The Unwanted Relic

Chapter II

04:03:2024 12:53

Jay Omen stood at the entrance of the Howard Hall. No emotion swayed him. He was not joyful or distraught, calm or frightened. He was just there.

"Hey," a voice greeted him from behind. "Should we go take a seat?"

Jay turned his head to meet eyes with Becky. The resident technological genius, Beck Heinz despised the little "y" everyone tacked onto the end of his name. It had originally started as an inside joke, meant to soften up the blond-haired, blue-eyed, corn-fed boy-from-the-prarie stereotype he had come in with. He came to prove himself as quite a beloved character in the end; Becky was one of the most warm, welcoming personalities at C.O.R.N.

After a moment, Jay offered an affirmation and followed behind closely. The hall was filled with many members of the Network, almost in order from least connection to most. In the far back sat Lurking Eye, the inside wise guy of the organization. In front of him sat a legend who'd transformed his time on stage into a career of martial arts, Jabby Hands, and alongside him the merchant Jackson Plenty, who was arguably more of a Switzerland than an actual operative for C.O.R.N.

Jay's eyes slid through each row as he trailed from behind. Svëna and Grëig, the Scandinavian Specials, had flown in from an assignment in Seattle. Each row had agents that Jay had not seen in weeks or months. Some even since a year ago. Closer to the front were P-Dawg and Joey Kornhole, the two squadmates of the Diamond Prince. Their respective masteries with the rocket launcher and explosives had once made them members of the world's deadliest trio. Becky shifted into the row across the aisle from them, checking to confirm that Jay followed.

Jay was silent as more agents and operatives filed in, placing themselves along the same system he had already noted. His eyes traveled driftless across the space, recounting the last time this many people had been gathered in the space. It had been almost a year ago to this day. That fateful day in Texas.

"I would like to offer my thanks to everyone who was able to appear today. Events like these are never professionally, or personally, simple."

Jay forced his mind to focus on the scene in front of him. At the main podium proudly stood the leader of the Criminal Offense Reduction Network, Director Mitchell P. Covington. He was one of the most composed people anyone could ever meet. The 40-something-year-old somehow contained both the wisdom and experience of one 30 years his senior and the creativity and optimism of one 30 years his junior. Behind him stood his loyal second, Wynston Stiles–the aftershock of the director's immediate impact.

"The Diamond Prince had been one of my closest operatives, I had scouted him out years before he became the sometimes cocky, yet charming agent we knew him to be."

A few stifled huffs came from the crowd, but Jay's thoughts only circled back to Texas. Lewisville, Texas. That day when it had not been just one operative lost.

"Our headquarters are not often regarded as a place of warmth, connection, or something worth fighting for. Yet it is what we call home, it is what we come home to at the end of the day. And it being his home too, the Prince brought his own uniquities to our mission, our family."

Lewisville, Texas. Death, destruction, dismay. Jay tried not to focus on the numbers, the names. He was better than this, he had fought hard against this. Physical therapy had trained him how to climb out of the hole, therapy had taught him why it was worth it to. To climb out of the hole. That hole.

"It would be impossible to acknowledge all the work the Prince did for our cause. The countless missions completed, wars fought, and people saved. His work was extraordinary."