In a world torn between heroes and villains, it can be a dangerous and hostile place. Some take comfort in the Gifted that stand up against those who would use their powers for greed and chaos. While others choose to hide away, fearful of the day...
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"Sir, are you okay?"
Dominic fell onto the chaise that sat across from the marble counter of the private bathroom. He gave Walt a nod before his loyal aide turned back to the door and beckoned to Bauhaus, who had been monitoring the many guards scattered around the hall. Now, the security chief's priority was guarding Dominic from any physical threat that might have triggered his employer's sudden fainting spell.
"Should I get Civic? She's just down the hall in one of the hotel's conference rooms if you need her. For publicity's sake, I think it would be best to have you walk over to the room, but if you can't..."
"I'm fine, Walt," groaned the tired tycoon, who placed his face into his hands so his fingers could massage his temples. "At least my body is fine."
"What do you need then, sir?"
Dominic looked up from his palms and gazed at his dutiful sidekick. Though Walt was two years older than himself, he had never stopped referring to his employer as sir. Dominic could convince him to go with Mr. Cramer instead, but it would only last a month before Walt slipped back into old habits.
Walter Iverson was born and raised to be the man behind the spotlight. A long line of butlers, housekeepers, bodyguards, and assassins filled his family tree. The Iversons lived to serve and once they found the person, they deemed to be their "master," only death could end their service. Dom often wondered if some Gifted talent was the source of the Iverson family's dogged loyalty, but he had no desire to pry the information from him. Despite Walt's eccentricities, he really couldn't have asked for a better companion, and nothing would change that.
"I need," he answered with a sigh and a shake of his head, "you to tell me she was dead."
"Who, sir?"
"Mir... Elaina Hart, the woman from the woods. The one, I..." Dom rose from his seat and walked over to the sink. He turned on the faucet and placed his hands on either side of the basin. An image crawled out from the dark depths of his memory, a corpse clawing its way forward, its face consumed by its lifeless eyes and its neck marred by a scarf of blood. For a moment, he felt a pull in his stomach as the alcohol and his meager dinner swirled together and frothed to a boiling point. He swallowed hard and dipped his cupped hands into the water. He splashed it onto his face, the ice-cold liquid shocking his skin. With water dripping from the tip of his nose, he slipped his hands back into the stream, this time raising them up to his lips so he could sip the chilling water and wash away the guilt threatening to burst from him.
"I know the lack of a police report from the town of Needle Ridge has vexed you these past months," continued Walt, who watched his employer with an unconcerned expression, "but I would surmise that the Fortress removed her when Shockwave returned to find your armor. They would have canvassed the area and searched for the single witness to the attack. I cannot be so bold as to assume why they felt the need to remove her, but..."
