he know what they'd been doing here at Black Mesa in his absence? What Cities were they in?

At least on one or two of those counts, their curiosity could be sated. The Mystery quietly said, "don't think for a moment that his actions were anything less than selfish," he gazed around the table, "I'm positive he did it mainly to save his own skin. But if he was meaning to spite anyone, it would be me."

Eli grunted and laughed, "it's all about you, isn't it."

The Mystery chuckled back, "it certainly was, at any rate. There was, as always, far more to the bigger picture than he realized. He and Miss Silver managed to elude even my notice when they left."

"He took his secretary with him?" Magnusson blurted out.

The Mystery wasn't looking at Arne when he said, "indeed. How inappropriately forward of her."

Eli nearly spat out the sip of water he'd been taking. Alyx tried patting him on the back, but he kept choking, or was it laughing. No one else there seemed to understand any of that, perhaps it was Vortally glossed over. The Mystery continued a moment later with the remnants of an impish grin on his lips.

"Once he was out of the picture, the… good Doctor believed all of you to be dead as well. And not to worry, to my knowledge he still does. He vacated Black Mesa shortly before the… events. Doctor Breen had made… arrangements with Armacham for those clones to be delivered just in time for his departure."

It clearly meant that he'd known that the Resonance Cascade might occur, of course, in order to be gone for it. The Mystery nudged Paxton mentally regarding another aspect of those questions, as the scientists mulled that over, before they started getting angry at it.

"I'm not sure how his clones work," Paxton said, shrugging, "not like mine, I'd assume?" He glanced up to Wilson, thought about having one of his own come into the room but didn't bother. There were already enough warm bodies in the place.

"No, not at all, actually," Wilson said. "But let's just say that Breen really was more full of himself than everyone here thought he was," he let off a smirk to their assorted chuckling. "Normally those clones were intended to be organ farms, for the rich and famous." Now they started to understand; very few of those at this table would have been able to afford the pamphlets about those clones from Armacham, let alone get one made. "Hoyle's used his that way, so far, but Breen… He kind of activated several at once, that was how I ran into them a few years back. Him, talking to himself, and himself, and himself…" Wilson twirled his finger in the air, and some of those at the table got a chuckle out of the image. "From what I know, it wasn't easy for someone like him, without Vortal inputs, to manage at all. He spent a lot of time switching between them, like you do I think?" Paxton nodded, Wilson continued. "And he learned how to do it at a pretty good distance, but not nearly as far as you can. Line of sight, mostly."

Paxton let himself give a little proud grin at that: he'd never even been at that low level of ability.

"But they weren't autonomous, not even to the extent that your Replicas are." Wilson stated, "they were all him. If one of them needed to do something for any length of time… the rest kind of went inert, like yours, but he couldn't sense through them or respond if they were where he couldn't reach them."

"Wait," Paxton narrowed his eyes, "they… he really was just talking to himself?" He waved off Melissa's chiding remark that he'd been known to do that on occasion, himself.

"In four bodies, yeah," Wilson grunted a laugh out. The scientists at the table could have had a field day with that idea, but he continued to speak. "So… we… got him to download his brain scans into them fully, the way they would have if he'd needed a whole new body. In case of… what did they call it? Oh, catastrophic disability." Wilson continued as he began to pace, "so they would be functional by themselves. So there actually are multiple versions of him around now, they each have a few different skill sets, but mostly they're yet another Wallace Breen. And thankfully they did still have some sort of mental contact, at basically any distance." Even Paxton seemed fairly impressed with that. Neither of them noted the Mystery's slightly distracted glance away, and his eyes had focused back on Wilson by the time his pacing had brought him to face that direction again.

Wilson stated, "when we put them into their posts it was with the assumption that they'd continue to work for us."

Both Wilson and the Mystery could feel the questions, hot on the minds of those they'd worked with before. That Lane was still guiding people along was something that didn't surprise any of them. That he'd finally admitted it, did. They all felt somewhat more comfortable with this newer method, that was obvious. As for the Mystery it seemed to urge him along: collecting allies wasn't that difficult. The Mystery leaned toward the desk, propping his elbows onto the table and folding his fingers into their steeple. "Which one is it, that has gone silent?"

"The one in City 14, that used to be Vienna," he clarified to those younger ones at the table who hadn't bothered learning the City numbering system. Of course, they wouldn't know what or where Vienna was, either. "He said there wasn't any distress or pain – nothing that would indicate that he'd been tortured or hurt before he went off the radar." He almost added what most of the scientists thought: that that was a shame.

It looked as though Alyx had thought of something; she waited for the rest at the table to be still, as she mulled it over. She didn't truly know enough to be confident about it, but she had tidbits from her Nexus collection runs. As the conversation moved along, she contributed that she'd recalled seeing Breen's name in a few different locales, it looked familiar enough. But she didn't recall seeing transportation records with his name, for those locales. She'd want to re-check the dates on those communications from them. She had a feeling they would all be much too frequent to really be the same man who'd traveled to different Cities.

As the others continued to mutter, growing a little louder with the silence from the Mystery and his younger counterpart, the elder contemplated this new wrinkle. But it was something he couldn't do anything about just now, and said as much after a few minutes, with a tilted head and shrug of his shoulders. "When we can, we will… deal with that." He said, though it didn't really assuage anyone's feelings on the matter. His extended fingers did indicate that they should listen to Wilson once more, as he was still pacing a bit.

Whether it was the Mystery's gentle Vortal hint to those at the table who didn't see that slight instruction, or Wilson's own throat-clearing, Raa'nach-vahh was the focus of their attention once more, and spoke carefully again. "Thing is, though, David's a people person. He's used to having folks around. And while the rest of us might not think much of it, they're also alone up there. In an enclave the size of the Icarus facility, trying not to get on each other's nerves," he smirked, "and David wouldn't mind having… guests."

Though others seemed to be pondering how any of that could matter, it was once more Arne who spoke his mind first. "All very fine and well," he said, "what does this have to do with us or Snake Fist?" He held his own steady glare at Wilson, almost daring him to do that teleportation trick again, "after all, you're the one who can go there, not us."

To the empaths at the one end of the table, the waves of emotion coming from everyone were quite strong. The overriding feeling, however, was curiosity. How did any of this have anything to do with Snake Fist? Or their European plans if there was any sort of connection there? They were getting a bit antsy, and now that Melissa had had her baby and all… weren't those surprises supposed to be on their way now, so they could be on theirs?

"Maybe you've never been to the Enclave," Wilson said, his broad smile was what tipped some of them off that whatever he had discovered would be more relevant than they hoped. "It's a very nice place, really. Your tax dollars at work, in fact." Some of the older folks laughed outright at that, as he launched into a travel-brochure style description: "Eight story hotel with his penthouse at the top, conference rooms, bar, pool-side restaurant, fully defended and beautifully landscaped grounds, emergency medical systems and clone storage facilities underneath it…" he waited for the appropriate murmurs, "and a smallish, sort of broken power plant. Though the bar's less well-stocked than it used to be, and the landscaper-Breen was sent out to a City. But the place is roomy, all those hotel suites are empty, you know."

"Well… What do you propose?" Izzy said, his chipper voice edged: Arne was going to yell at him, he just knew it.

"What I propose," Wilson said, before Magnusson could berate the scientist, "is that while some of us are out looking for Snake Fist," he glanced at Geoff, who nodded back, "the rest of you get Hoyle's power plant fixed up, and put a teleport relay in the lobby."

The discussion got noisy for some time, mostly going back and forth about how best to get things done at all. Wilson's assertion that they could all use a bit of a vacation was met with some amount of laughter. But he was absolutely serious, it dawned on them as their voices dwindled.

"Well we can't all just walk there, and build something out of spare parts," Arne grumbled, still trying his hardest to put dents in any of Wilson's ideas. It didn't even matter whether he knew what they were, he just seemed unwilling to accept that there were things he didn't comprehend and couldn't achieve himself. He was clearly more angry that this hadn't forwarded their European plans, which he'd spearheaded of course, and had muttered to that effect during much of the discussion.

"Of course not," Wilson said. "And I wouldn't expect you to."

"Magnusson," Eli said, tiredly, "if we could make contact with the Enrichment Center all those years ago, I'm sure we can do this now."

"We can assemble it here," Chell said, then suddenly shrank from the eyes focused on her. "Well, we can," she added. "There are still spare portal-gun parts and they're not doing anyone any good with nowhere to go…"

Zoell and Alyx exchanged a dark glance: they both knew that Chell meant Adell's portal gun, which had seen only the barest use in many years.

"Simmons and I have been working on plans for a slightly… sleeker relay device," Rosenberg said, as always sounding a little doubtful but at the same time quite hopeful. Also as always, he let his technical rambling go over the heads of those who weren't experts, with a casual and patient grace. "Based on the one that was built at the Center and modified by those we've seen the Combine using. It would be more compact and run on less energy. But that leaves the issue of how to tune it to the right harmonic frequencies." If he had been standing, he would have paced around, everyone who had ever worked with him could see how he leaned even at the table as though walking. "We've hardly been able to salvage anything from the Anomalous Materials laboratory due to the continued radiation leaks, and if we removed the one from the existing unit, that would leave us high and dry. Without a Xenian crystal of the right quality, we'd hardly be able to…" He trailed off, blinked, and took his glasses off to clean them.

The Mystery pulled his hand slowly back from the table, where he'd placed just such a crystal. No one, obviously, had seen him leave, nor had anyone seen him take it from his suit jacket or anywhere else. It was very nearly the same shade of yellow as Melissa's eyes, a fact which wasn't lost on any of her men. The lumpy, translucent rock seemed to hum, was just bigger than a softball, and gently under-lit the faces around it as they peered closer.

It was a bit like the other one he'd presented the group of scientists, twelve years ago almost to the day. Though this time, Eli was eager to have the opportunity to work with it. Last time, obviously, things hadn't gone so well. Before anyone could then ask the very obvious question ("Where did you get that?" "Xen, where else would I have gotten it?" The conversation went through his mind and brought a grin to his lips), the Mystery Vortally nudged minds off of it and on to better things.

"Do we have enough functional parts for this new relay?" Judith finally contributed a bit, "if we don't, we can see if the…" She clearly and briefly hesitated, but then grew bolder with the subject matter, "if the Enrichment Center's still got extras." She paused again more in serious thought, "in fact we'd be needing another hand-held portal device's parts for anything in the future, we won't want to disable yours, Chell." Judith clearly meant in Europe, as Chell had volunteered herself a number of months before. "As for the more mundane parts, Martin and Jared would be able to fix up whatever we needed."

"Why, of course they can!" Kleiner perked up, "that's a perfect idea! Although," he again shrank from Magnusson's glare, "how would we get it where it needs to be, afterwards…"

"That isn't a problem," Wilson said, pertinently looking at the Mystery who echoed his faint grin. "We can handle that. As well as moving whoever needs to be there for those repairs first."

Magnusson muttered something about waving a magic wand and grumbled to the effect of why not just do it yourselves and save them the trouble. The Mystery cut him off from thinking anything more on that subject, slightly less than gently, and verbally rather than Vortally.

"Though it may sometimes appear as if it's possible, I assure you we cannot make a teleport device – or anything else for that matter – out of nothing," the Mystery said, "that would be impossible." He gave a brief and humored glance at Eli who instantly thought of a pile of diapers somewhere being looted for Melissa. "Nor can we even make such a thing. After all, neither Wilson nor myself are trained in that field." He added in a mutter, "why else would I have paid for the ones at Lambda to be built? And why couldn't you have thought of those sleeker designs twenty years ago? So over-budget." Then in a slightly brighter tone and with an honest smile, after Rosenberg gave off his own sputtering laugh, "not to worry though… once it is assembled, we can in fact… move it."

Kallah-vahh felt reasonably certain Wilson was thankful for this definition of we, because it obviously meant that he would move it: the last time Wilson had done so was in taking Alice Wade and her stasis unit to Xen, and that had almost killed him. Wilson could tell he was scoring points with this idea, and it looked as though the Mystery wanted to show off a little too.

Or perhaps Paxton would be able to do it, another bit of training. Kallah-vahh felt the tired flicker of annoyance from Paxton, at that, and almost laughed out loud. He also felt a strange ping from Eli's mind, on the subject. The Mystery moved to look toward the scientist, and spoke quietly, "because we have been bidden," was his response. He took careful note of Paxton's expression at that moment: his heir knew, very clearly, why that needed to be said.

The Mystery was fairly certain too, that Wilson's suggestion was perfectly in order and didn't disqualify them from acting. After all, Wilson was Human. Raa'nach-vahh could not only take ideas from those they made deals with, but suggest courses of action as well, without harm.

Melissa tilted her own head with a silent, Vortal query, but the Mystery held his fingers up and indicated he'd get to whatever she needed, in just a bit.

"So does Hoyle know what you're plotting? Dragging us up there and setting up shop in his lobby?" Magnusson just didn't know when to quit.

"Of course he knows, he suggested it," Wilson stated, "like I said, he's bored. And: he needs that power plant of his fixed up. Once the other Breens were sent off into the big wide world," he chuckled, "there was no one really left to do that. The original's there, but that one doesn't have enough tools to go around or skilled enough hands to use them, which is why you'll need yours."

A few minutes later, they'd assembled a checklist for those who would be assembling the relay unit here, and had a good idea of who would be heading up to that Enclave in order to work on the power plant. Geoff and Wilson would go exploring and bring along a pair of Replicas just in case it was a trap. Zoell, Colette, Bennett and Arne would take their gear to the power plant and hope the place wasn't completely ruined.

Since he'd been there to see it personally, Wilson was able to assure them that even without power from that mini-reactor, the hotel itself was still in perfect working order, with generators and such to keep everything going in the meantime. Their vacation would still be a nice one. They'd just have to pay for it in trade.

Once the place was functional, and if they found Snake Fist, there could be another of these discussions at a real conference hall. Everyone would be there, the old guard and all, minus those who had been lost to time. After that point, Europe would be that much closer a goal. Talk by nearly everyone around the table was bright, focused, cheerful about it all. More cheerful indeed, since they wouldn't have to brave the first round of City entrances: City 82 had detailed records on some of them. They could outright bypass that place and head toward 97, Portland, instead. Or even head north through Canada; all the world could be their destination if they worked this right.

First and most importantly they would have to get working on the relay. But the discussion dwelled a little more on spending some time relaxing and collecting their thoughts in a well-preserved high-class locale.

Alyx and Melissa both got excited about seeing such a place. Any exploration they'd ever done in hotels was a bit of a disappointment: given their run-down state and the fact that they had to dodge Combine snipers to do it. The others pondered how they would react to seeing Breen again. Rosenberg gave an uncharacteristic indication that he'd like to get some punching practice in on him. And Eli very characteristically grunted that he'd have to get in line.

Wilson then suggested that they just activate another clone for it all, "maybe even give it some hand to hand combat training, he's got all the skill downloads stored there." Suddenly his face fell, "aw, crap," he deflated a little more as Mars began to coo and paw at him in pity, "the one that could cook left too."

"You are an exceptional chef, Wilson," the Mystery said, holding the Xenian crystal in his fingers and examining it for clarity, "I'm sure you'll be able to provide evidence of your expertise while everyone else is working."

For a moment Wilson stood unmoving, confused as to whether he should take it as the backhanded compliment that it sounded, or as yet another reason to get pissed off. Then his eyebrows bunched up. "But I like it when someone else does the cooking, and I never learned how to make those noodles of theirs. I'll have to scratch that off the menu."