George never misses.

Institute of Grace

There's a place far away from here. 

Some call it heaven.

Others say it's where the lucky souls end up, spending their days in Elysium.

Then there are those who believe it is where Valhalla awaits them and finally Ragnorak.

Possibly others have other ideas. More places, history, culture.

Of course the lucky few who believed in nothing at all.

To them days mean nothing.

Minutes blur together.

The clock ticks.

The clock tocks.

The gun cocks.

The gun fires.

Mister Daniel Fern was of the latter category. Perfectly content to wait out his days until the end. Happy to embrace the oblivion of death's cloak with open arms.

Sadly that was not what the fates had planned for him.

As it can be seen he was an investigator. For a rather unusual company. 

Most have probably already assumed that he worked for the Yard or some USA federation. Likely with the FBI or CIA, possibly as a simple worker for a precinct in a city.

No, he worked for none of those things. For the reason he didn't believe in an afterlife was because he had no afterlife. His form of employment was to the Institute of Grace, or IG as some of his coworkers had dubbed it. A company of higher power than some lowly homo sapien founded one. 

Now they'd been receiving reports. Usually these meant nothing. The only worth they carried was always associated with who got the case. A crude way of judgement but one that had been proven many times over. 

These reports were important.

More so than anything Mister Fern had ever seen. Of course Mister Fern hadn't seen much considering he was 78 years old. A child compared to the other workers, inexperienced, sloppy, and too young to be in the IG ranks.

That didn't prevent him from being a mediocre investigator.

As said mediocre investigator he didn't receive many, sensitive cases. An occasional armed robbery was placed under his jurisdiction and that was about it.

This time all of the higher ranked investigators had been dispatched on other assignments. One in particular, who had dubbed herself to be the best, was flying out to the Milky Way to take care of a wayward asteroid. Not the most impressing or pressing, for that matter, but the way she preened when she was assigned gave the impression that she had the most dangerous, saving the world, defeating-all-the-odds case of utmost importance.

Mister Fern only scoffed and moved on with his day.

"Daniel Fern to the potentate's office. Daniel Fern to the potentate's office." A distinctly male voice called through his ankle chip. "Make haste, Mister Fern. The potentate is waiting for you."

When the potentate of the Institute of Grace called one was inclined to answer.

Quickly, efficiently, quietly.

Two of which, Mister Fern demonstrated. Quietness was never his strong suit. Especially at a young age when he would wail and cry. Quite unlike his kin who sat quietly in their cribs suckling on honey combs and waiting for something to come along and entertain them.

"Potentate, sir, you wanted to see me?" Internally, Mister Fern flinched. The potentate wants for nothing. They simply wish for something and it happens.

"Yes." The curt one word answer seemed to flay him alive. Mister Fern kept a straight face knowing any weakness would get him a two-week notice. "You are not the best. Yet you are not the worst. Some could consider you an enigma. Neutral, the very middle of the spectrum." Mister Fern nodded tightly. "Your next assignment follows a few murders that have been happening. You might recognize the names of the past victims. Your cousin, Grant, was the one who brought in the perpetrator the first time. She's escaped again and this time the murders are even more horrendous."

The potentate had a specific way of dismissing an investigator. A small flick on the rim of their glasses signalled they were done talking. If the investigator was not gone by a reasonable time they were fired.

Simple, cutthroat, straightfoward.

Inside Daniel Fern celebrated. A case is one of the best things ever. To him, at least. Especially one of this caliber. It simply did not happen to persons alike to himself.

As was custom he showed himself out and strode straight for the desk of the Second Man. 

"Daniel Fern. Serial number 953061. Class: human. Species: other." 

Straightforward sentences were prized at IG. It wasted no time and it demonstrated a higher intelligence and respectability that one might possess. Except for the potentate. They were allowed to waste time as they were amongst one of the most intelligent species. Specifically bred for their very job.

"Here, you won't need anything for this case. Your own wits should be enough. Unless as you depart you feel as though your wits are lacking then help yourself to the armoury." Second Man handed him a manilla folder with his named scrawled sloppily in the corner. A paper clip stood out against the cream with its brazen bronze colouring.

Again, Mister Fern nodded and walked smartly away. Making sure to time his steps with the ticking of the clock installed in his ankle chip.

[~°|°~]

George was an interesting boy. Mister Fern had found. 

Intelligent, cunning, bloodthirsty.

Three attributes no one but potentate's possessed. An otherworldly grace seemed to accompany his name as well. Along with that of his self acclaimed "mother". 

Mister Fern watched, for the most part, as George carried on with his life. Taking lives and loving his mother.

Learning to shoot a gun.

Learning what a woman looks for in a man.

Learning to throw knives with deadly accuracy

Learning how to care for a family as a man should.

Learning the ways of the world through only one viewpoint. A stifled existence. One might even start to feel sympathetic towards the young boy. If they did not yet know what he is.

A monster.

Not a term to be thrown around lightly. Or even at all.

For after all, aren't all monsters just creations of their own circumstances? Something not bred or born into, but learned.

His mother taught him everything he knows. George believed it was fine taking lives for his mother. His mother believed he was too special for anyone to know about. Excluding herself, of course.

Mister Fern would watch for now. Intervene in the most trivial matters to see if it would alter anything. Maybe one day Daniel Fern will have to apply himself more in the case. For now the murders have stopped. The murderess herself had been preoccupied with raising her child. That gave Mister Fern more time to observe before doing something more drastic.