To Each a Tempo
by Pyrasaur
Prologue
For all the polish in the life of an Agent -- crisp formations, rehearsed moves, the ridiculous cool factor of a hoverpad or a jetpack -- J liked patrol work best. Just rhythms and beats to follow, wherever they pulled him; just his own footfalls on concrete and good honest sweat dampening his back. He roamed the city's back passages, exploring on cat's feet, watching the world through Agents' tinted shades, an enigmatic friend to all.
The park's sandy path led him closer, the beat faltering more and harder: someone in trouble, hot-blooming worry and frantic awareness. J's pace sped and the oak trunks vanished, the canopy's dappled light blurred and he saw, felt, breathed only music. She thrummed nervous, she walked on age-stiff joints and a presence followed, someone rapidly skewing from friend to foe. Her name ghosted on J's tongue, all round consonants. A frail-built woman, arthritis-gnawed hands, fear liquid in her heart and a cry trembling in her throat -- help, she cried, and she needed an Agent.
J stopped, skidding on leaves, snapping into basic position. Guitar's growl flowed and his blood kept time; he tightened grip on the microphone's hilt and began.
Makes me that much stronger~
Suspicion, a ragged man not so harmless, looming closer. Step and tap, sweep of arm and snap of head, a match to every driving note.
Makes me work a little bit harder~
She turned, quivered with new courage and the attack came anyway, wide hands, a snarled demand for what she carried. Hop and shimmy, flow with the baseline and press harder, brighter.
Makes me that much wiser~
A grab for her purse but she blazed now, her rhythm beat strong. A swing of the purse, a scolding cry and startled choke in response, defensive strikes bubbling upward through her memory's depths. Repeat the moves, measure and mirror, a flick of hips and finishing step and he pointed at the world, the audience. The terror fled, and she stood breathing hard and grinning.
So thanks for making me a fighter~
The beats faded, a passing rumble of thunder. The urgency bled away and J stood again in a forest grove, limbs singing with adrenaline, watching leaves sway with the breeze and sensing the woman's rhythm falling back to routine. Another job well done, and he wiped hot sweat from under his pompadour and smiled broader -- he wouldn't trade the long days and aching muscles for the world.
Onward, then, to find another victim, someone else in need of a helping hand. The park path quickly opened, the trees thinned and J looked out at the heat-shimmering asphalt of the street, the stinging glint of cars' chrome in the midday sun and far-off traffic's murmur. It was open, too open; any number of idle gazes could see him. Pausing, canting his weight onto one leg, J combed his memories of the terrain, every alley and footpath and sidelot. Foster Park curved over bush-thick hills and down a creek's shallow bed. His socks would squelch wet with every step afterward but a little water never--
Shock, flaring red from the corner of J's senses. He looked -- breeze-fluttering oak leaves and a sparrow sailing past, open columns of sun -- and the sensation dulled, faded. Too brief to be anything serious: maybe a hiker coming across an especially hairy bug, or a coordinator fretting over whatever huge gathering was milling at the park's center. The chaos of a hundred rhythms together, a wedding or something. Definitely no open spaces for J, then -- gazes crept on his skin, under the Agent suit. He looked back to the street, tried the maps in his head and couldn't remember the streets' names, just their sprawling directions. The Tres Bien was nearby, he knew that much, remembered its cluttered alleys and the muddled-wonderful scent of food cooking, the starchy, frying smell and visions of glaze-shining doughnuts. And thinking along those lines meant break time had arrived -- a good music rush could hide even the most determined hunger pang, after all. J lifted a hand toward his earpiece. A quick check-in with Missy, her chirp of permission and J could--
