The Nephilim Protocol

New Names

The big guy in the suit shows us into another room. "Here are your orientation packets," he says, handing us four bright red rucksacks. They're big, like the kind you use to go camping. "Start looking through them. Your upperclassman mentor will be in shortly."

He closes the door. These people don't seem to like being in the same room as us.

We examine our packets. Inside the bag are ten other turtlenecks of the exact size and shape as the ones we're wearing. Mine have the number "984" stamped onto the shoulder. There's some khaki pants in the bag also, with plastic-wrapped packages of socks and underwear, and a zip-locked bag of basic toiletries.

Taped to the exterior of the rucksack is a clear plastic bag. I rip it open.

"What is this?" says Olive Skin, who's way ahead of the rest of us, holding up the garment that's inside.

"A parka," I say, recognizing the fur on the hood. "You wear it—"

"I've seen coats before, moron."

"Okay."

"Ease off, towel jockey. Douche-chin here was trying to be helpful," Fat Kid says, untangling the boots from where they're laced to the bottom of the rucksack.

"Wow," I say, turning on him. "Racist and idiotic. 'Towel jockey' isn't even a thing. Is there something wrong with using people's names?"

Fat Kid shrugs. "I don't know them?"

Olive Skin speaks up. "They call me the Rich and Prosperous One."

We look at him blankly. "What?" says Fat Kid.

"It's just a name." Rich-and-Prosperous-One looks at us. "What about you guys?"

Fat Kid rolls his eyes. "Weirdo. Fine, my name's 'Gracious'."

Rich-and-Prosperous-One gives a dry chuckle. "What. Seriously?"

I try not to laugh. "Is that ... like ... a family name or something?"

Gracious looks at us. "No.... my family name is 'He Who Lives on the Seawall.' They've got these big seawalls in the Netherlands to keep the ocean rushing in. They call them dikes. A house on the seawall is a dike-house. Gracious-Man-who-Lives-on-the-Seawall."

But this time, that's not exactly what I hear. Instead, I hear the actual sounds he's making. Miles Dikehouse.

Something clicks. "Quick test here," I say, holding up my hands. "When I say 'Gareth', what do you hear?"

They both burst out laughing.

"Really, man? Gentle?" Rich and Prosperous says, "Seriously? Who names their kid ..." But then something shifts in his face, and I can tell the same thing has clicked.

"We're hearing translations of our names," I say.

Rich and Prosperous slowly nods. "So ... when I say 'Rich and ...'"

Except this time, I do hear it. Farez.

Apparently, I'm not the only one. Gracious is looking back and forth. "Whoah."

"Names take some getting used to," says a new voice. Standing in the doorway is a short, black, slightly chubby teenager, beaming a smile at us. He's fully dressed in the winter gear we're still unpacking. "Idioms as well. You should hear the name and not the translation the second or third time around."

"You're the upperclassman mentor?" asks ... Farez.

The newcomer grins. "My name is Destroyer, Guardian of Humanity," he says, extending a hand. "My parents were perhaps a bit dramatic. That is how I would describe them. Most here call me Destro."