Defining Factors

The Teleporter

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Warnings: Things get a little...creepy. Read with caution.

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A long time ago, Alex had been sent on a mission with three others to track down a teleporter. They thought they had found him, only for him to slip from their finger. Now, Hamilton stares at the screen that displays the live feed of a young man curled up in a cell with a dampening collar around his neck. "He's younger," Hamilton says.

"Hm?" Andre asks, watching the rest of the screens.

"He looks younger. Not fully grown. Like he's got a couple years to really become himself. 19? 20?"

Andre glances over at the screen but quickly looks away. "I suppose."

"And where's Thomas?" Alex asks. "Thomas was supposed to be with him."

Andre made a noncommittal noise, obviously tired from being on constant surveillance. "I suppose it makes sense that James could have taken him," he says.

"I want to talk to him."

"Thomas?"

"James."

"You know the rules. No one in until Fredericks clears it," Andre says. It's almost monotone, the way he says it. Like he's been watching the screen so long that he's not even really there any more. Tallemadge is asleep at the other station.

"I just want to ask him where Thomas is," Alex says. "You can come with. It'll get you out of this room."

Andre sighs and gets to his feet, pulling keys from his pocket. "Fine. Let's go."

It's not a long walk, but they have to walk through all the cells of all the other people that are kept there. They throw insults mostly. Some just ask questions. Like, "How is my daughter, please, I just want to know," and Hamilton starts to feel uncomfortable.

James is kept in a special place all by himself, where the quiet can break a man stronger than Hamilton. Andre unlocks it and they step inside. James shifts in his spot, sitting up and looking at them but says nothing, just watching.

"Where is Thomas?" Alex asks. A flurry of emotions cross James' face. Guilt. Regret. Sadness. "Answer me."

James hands form words, drawing Hamilton's attention. "He says he doesn't know where Thomas is," Andre translates, sitting down in a nearby chair. James signs something else and Andre signs back.

"Your hands," Hamilton says, watching closely. "What happened to them?"

James takes a second to examine his hands, being careful of the cuts and scrapes that were no longer bleeding and signed again. "They got scraped open when I was trying to get away from you people," Andre translates.

Hamilton mouth presses into a thin line. "Where are your gloves? Was it all a trick?"

"What trick? I haven't done anything," Andre repeats.

Hamilton scowls. "Bullshit. You took Thomas."

Tears well in James' eyes. "I haven't seen Thomas in year."

Hamilton slams his hand against the bars that separate them. "Quit toying with me!" he shouts, making James jump and move away a little more. "I swear to God, if you don't tell me where Thomas is, I will drown you right now."

"Woah," Andre says, standing and pulling Hamilton away from the bars. "Back off."

Alex raises his hands and storms out of the room. Andre throws an apologetic look at James and follows after him.

***

Francis was not having a good night. Not when he could hear James so clearly and so close. How many levels beneath him? Desperate and scared and begging anyone for help without a voice. But then the voice had grown quieter, more subdued just a hour or so go. The terror had increased, fearing someone was going to kill him, scared for Thomas, then, it just dropped away into hopeless whispers. A quiet internal monologue to keep himself from going insane.

Francis could almost feel the metal of the collar around his neck. The cold sweat, the racing heart. John finally got up after several minutes. "Come on," he said, pulling on a shirt. "Let's go see him."

Francis looked at him then. "What?"

"You're obviously not going to sleep until you do."

"We can get in," Francis replied.

John shrugged. "Fine. Then sleep."

"I can't. I can hear him."

John sighs. "How is you can block everyone else out, but not him?"

"I can't bring myself to," Francis says quietly. "Somebody has to witness his words."

John just groans. "It's not like they're hurting him, okay? They're just keeping him there until they can figure out what to do. Like you said earlier, something weird is going on."

"I thought you didn't believe me," Francis said.

"In this line of work, anything is possible." John settles back into bed and wraps himself around Francis. "Relax. It'll be okay."

Francis nods slightly and eventually manages to relax and sleep.

***

It wasn't like a medieval prison. It's wasn't stone floors, rats, and leaks. James had a bed and a toilet and clothes. Even a book. But the book he couldn't pick up. The bed he couldn't rest in. All he could do is sit on the floor and worry about being taken apart. That's the conspiracy around governments and people with powers, right?

It's a stupid notion, but one can't help but think it in a situation like this one.

And then there was Thomas. That man, the angry one, wouldn't stop demanding about Thomas. It was the same Thomas, right? God, James hadn't even thought of Thomas he was still alive. What is Thomas going to do if he finds out? Is Thomas even okay? The man had been near frantic.

His line of thinking stops when a man steps in the room. He's tall and then, with white hair and blue eyes. "You got too confident," he says. "We caught you. It took time, yes, but we caught you."

He keyed open the cell and stepped inside, a large needle and syringe in his hand. "We don't want to hurt you," he says. "This is to help you." He holds up the needle and syringe combo. "It's just a tracker, that's all. So we can take that collar off you. It's a bit inhumane, that collar, don't you think? I just want to help you out of this cell."

James back away, his voice of no use. His fingers forming words that weren't understood. The man didn't crowd him, just sitting down on the bed and setting the needle aside. "Listen, I know you're not the same. This must be very confusing for you and I'm sorry this happened. This place, it's called the society. We take in people like you. Give them a place to belong and flourish. So you don't have to hide. Everyone gets a tracker so if something bad happens outside the compound, we can find them and help. That's all. The only reason you have that collar is because you're a danger to yourself. We don't want you teleporting away before you understand and then ending up some where horrible with no one near to help."

The words were starting to make sense. James could feel his guard lessening. "Is it alright if I place this tracker?" Slowly, James nods and extends his arm. He smiles and gingerly holds it, sanitizing it with a wipe. "My name is Fredericks. It's nice to meet you." The needle burns, but it burns worse when Fredericks presses the plunger down. A noise of pain escapes his throat. The noise shocks James more than anything. "It's alright," Fredericks soothes, bandaging the bicep where he implanted the tracker. "Don't worry. Everyone here will come to learn your language so you feel more welcome." Fredericks unlocks the collar from James' throat and takes it off. "Rest here for now. You are safe. I'll show you around in the morning."

The words have James' eyes drooping and weariness settling over him. He's asleep before Fredericks even let's himself out, never making it onto the bed.

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