The Stigma (by Koltin Scott)

Chap. II

"Of all those in the army close to the commander none is more intimate than the secret agent; of all rewards none more liberal than those given to secret agents; of all matters none is more confidential than those relating to secret operations."

–Sun Tzu

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Elizabeth

"I'm sorry to hear about your father," Gabriel said, adding, "and your brother as well. I bid my highest respects."

     Gabriel could pass as an alternative actor for Bruce Wayne. He was six feet of secret service muscle. The tone of his physique would make the other agents drool. For the guys it would be envy and the girls, desire. The wind ruffled his obsidian hair as he strolled next me behind the yellow tape.

     I watched the porters zip up the black bags with the last of my immediate family in them. I haven't seen my family in 15 years, ever since children were drafted into the police force, what people call The Draft. Me and my brother, Henry, were tested into the Angels. Thirteen, his body was unfit for the strenuous Angelic training.

     When we were carrying a I-beam as routine workout, it fell and cracked his skull. By training we would carry the weak along with the I-beam. We thought it was just a cut but it was a cut in his brain.

     Now I stood over my brutally murdered father and brother.

     "What happened ArchAngel?"

     He rose a brow, my voice showed the question was a demand, not a question. Only God or a PO'ed woman would demand anything from Gabriel, the Chief of the Angels.

     "They were caught up in the villain games. Collateral casualties of a assassination attempt on a villain."

     "Whose the best witness?"

     "The villain, naturally. The team on scene secured solid samples of his DNA. Via weakly embedded bloodstains on a officer's pants that was held hostage for the escape."

     I kept my serious face, "And why are you telling me that?"

     "Well," he teetered uncomfortably, "I don't want to get ahead of myself with everything going on."

     "Tell me," I said in that demanding tone.

     He pursed his lips, wondering if he should tell or not. He did.

     "What is it that you want right now?"

     "Selflessly getting to the bottom of this and personally getting vengeance."

     "So you want a mission right now?"

     "Yes."

     He looked reluctant to begin so soon but began getting down to brass tax.

     "We were going to offer you a opportunity for the reasons you listed. But to be more pacific, we wanted you to infiltrate the lead witness' inner circle. We can't guarantee your satisfaction, but we have suspicions that all parties involved are Dragoon related. Even if we are incorrect, the local authorities have been having a douse with the super villains in general. It would be another cahoona off our lists."

     "So you're giving me a small undercover task?"

     "Well..." he said bobbing his head side to side unsurely, "undercover missions tend to unfold from sounding like that into things much more delicate."

     I nodded in understanding.

     "But no matter the outcome, you will be given a sizable estate with your new identity among other things that will be based on the sacrifice and performance of the operation."

     "DEAL. Give me what we know."

     "Ambitious aren't we?"

     "I want to start the second my family is in the ground."

     After a shout, an officer approached Gabriel with a collection of files.

     "I love the good help that the FBI is. Faster than my banker," he handed the files me, "you study them. I'll have a copy of them being sent to my 'abode' now."

     "You can't tell me what you live in?"

     He joked,

     "What if I am scheduled for the weekend in a toasty submarine in the floes of the North or South Pole?"

     I joked in return,

     "Don't invite me for coffee. I am tempted to say that you live in your mother's house."

     "Is that an insult?"

     We joked with each other, hopefully not flirted,

     "Rumors say that Chuck Norris taught you how to karate chop trees into existence?"

     "Is that a apology or a compliment?"

     He must have sensed some reason to get back to business and did so by cutting in,

     "Speaking of good help, the SWAT team made a excellent assessment and execution of the situation. The leader processed a backup plan in a matter of seconds. I told his superiors that they should promote him for what he did today."

     I was looking through the files and concluded, "We have nothing on the target?"

     "That should take a few more seconds," he said as a elite FBI agent approached with a file.

     "Chief! We got something interesting..."

     "What do we got?" I said.

     "The DNA belongs to a kid that has been dead for fifteen years."

     "How did you find this so quickly?" Gabriel asked.

     "We searched for wealthy targets to narrow it down. The SWAT mentioned the gadgets that were used for a distraction and, adding it up, led surprisingly to this."

     "But," I said, "many villains have hordes of illegal wealth, how do you know that this is it?"

     "The evidence is pretty solid," he said having joined in our walk, "his father was a governor and kept the family information on basic lockdown so no one could steal their wealth by identity theft."

     "How," Gabriel said, "do we know that it is him?"

     "He wasn't in the criminal database by DNA but blood doesn't lie. If he were someone else, we wouldn't know who it is. We'd be calling him VX8 or something."

      "So it is him!" Gabriel said, "Have we started computer simulations to see what he looks like?"

      "We were going to compare it to a drawing for any scars or tattoos. Several people got a good look at his face. What will be better is when we first figure out what his body build will be like. Then we can compare that to the criminal files to narrow it down. After that, we will see if the gadgets used today match the design of whatever comes up."

     "Why can't we rely on the face?" I asked, I already knew, but I think the FBI agent is thrilled to death by talking to us.

     "Because the guy could be having facial reconstruction right now. Not only that, but lots of the big goonies where masks and fake fingerprints. It's like this: A swift strike can change how a face looks, something more dramatic is required to change how one's body distinguishes itself."

     "Well then," I said, "what about the others?"

     "Well we searched 'em up and they turned out to be..."