The Jigsaw

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Tough Beginnings

1st of August

Maoro Base was huge. Situated in flat, post-industrial terrain in an area that was far from built-up, it was walled with a thirty-foot fence and secured with watchtowers. With the wall crowned with awe-inspiring coils of barbed wire and watchtowers occupied by well-armed guards, the base was like a military island with inaccessible reefs and cliffs.

Casey, a sport bag on his arm, was standing in front of the enormous, heavy gate. It was open, but not unguarded; a solid-looking barrier and sentry blocked the way. Casey didn’t even try to approach. Not having any kind of pass, it was impossible to be let in. He was waiting in the hope that someone would meet him. Or, rather, hoping no one would meet him and he could go home. Unfortunately he saw Simon’s bright head behind the guard post. The man exchanged a few words with the guards and motioned towards Casey, and the barrier was lifted.

“Hello. Nice to see you here.” Simon held out his hand. He wore a kind of black undershirt with long sleeves and black cords that hung low on his hips, with a massive military belt. The well-fitting clothing emphasized his slenderness.

Casey shook the offered hand but didn’t answer. He still bore a little grudge against those people and treated them distantly. His common sense told him Simon was not the one to blame for the way he’d been treated, but for now, he was a representative of the people in charge.

“I see,” Simon smiled. He didn’t seem offended. “I have a pass for you.” He handed Casey a black plastic card with nothing but a number, microchip, and a gray stripe. It had a clip to attach it to the shirt. “This is your ID. We don’t use names, in case the badge is lost.”

Casey examined the card and clipped it to his denim jacket pocket.

“You should always have it with you. They like to see it.”

Casey barely nodded his head, having only a vague idea of who the hell “they” might be.
“You’re still sulking.” Simon was calm and composed, not in the least affected by Casey’s unfriendly mood.

“Wouldn’t you be, in my place?”

“I wish I’d been in your place,” Simon said, his look serious.

“Oh.” Casey felt a little foolish and embarrassed. “How—”

“You don’t expect me to tell you the story of my life here, do you?” Simon interrupted, guessing the question before it was asked. He was still kind but not so warm any more. It was a line they shouldn’t cross. Not now. Not yet. “We’re going to work together for at least these two months so it’s a good idea if we play on the same team,” he added.

“Hey, I’m sorry, okay?” Casey didn’t like to be admonished, but he repressed his intuitive objection and tried to hide his irritation.

“Yeah, okay.” Simon smiled again and unceremoniously patted Casey on the back, pushing him in the direction of the barrier.

Simon packed Casey and his bag into the car—the same purple BMW that had been seen at the training camp—and drove through the base. Casey had never been in such a car. He’d never even been close to one. Forgetting about his dejection and stress, he admired this wonder with shining eyes. Cream-colored leather upholstery, the blue diodes of indicators and all the electronics.... The engine, working with a low, deep whirr, suggested power lying dormant. He completely ignored the world outside—austere concrete buildings with tinted windows and guarded doors, and the U.S. Army emblems, flags, and heavy weapons that gaave the massive center a threatening look.

Out of the corner of his eye Simon caught Casey’s facial expression and smirked with amusment “You like cars?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Casey blushed slightly at being caught off guard in such sincere admiration. He would rather have continued to pretend to be cold and distant. “But I like motorcycles better,” he added, trying to save face.

“I heard about it.” Simon nodded. “I heard you’re pretty good with motorbikes.”

”I wanted to be a stuntman some time ago.”

“Well, now’s your chance.”

“I said, some time ago.”

“I heard. But it doesn’t change the fact,” remarked Simon.

“Where are we going?” Casey changed the subject, feeling that the conversation was taking an unpleasant turn again.

“Headquarters.”

“Here? I thought you were just using this center.”

“True. This is our cover. We’re scattered all over, with bureaus at different institutions. So we also have one here.”

“This is an enormous area.” Casey finally directed his attention to the view.

“Indeed.”

They traveled in silence for a while, Casey observing the surroundings and Simon concentrating on driving.

“What will I do here?” Casey started asking questions again. He had thousands of them. He had already gathered that his indifferent attitude made no impression on the agents. They didn’t care about his attitude at all. With or without questions they would make him do whatever they wanted. So he made it his business to get oriented in the situation.

“Train, as you know.”

“Train in what?”

“Fighting, shooting, survival, medical care, modern military technologies....”

“I’ve been learning martial arts since I was a kid.”

“Yeah, I know, but that’s a bit different kind of fighting. You have to learn not just how to be better, but how to defeat someone. Let’s call it the art of survival.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

“No, it’s not. See, you’re good. It can be judged by means of certain criteria that someone is better or worse than you. To defeat someone means being better in an absolute way, to have total control over him.”

“And what’s the difference in practice?”

“Rules. You fight using rules. The point is to fight without that restraint. No rules, no holds barred, all tricks anticipated. That allows you to defeat someone who’s technically better than you. It means you’ll have to work hard on changing your automatic reactions.”

“To be honest, I don’t like this idea.”

“Well, you might not like it, but it is the true meaning of ‘fight’, isn’t it?” Simon let his eyes shift to Casey for a brief second.

“What is?”

“Winning. Fighting wasn’t developed as a form of entertainment, right? Its origins are obvious: to kill and not be killed. You like martial arts. What about ninjas?”

“They’re amazing.”

“Yes, they are. But they kill, don’t they?”

“Well—”

“That’s the point.” Simon didn’t let Casey finish the sentence. Not that there was anything meaningful coming. “You know the real importance of the fight when you realize how serious the consequences are. To believe in your skills, speed, and strength when your or someone else’s life depends on them—that’s no mean feat.”

“I mean, I—” Casey stopped, feeling how simple his understanding of the thing was.

“Well, now you can try it. For real.”

”Honestly, I don’t think it’s so cool any more.”

“Good. Because it isn’t cool at all.”

“I know my place now and I’d prefer to humbly play my childish fighting games.”

Simon opened his mouth as if he wanted to answer but then closed it, a thoughtful expression on his face.

The car stopped near a curb. “We’re here.” Simon turned off the engine.

Casey looked the building up and down. It looked intimidating, like a concrete bunker. Casey was pretty sure it actually was a bunker, judging by the meter-thick walls. Leaving the bag in the car, they approached the tempered-glass sliding door. Simon put his ID card up to the reader and the glass panes parted silently. They entered the concrete, steel, and glass interior, brightly lit by blueish halogen lights. Simon guided his charge through the standard sequence of safety procedures: identification of the chip card in the system, getting through the metal detector gate and the X-ray chamber.

Casey felt as if he were going in for surgery in a severe, cold, and immaculately clean hospital. Simon showed him to an elevator, which noiselessly took them two floors down. The headquarters was located in a deep, reinforced basement. As they walked silently through the corridors, Casey glanced at Simon. His face was unnaturally pale in the gruesome, blueish shade cast by the diffused light. He cringed involuntarily and averted his eyes.

They went past countless metal doors and took just as many turns. Casey felt impossibly lost by the time Simon stopped in front of one of the many identical doors and looked at Casey questioningly, gesturing toward the entrance with his head.

Casey pulled himself together, fists clenched and brows knitted, before he nodded that he was ready. Simon pressed the intercom button.

"Position your face in front of the camera lens and wait for an answer." It was a recorded command that Simon obeyed immediately. After a few seconds they heard the sound of locks releasing. Simon ran his ID card over the reader below the camera and pushed the door open, leading Casey inside.

At the far end of the room, behind a huge black desk, an aging, oddly dainty man sat in a huge swivel chair, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked a little like a dry, shriveled dwarf. He wore a well-cut black suit and a plain silk tie over a snow-white shirt. In front of him, papers were arranged in neat piles.

General Turner fixed the cold gaze of his watery eyes on Casey. The piercing look made Casey very uncomfortable. After a short but intense inspection, Turner nodded his head and said, “Welcome, young man. You know who I am?”

“No, sir.” Casey tried to impart a tone of respect to his voice. It felt right. This man looked serious and important, like someone upon whom crucial things depended.

“Turner. That’s my name. I don’t ask you to sit as there is no need. I have nothing to tell you. I’ve seen you now, I made note of your recruitment, now you’re free to go. Agent Tader will take care of you. Anything you’d like to ask?”

“I—no, I don’t think so,” Casey answered quietly. He actually had a lot of questions to ask, but this man didn’t seem to be the right one to direct them to. He probably wouldn’t answer, anyway. Or, what’s worse, he might get annoyed. Casey sensed intuitively that it wasn’t a good idea to annoy Turner.

“Then, it was nice to meet you and goodbye. Do your best.”

“I will, sir.” Casey didn’t know exactly what he was supposed to do his best at, but in that second he was determined to do so. It was the only answer that seemed appropriate. The young men bowed slightly and left the room.

“Okay, that was just a formality,” said Simon. “He always wants to see the novices with his own eyes. I don’t suppose it has any real purpose, but it’s become a tradition.”

“Very overbearing figure.”

“Mm-hm. There’s no possibility of assigning someone less tough and domineering to this job. He makes things happen with just his will.”

“Is he the boss here?”

“Here, yes. Kind of. He’s the Office of Military Affairs vice-director, in charge of our organization. He’s the one who has to put his seal on every decision. But the real executive officer is Ramson, the same guy you met before, at the camp.”

“I feel as if I’m swimming in mud, you know? I don’t get any of this and it all feels unreal.”

“I suppose. Get used to it. You will be informed only about things you need to know, and that’s not much. You can ask me, but expect less rather than more answers. Train, learn, and do what you’re told. Time will bring you some explanations.”

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General Turner sat motionless, still staring at the door that Simon and Casey had disappeared behind. Indeed, it was a tradition for him to meet the novices. And it was an important tradition. Turner felt the moral urge to at least face each candidate, look him in the eyes, and accept the responsibility for them. It would be easier to command an anonymous crowd—numbers, IDs, nicknames. But he didn't want to go easy on himself. He knew that those numbers stood for people. People with weaknesses, dreams, fears. People that would be used like tools and sacrificed if necessary. Meeting them personally, knowing their names and feeling sadness and guilt for ruining their ideals, was something he owed them and the least he could do.

Simon took Casey to the dormitory, a long, gray building. “This is your room.” He opened the lock with Casey’s card.

The interior was simple but clean and decent: iron bed, square table, and a chair, closet, and refrigerator. The little bathroom with shower was for Casey’s private use. He put his bag on the bed and looked around, emotionless.

“Make yourself at home, at least for two months. You have half an hour now and then I’ll meet you in the Canteen. On the table is a map of the base—find the Canteen on your own. Well, see you then.” Simon smiled and closed the door, not waiting for an answer.

“Yeah,” Casey whispered absently to the closed door. He sighed, worried, and perched on the edge of the bed. So this was a military base. The CIA special group training center. Wow. It was still difficult to believe, and Casey felt as if he was dreaming a very unclear, enigmatic dream. He didn’t even know the name of the special group, and understood almost nothing.

“Okay,” he said loudly to mobilize himself. He stood up and started to unpack his stuff, filling the shelves with his clothes, books, toiletries, and other everyday items. After ten minutes the room looked less dull, and that much more cozy. Casey took a short shower, which made him feel a little more alive, and put on his blue jeans and a white sleeveless undershirt with an attacking black jaguar on the back. Then he focused on the base map. He decided it would be embarrassing to parade through the Maoro with a large sheet of paper in his hand, quite entertaining for the inhabitants and base personnel. Remembering as much detail as possible seemed to be the best idea. Casey was pretty good at visualizing, so imprinting the regular system of streets, buildings, and training grounds on his memory was an easy task. When he was done, Casey left left five minutes to reach the Canteen.

He gazed around as he walked hurriedly, taking in and trying to remember as much as he could. The streets, running at right angles to each other, were almost empty, probably due to the hour. It wasn’t lunch time yet. From time to time a civilian or army car passed by him. Soldiers and civilian employees moved about quickly in their routines, everyone ignoring him. He stood out from the other pedestrians, who wore neat, official uniforms and suits—no jeans, no sport shirts, no individual or eccentric styles. It wasn’t a place to fulfill dreams of creativity or give in to artistic inspirations. People here had more important problems and jobs than following new trends and spending time in front of a mirror. Actually, Casey liked it. He used to think that almost everything was more important than spending time in front of a mirror. His friend Josh was very often the object of Monroe’s and Casey’s jokes and biting remarks, as he was always getting up an hour earlier than he really needed to in order to wash and style his hair, scent his body, cream his face, and dig through his whole wardrobe to find the most suitable set of clothes. The effect was okay, but Casey would never have the motivation and patience to follow all those beauty procedures, especially early in the morning.

Casey reached the Canteen two minutes late. He walked in and found Simon sitting at a corner table over his second breakfast. “You’re late.” The man's voice was cool and scolding.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t know the base yet.”

“Lesson one: no excuses. Whatever happens, you have to be on time. It’s your responsibility to predict, to guess, to take everything possible and impossible into account. And if you can’t, it’s just your fault. Always. Understood?”

“Yes.” Casey gritted his teeth in silent rebellion. It’s stupid. Two minutes late for a meal…sick, blind rules.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Simon looked Casey in the eyes. ”That it’s stupid. But believe me, this is one of our ways to work out trust. If you’re punctual, you’re reliable, at least in this one field. It can be crucial sometimes. Of course it isn’t now. But you’re going to train to develop the right reactions and habits. You have to have some rules in your blood. You don’t take it seriously yet, I get that, but that’s why you have to follow—blindly, I’m afraid—the orders of those who know just how serious it is.”

Casey was listening quietly, munching a bun and cheese and staring angrily at his plate.

“You can demonstrate your irritation however you find appropriate. I don’t care. I’m not your babysitter and I don’t have to gain your love. What I have to do is to teach you some things. And I will, no matter what you think about it. So you have a choice: cooperate willingly, or fight and lose. Simple, right? From now on you’ll run five laps of our stadium in full gear for every minute you’re late.”

“Yes, sir!” Casey was ironically pretending enthusiasm, while still holding a grudge. He wasn’t used to being treated as a minor detail. He had always been prized and shown as an example to others; he couldn’t just swallow his pride. Not yet.

Simon smirked as he looked down at Casey. He knew the novice had to struggle for a moment, bark and try to bite. Short-tempered, spirited dogs always went crazy when a leash was being put on them. But this one was going to give up just like the others. Like everyone. The sooner the better, for it would mean less harm to him.

After the meal Casey was escorted to a small lecture hall, one of many in the building called “the academy” in the local jargon. Together with Simon he entered the room to meet two young people there.

“Hi!” he said a little shyly, surprised by his own reaction. He wasn’t shy by nature. It must have been the unexpected meeting that caught him a little off guard.

“Hi,” two voices answered, two sets of eyes looking at him curiously.

“Well, I’ll leave you here. Have a nice time and I’ll see you later.” Simon patted Casey’s arm and left.

Casey took a closer look at his new companions, a very attractive woman and a much less attractive man.

“I’m Sarah.” The red-headed beauty smiled widely.

“Nice to meet you, Sarah. I’m Casey.”

“Casey…nice to meet you, too.” She laughed at this unintended formality. Casey decided she looked charming.

“Ryan,” the second of his new acquaintances introduced himself. He was tall, taller than Casey, had dark brown, wavy hair and greenish, slightly prominent eyes. When he smiling honestly and radiantly, his two big front teeth gave him the appearance of a rabbit.

They had no time to continue a conversation because Agent Ramson appeared at the door just then.

“Good afternoon. I suppose you’ve had enough time to have a brief word with each other. Now, sit down, please.”

They followed the polite order.

“We’ve met already, but I’ll introduce myself again. My name is George Ramson and I’m the executive officer here, and your superior. All agents report to me; I report to General Turner. For the time being you have personal tutors who are in charge of you. That’s all by way of introduction. Now, to the point.

“You are our candidates for special agents. We have screened and selected you very carefully, but it’s obvious that we have to test your skills here in person. The next two months will decide if you are capable enough to join our formation and continue training. Do not try to deceive or evade our rules; we will not be fooled. If you don’t believe me you can try, but let me tell you that in the whole history of our unit there’s been no bugger crafty enough to manage that. Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s no point in believing one of you can be the first. You are exceptional in your accustomed environments, but not here. Here you are at the lowest stage.

“This is your daily plan.” He showed them a stack of paper. “And now I’ll give you a test. No special knowledge is needed to complete it. The goal of this test is to reflect your way of thinking.”

Wads of paper sheets together with pens landed on their desks. “You have two hours. Start.”

One question after another, the three candidates for special agent filled in the questionnaires.

Do you have any method that helps you endure pain or fatigue? What is this method?

Sure I do.
“I imagine that my limbs aren’t mine, that they are separate beings and I am not the one suffering. My center is in my head and there I am safe and difficult to hurt physically. This auto-suggestion is very strong and allows me to treat my body as a machine that follows my orders.”

In a situation of conflict do you aim for open confrontation or compromise? What advantages to your attitude do you see?

It depends.
“Usually I want to reach a compromise. It’s better to have allies, not enemies. Compromise doesn’t hurt proud people or oppress weak ones. But there is always a limit. I don’t allow anybody to cross my personal boundaries and I don’t give up things that are important to me. If the compromise is not possible or reasonable I fight, until the loss is not worth the gain.”

Are you a team player or do you prefer to work independently?

Don’t try to deceive them. Just write down the truth—that you’re proud and like to be the star.
“Work independently. I can play on teams if my role is crucial and I carry the responsibility. I feel frustrated when I’m on a team with people better than me.”

Which is more important to you—the goal or the people?

“People. In the case of a choice between people and people, I don’t think I could make the decision reasonably. It would be emotional, which probably means not making the best decision.”

Which is more important to you—other people or your life?

Time for honesty.
“I’d like to say people, and this is what my moral fiber gives higher priority to. But it’s quite probable that in the case of a real choice I would sacrifice others to save my own life.”
Doesn’t sound noble, does it? Well, that’s who I am. Not retouched.

During an escape, one of your partners doesn’t withstand the pressure and fatigue and slows down and starts to panic. Your enemy is close behind you and armed. What do you do?

What do I do? What a stupid question. How should I know?
“I give him a blow to the head so he becomes numb, and we carry the guy with us.”

There were a hundred of questions on the form. After Casey, Sarah, and Ryan had finished their written “confessions”, Ramson collected the papers.

“Thank you. Now go change, and in fifteen minutes be in the gym for fitness tests.”

They rushed to the door, aware of the short time they had to go back and forth.

“I guess we live close to each other,” Sarah stated. “The long, gray building? Left, right, long straight and right?”

“That’s right,” Casey confirmed.

“Let’s go, then. What about a run?” Ryan suggested.

“Nope. We have to go through the fitness tests. We should save ourselves for that.”

“A short run is really such an effort?” Ryan smiled mockingly.

“Whatever, man. Run if you want to.” Casey didn’t take up the challenge.

“If we don’t dally we should make it on time. No need to run.” Sarah patted Ryan’s arm in a friendly manner.

“As you command.” Ryan bowed in a theatrical manner.

Judging by Sarah’s impatient face, the chivalry hadn’t been received enthusiastically. Casey observed that Sarah might not be of the type who appreciated knights in shining armor and being treated like a lady. She seemed to him more like someone who preferred being a member of the pack, seeing all privileges as insults.

Let’s see where this attitude gets you, Romeo.

The obstacle course and running test were easy. Casey managed to do five miles in three minutes under the limit. He was better than Ryan by a whole forty seconds. It was a lot, and they both knew it. Casey could feel his colleague’s wounded pride as Ryan’s glance, full of irritation, rested on him for a short moment.

Oh, you’re afraid Sarah might be impressed? Casey smiled at his thoughts, slightly amused with this childish behavior.

Then the time for push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups came. They all did well, including Sarah, who had to fulfill the different requirements set for female agents.

After the series of exercises the trainer carrying out the tests announced, “Fifteen-minute break. Then you’ll have a fighting trial—two sparrings, one unarmed and one with clubs.”

The three novices lay down to catch as much rest as possible in the short time they were given. They were already thoroughly tired after running and pumping their muscles, and the thought of fighting wasn’t that exciting any more, even for Casey.

“Time’s up!” The trainer’s voice roused them from the floor. In the doorway Casey saw a familiar face: dark-skinned, with black, magnetic eyes under furrowed, scary brows. A few black wisps fell on his forehead and temples and the rest of the layered hair was tucked behind his ears. Not until now did Casey notice the long black claws of a tattoo that crept out from behind the man’s collar up the left side of the neck, rapaciously grabbing his jaw and cheek. The man wore white sportswear, light trousers with wide legs and a black string instead of a belt, and a sleeveless top with mandarin collar. His arms were smooth and slender but muscular. He was impressive. Moving softly, with a spring in his step, he made the watchers think of a wild, predatory cat.

“Hello.” The low, harsh voice had a disturbing timbre. “My name is Sam Tader. I’m here to classify your fighting skills.”

Tader? Simon’s relative? They don’t look alike at all. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.

“Okay, who goes first?”

The three candidates looked tentatively at each other. At the same moment it suddenly registered with them that the best strategy was to wait for Sam to get tired. It meant the last person would have the easiest situation.

That’s probably wrong. This guy is able to beat us up three times in a row. I’ll just get it over with. Casey looked thoughtfully at his colleagues, then at Sam, smirking coldly, and raised his hand.

“Mr. Moore, right? We had the pleasure once.”

“That’s correct, Mr. Tader.” Casey stood in front of Sam. He was just about to assume a starting posture when a blow, quick as a lightning, knocked him down. It wasn’t very painful, just surprising. It reminded him about the weakness his rules would present, according to Simon’s words. Okay, let’s try with no rules. He shook his head, pretending to clear his vision, and began to get to his feet. But before he was standing straight, with his head lowered, he threw himself at Sam, knocking the man off his feet. They hit the ground: Sam on his back, Casey lying on top of him, tightening his arms around his opponent’s waist and blocking Sam’s legs with his own.

“Well, what now?” he heard the mocking voice above his head. “Are you going to hold me like this until I fall asleep?”

Correct. Casey understood now the meaning of Simon’s lecture. Sure, I’m on top, but who cares? What now?

“Good point,” he replied, laughing quietly at himself. He looked up, showing his teeth to Sam, and in the same instant he knew it wasn’t a good idea as a punch smashed his lips. “Shit!” he hissed, nestling his face in Sam’s stomach and marking the white clothes with blood, but he didn’t let go.

“If I’d hit harder you’d lose your teeth.”

“I know,” Casey whispered into the stained shirt. As he swallowed his own blood, he understood that he should attempt to hurt Sam, although it wasn’t easy for him. No more games for sport.

He quickly backed off, breaking the contact, and jumped to his feet, simulating a blow in the stomach. Before Sam could stand up Casey changed form and performed crushing kick, smashing his foot down into Sam’s face. There was no time for hesitation; he strongly believed that Sam was good enough to protect his nose.

He was. Casey’s foot was caught in iron-like nippers and twisted. Turning left and falling on his hands, Casey shifted his weight to the leg closed in Sam’s grip and kicked powerfully with the other one, aiming at his opponent’s head. To block the kick, Sam had to release Casey’s foot, which allowed Casey to push himself off the floor and make a jump back onto his hands while throwing his legs in the air. He landed on his feet again but got clipped down immediately. Sam sat on him, immobilizing his hands and smiling.

Just like that day in the park.

When Sam hit him hard with his head, Casey was prepared. At the last possible moment he turned his head to avoid the crush of foreheads and noses. Sam’s head, moving with its own momentum, dove near Casey’s ear and their lips crushed. Casey, already geared towards beating Sam up at all costs, bit the man's lower lip. He tasted the sweetness of Sam’s blood on his tongue, mixing with his own. He expected a violent reaction and was confused when nothing like that happened. Surprised, he loosened his teeth and before he knew what was happening he got a blow in his temple.

Like the other time, again.

He didn’t lose consciousness this time but was stupefied enough not to be able to take up the fight.

“Hey, hey…you wanted to kiss me?” Casey heard a voice coming from the blurry patch of white. “Try to be more subtle. I’m not easy to take by force.”

“Wh…what?” To kiss? Kiss what—? Casey could not comprehend the words.

“Nothing. Get a grip and go to the bathroom. You have five minutes to tidy yourself up.” After few seconds Casey was able to see clearly.

“You’re bleeding,” he stated matter-of-factly, seeing the red trickle marking Sam’s chin below the bitten lip. He unconsciously licked the blood off his own smashed lips.

“You got it, Einstein. That makes two of us.” Sam held out his hand to help Casey up.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

As he stood over the sink, cooling his mouth with cold water, Casey analyzed the fight. He couldn’t figure Sam out. He was good, without question, but Casey felt that he, himself, could be better. He thought that if he hadn’t let go of Sam’s lip, maybe he could have won. But he was put off his stroke and acted instinctively.

It’s about the rules and trained reactions. If I can control my actions and be prepared for anything…no, it’s impossible to be prepared. This is the mistake I make. I really shouldn’t have any expectations. Then I could win, maybe. But he wasn’t sure.

He’d felt Sam’s latent power and suspected Sam had been controlling himself to keep from really hurting his opponent. Like he’d said, he could have knocked out Casey’s teeth if he’d wanted to. He could have done many more harmful things if he’d wanted to. That last punch was proof. When Sam had decided it was the end of the game he had just knocked Casey out. That was what Simon had meant earlier. Maybe he could be better than Sam, technically, but he definitely couldn’t defeat him. Not yet.

He went back to the gym only to find Ryan kneeling on the floor moaning and throwing up.

Oops…bad timing. He couldn’t help the feeling of the nasty satisfaction but at the same time he regretted this coincidence, knowing that the odds of getting along with someone as stuck up as Ryan were shortening. He tried to back out unnoticed, but Sam’s voice stopped him short.

“Well, Ryan, aren’t you ashamed? Your civilian friend was doing much better than the promising pilot from the prestigious academy. Not good, huh?” It was obvious that it was deliberately said to humiliate the proud would-be officer. It annoyed Casey because he knew he would be the one who had to deal with the consequences and Ryan’s vindictiveness. Sam must have been aware of this because he turned his gaze on Casey and smirked maliciously.

“He’s not my friend,” Ryan muttered through his teeth, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“Oh, forgive me my mistake.” Sam apparently was having fun. “And there’s really no chance of changing this?”

Ryan looked at him with hatred. If he could, he would have gone for Sam’s throat. Unfortunately he couldn’t, not with his stomach still aching like it was.

“Okay, clean this up, Mr. Pilot, as well as yourself. Time for the beauty.” The agent turned his seemingly warm and friendly face to Sarah. Not knowing if he was serious or not, but remembering their first meeting in the Canteen, she bristled at this epithet. Judging by Sam’s sparkling, slightly narrowed eyes, Casey could immediately tell it was his intention to annoy her.

They’re so easy to provoke. He couldn’t help feeling superior. Suddenly, when his eyes rested on Ryan cleaning the floor, he realized that he had been also set up. Ryan’s negative attitude was an intended result. Manipulating us. That's what it is. Sam was going to test their endurance and ability to work under pressure, with people they didn’t like, in an emotional state they didn’t understand. So it's just the beginning. Casey smiled, feeling his blood circulate faster as he sensed the challenge.

Sarah’s cry of pain shook him out of his contemplation. She was lying on her stomach with Sam holding her arm twisted up against her back. She patted the floor signaling that she gave up, but instead of releasing her hand Sam pulled it even further. She cried out again, struggling desperately to find a less painful position.

“Listen, princess. It’s not a game. You should know that as a policewoman, right? If someone attacked you on the street what would you do? Pat the pavement? Well, you’d probably amuse the snot. He’d be in a wonderful mood when he killed you.”

“I’d shoot him!” she shouted angrily, her voice turning into a moan as Sam pulled on her arm again.

“Go ahead, please. Shoot me.”

“I can’t,” she groaned.

“That’s right—you can’t, princess.” Having said that, Sam let her go and stood up.

“I’m not a princess!” Sarah growled, rising from the floor.

“And?” Sam was still teasing her.

“And I don’t like to be called one.”

“I suppose you don’t like a few other things. Why should I care?”

The woman said nothing but concentrated on tidying her hair that had escaped from its knot.

“Well, we’re done, lady and gentlemen. We have to ease up the fight club as I have some duties today that can’t be postponed. We’ll find time, maybe tomorrow. Just your luck, because as far as I know you have the swimming test in one hour. Right, Malone?”

“Correct.” The trainer, who had sat the whole time on the bench, nodded his head.

“Now?” Ryan, still not able to stretch his solar plexus, couldn’t stop himself from expressing his irritation.

“Do not question your orders, Mr. Keller.” Sam’s voice was sharp and serious. “As I said, you are lucky to have a break at all. Anyway, you should have volunteered for the first fight. You’d be fresh as a flower by now. But you tried to be smarter and preferred to wait for somebody else to take the first shot.”

After a short silence he added, “I recall that you’re here of your own free will. Am I right?” Ryan didn’t answer. “Am I right?” Sam repeated

“Yes.”

“Then don’t tell me you can’t even complete the first day. I thought you trained at the academy.”

“I did.”

“So what’s the problem?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, I’ll tell you a little secret. The difference between forces and special forces is that they have training and we have special training. Your clock is ticking.”

Great. Casey looked resigned. Now Ryan was completely humiliated and mad. You son of a bitch. The last thought was directed at Sam, and despite the fact that it wasn’t said aloud, the agent must have read Casey’s mind as he smiled roguishly when they passed each other. Casey half-smiled back and shook his head, both admiring and disapproving Sam’s perfidy. He wasn’t aware of the thoughtful look Sam gave his back as they left the gym.

The candidates for special agent marched silently to their dorms. The atmosphere was far from the cheerful, casual one from before; everyone was brooding over their own defeat and dealing with having been cut down to size.

In his private bathroom Sam stood motionless under the shower’s stream. He closed his eyes and leaned his hands against the white tiled wall. He was tired. He had never felt a vocation to be a teacher or a tutor. Newcomers were always more or less irritating, and bringing them down to earth, one after another, in almost the same way, was deadly boring. If only he could, he would have nothing in common with them. With people in general. But he had no choice. This was the specificity of their unit—nobody had a real choice. That was the irony of it: having no choice but to deprive others of choice.

Sam sighed heavily and tilted his head back, exposing his face to the warm, soothing water. He had no moral blocks or sympathy for people, but cooperation with others was always a problem for him. He was a lone wolf and the only person accepted by him and treated as part of his pack was Simon. They had known each other for years and been through a lot together. They shared a bond created by blood and common experiences, an exceptionally peaceful combination of characters effected in mutual trust and understanding. They were partners at all levels, ready to help and sacrifice but respecting the other’s privacy and pride; relying on each other but not to the extent of being a burden; close to each other but not oppressing; the perfect team, but still separate individuals.

Sam unconsciously sucked his swollen lower lip. He felt the wound with his tongue and recalled the fight with Casey. He had made a lot of observations during the short time he’d spent with the trio. Quite surprisingly, the one who seemed to have the best predisposition to the agent profession was the one with no military past. He was composed, seemed smart, and was a hell of a fighter. Sam knew he could knock Casey out whenever he wanted, but he also knew that experience, a merciless attitude, and ease in hurting people were his only advantages. When it came to sport, they could compete on equal terms. Sam smiled, remembering Casey’s bloody kiss-like action. It was rare that a newcomer could hurt him, and that was the second time already that Casey had managed to make an impression on the usually indifferent agent.

Twenty minutes later Sam was sitting in a comfortable chair in Ramson’s little office. The room wasn’t of the same kind as Turner’s, having nothing of the pompous aura that makes people small in the face of very important matters. It was a place the real, hard work of a serious agent.

“Well, what do you have to tell me?” Ramson’s voice was harsh. He was to-ing and fro-ing nervously in front of the cluttered desk with his arms crossed on his chest, thumbs pointing up.

“What do you want to hear?” Sam remained unmoved.

“The reason. Why have you canceled the second fighting test?

“It exceeded my endurance?”

Sam’s slightly mocking tone merely irritated Ramson. “Oh, don’t give me that bullshit, I know your level of endurance.”

“George, we both know I just can’t stand them. So why ask stupid questions?”

“Don’t push your luck, boy!”

“Do I even have any luck?” Sam said bitterly. It hadn’t been the first time he had bent the rules. He had his small, sweet satisfaction from causing as much trouble as he could. If it wasn’t possible to leave, he would make them regret it. They needed him, he knew it, and he used this fact, sometimes overstepping the mark to a dangerous extent. Agent Ramson was annoyed, as he was perfectly aware of the situation. There was practically no means by which to discipline Sam. They couldn’t hurt him seriously; he was too good and too useful. Any punishments they could think of would be like water off a duck’s back to him. He just didn’t care.

Apart from one thing. Ramson hated it, and the very thought of this method filled him with disgust, but he was set on using it if necessary.

“Sam, don’t make me say this, okay? You don’t want it and I don’t want it.”

“Oh, I see you’re a believer in the theory that what isn’t said doesn’t exist. Go on, blackmail me and feel mean. Let me at least have my little revenge.”

“No need now. But I have a feeling you will hear that—if not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then later.”

“No need ever. I live with this consciousness all the time. Every day I wake up and fall asleep with the thought that I’ve ruined my brother’s life. I bear this burden and I don’t think anybody can make it any heavier.”

After he’d finished speaking a long, oppressive silence hung in the air. Finally Ramson broke it, stating dryly, “You will finish the test.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Why not today?”

“Their schedule for today is already packed. And I’m not in the mood.”

Ramson’s hand swished through the air and cracked Sam’s face. Sam’s black hair veiled his face as his head tilted to the side. He remained in that position, not trying to defend himself.

“Don’t ever mention your mood. It really infuriates me.”

“Tell me about it.” Sam’s voice was mocking again. Whenever he managed to rattle Ramson’s cage it was a point gained.

“I really don’t understand one thing, Sam. How is it possible that a handful of newcomers are so difficult for you to handle?”

“I don’t know. I just get irritated.”

“Shit, I get irritated over lots of things. But that’s no reason to stop doing them. Can’t you get a grip and do your job without the cheek?”

“I have a grip, and I do my job. That’s why I let it go. I’d really hurt them if I followed with the second test. And you don’t want that.” He paused. “Listen, why not use someone else? Why do I have to do this?”

“No one can do better than you judging them, I guess.”

“Come on…what kind of judgment am I making? That they’re extremely annoying. That’s my judgment.”

“Maybe. But you can tell why each of them is annoying. And that is what’s valuable to us. So you’ll carry on with your task, even if you have to bite your nails or die of neurosis. Is that clear?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Let it be tomorrow, then. Dismissed.”

Without a word, Sam stood up and left the office at a slow pace. Outside the door he leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. After a long while he directed his steps to the training hall.

The gym was empty, weakly lit with just one lamp giving off a dim yellowish light. That suited Sam. He took off his shoes and shirt, threw them onto the bench, and opened the emergency beer bottle he out of the locker. He took a long pull and approached the huge, heavy punching bag. One hand still holding the bottle, he placed the other on the bag, his touch almost tender. He stood like that for a while, taking a few unhurried sips of beer, then carefully put the bottle away. Then, as if something had snapped in his mind, like a machine changing modes, he started to batter the bag with all his might and main. His face was expressionless, his eyes focused on the goal but not really seeing it, and his body was running at full throttle. Strike and kick. Strike. Strike. Kick. Series after series.

“May I?” Simon’s voice shook Sam out of his trance.

“Sure.”

Simon sat down cross-legged and took a sip from Sam’s bottle. “I heard from Malone.”

“Snitching minion.” Sam said this without anger, merely stating a fact.

“Yeah.” Simon nodded. They both knew nobody would cover for Sam. He functioned as independently as possible, never doing favors and never expecting them.

”Hey, what happened to your lip?” Simon’s curiosity was aroused by the noticeable cut.

“Moore bit me.”

“What?”

“You heard me. He bit me.”

“How? What were you two doing, for God’s sake?”

“Oh, we were having wild, passionate sex,” Sam answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Shit, you’re not serious, are you?”

“Why, does that bother you?” A roguish smile appeared on Sam’s lips. Simon drew his brows together and stared at his partner. Then Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Relax, I’m kidding. Does Moore even look like wild, passionate sex to you?”

“Well, you might have a point.”

“He did it during the test.”

The blond man laughed. “Wow, that’s a good one. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a glorious scar in a place like that.”

“Well, there’s always a first time. Will you give me one hour?”

“Mm-hm. Aren’t you hungry?”

“I am. One hour, okay?”

“Sure. See you.” Simon finished the beer and shook the bottle to show that he was going to get rid of it.

“Yeah.” Sam nodded and concentrated on the punching bag again. He was pummeling it without anger, just to tired himself out.

After fifteen minutes his skin was gleaming with salty sweat beads that ran down his face, sticking wet wisps of hair to his forehead and temples. Droplets crept along his spine and vanished behind the waistband of his pants, soaking the fabric.

Casey sat in the Canteen with Sarah and Ryan. The swimming test had been another bone of contention between Casey and Ryan, as Casey had once again turned out to be better. In fact, this turn of events wasn’t completely unexpected. Casey had been training every day for years and Ryan, although a sports type, had started his serious training only at the academy. But Ryan’s ambition shut out his common sense and turned him against Casey, who was fully aware of this. He decided to work on placating the pilot to avoid following the scenario Sam had planned.

“Listen, Ryan, I know you’re a pilot. What kind of machines were you training on?”

“Well, mainly sailplanes and Cessna 172s. Later T-37s, T-34Cs, T-6As, T-38s…we also had a lot of training on different kinds of simulators.”

“Wow. Sounds good, although it means nothing to me. Forgive me, but I’m a complete amateur when it comes to your field. But it sure is impressive and fascinating. You know, I’ve never even flown.”

“You’ve missed a lot, man. Flying is…it’s difficult to describe, you know?” Ryan was visibly relaxing. “I’d like to say wonderful, but that really means nothing.”

“I believe you. I’d like to try it someday. Maybe we’ll have an opportunity here. I think they need you due to your skills, so maybe you’ll have a chance to take the rudder.”

“I wish.”

“Why are you here? I mean, seems like you should work in the Air Force or something.”

“Yeah, I should. But they kicked me out.”

“What? Why?”

“Eh, a long story. To make it short, I fell foul of a guy I shouldn’t have. He had friends in high places. His father, to be precise. They hushed the thing up, shifted the blame onto me, and here I am. I was given the boot after my fourth year, just one year before graduation. It sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Hell, yes.” Casey felt really sympathetic for the guy who’d had his dreams shattered when he was so close to the top.

“And you? How did you get here?” Ryan raised his eyes on Casey.

“I…I don’t really know. I guess the reason is computer science and telecommunications. It’s my job. And also my martial arts level and maybe motorcycles. Actually I feel lost here. I’ve never been in an organization like this and I really don’t know how it all works. I guess I’ll follow you guys, as you’ve at least had some army experience.”

“I have a feeling you’re trying to flatter Ryan. Am I right?” Sarah looked incredulous.

“I—” Casey was taken by surprise. “Well....” He slowly let the air out of his lungs. “It was honest. And I was talking about both of you, right?” He was desperately trying to weasel out of his honest answer. He hadn’t expected Sarah to state the fact aloud. All his efforts to have the thing done naturally and diplomatically were ruined, and Casey was afraid that this awkward situation would put Ryan off even more.

“Hey, take it easy, dude.” To his surprise Ryan didn’t seem offended, just amused. “I know how it goes, okay? I know myself and I know how you might judge me. I just have to take my time to adjust. Before, I didn’t know about your achievements in sports. My tutor, Thera, told me.”

“Thera…what an unusual name.” Sarah pouted her lips.

“.

Suddenly Sarah lifted her eyebrows in admiration, looking at something behind her colleagues’ backs. They turned their heads in unison to see Sam with a cigarette butt in the corner of his mouth walking slowly towards the counter. He had wet, dishevelled hair and his shirt was buttoned with just one button. In the shirt’s opening they could see a wild design of a tattoo climbing from the left breast up his neck.

“What?” Ryan asked, not understanding Sarah’s reaction.

“The tattoo. I like it. And…I have to admit the guy looks fabulous.”

“Really?” Ryan’s voice expressed doubt.

“Sure. He’s an awful chauvinist, but probably the most beautiful one I’ve met. And I’ve met a lot of them.”

“You mean good-looking, right? ‘Beautiful’ sounds…I don’t know. Weird,” Casey said with a grimace, still following Sam with his eyes.

“Noo....” Sarah gave some thought to the words. “However weird it might sound, he is beautiful.”

“Whatever.” Ryan shrugged rolling his eyes. “He’s a son of a bitch.”

“Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive,” Sarah commented philosophically and returned to her dinner.

Sam took his meal and approached Simon’s table. He sat down in a slapdash manner, his knees widespread under the table.

“Feel better now?” Simon asked warmly.

“Mm-hm.

“Good. Do you have plans for tonight?”

“Nope.”

“What about the cinema?”

“Nah, I don’t feel like it.”

“So…?”

“Party?”

“No way. I don’t wanna go party with you. Entertaining myself by watching your excesses doesn’t seem like fun to me.”

“We could take someone else…Thera, maybe? Or these new guys?”

“Thera, maybe. I don’t want them.” Simon jerked his head, pointing at the newcomers.

“Why not?”

“Give me a free night, okay? They’re my work, not my friends. Anyway, since we’re on the subject, what do you think of them?”

“I don’t think of them much. They’re irritating.”

“Skip the obvious things.”

“Keller is proud and ambitious. But it’s nothing new. He’s making a move on the princess.”

“You called her the princess? Aloud?” Simon smirked.

“Yep.”

“She must have been delighted.”

“Oh, she was. A tough one.”

“Seriously, or are you kidding?”

“Dunno. Maybe both.”

“You still think she’s oversensitive when it comes to her gender?”

“I don’t think,” Sam said. “I’ve seen it.”

“Well, maybe you can’t blame her.”

“I don’t blame her,” Sam cut in. “I just see that she’s hurting herself by taking everything personally. I’d rather expect her to ignore things like that. Spending so much time with men, doing this kind of job—she should be more or less immune to all sorts of sexist attitudes.”

“When you stay out in the rain, you get soaked?”

“Something like that.”

Simon took a quick glimpse at the table where the three agents-to-be were eating. “They were talking about you earlier. At least that’s what it looked like,” he commented, skipping to another subject.

“And?

“Nothing. They seem to get along.”

“That’s nice. I was trying to set them at each other. Apparently they’re not that stupid. Good for them. So, going back to the original subject, what about tonight?”

“If Thera agrees, then okay. And we go to the normal place, nothing bizarre.”

“Deal.” Sam put his fingers to his mouth and whistled briefly, drawing attention to their table. He waved to Thera, who sat alone on the opposite side of the Canteen. The black guy made a bored face and raised his hand just to flip them off. Sam laughed.

"Oh, fuck you, Sam. I really wanted him to go with us."

"Sure. Me too." Sam was smiling widely. Simon shook his head and stood up. He crossed the room and approached Thera, his expression saying, “I know what you’re thinking.”

Thera smirked conspiratorially. "Yo, it didn't hurt me, man."

"I guess not." Simon returned the smile and dropped into the chair opposite Thera.

"It's just...he’s really pissing people off, isn't he?"

"He is. You don't have to feel sorry. Anyway, I don't care. I have really thick skin."

"If you got angry you’d just be dancing to his tune."

"I know that too, man. By the way, how are you with your boy?" The bulky black-skinned man indicated Casey with a jerk of his head. Simon followed Thera's gaze and shrugged.

"About the norm. He’s good at fighting. If he can get rid of his sports behaviors he’ll be something, probably. What else...stubborn, so far, playing the tough customer. But I think he's a quick learner so sooner rather than later he should catch on to the rules. What about yours?"

"High-principled, disciplined...a bit hot-headed, so it's easy to provoke him. But generally speaking, I like the guy. He’s okay to work with."

"Nice. Sam claims the girl is a model feminist."

"Who knows? I haven't even talked to her yet. But to be honest, she doesn't look encouraging to approach and start talking to."

"Why not? I think she’s on good terms with those new guys."

"Maybe. Ryan is rather well-mannered and Casey might be impressed with a girl like that. It's a comfortable company for her. I don't suppose Sam can even come close to them."

They both smiled knowingly, imagining Sam's questionable chivalry.

"You free tonight?" Simon grabbed a fry from Thera's plate.

"Maybe, why?"

"We want to go somewhere to distract ourselves."

"We? With Sam?"

"Mm-hm. Scared?"

Thera burst into loud laughter. "Shit, I should be, right?" They grinned at each other.

"Would you mind Ryan? I promised to show him around today."

"Isn't he too tired?"

"I don't give a shit, man. If he wants to be a hero, let him. He’ll probably fall asleep at the table but that's okay with me."

"Well, if you say so. Eight o'clock suit you?"

"Yes. You wanna go to the city?"

"I think so."

"Okay. See you at the gate, then."

"Mm-hm." Simon took another fry and left Thera alone at the table.

---

The green and blue flashing neon sign above the steel door of Club Eclipse was an invitation to people craving entertainment, ecstasy, and oblivion. Bathed in its colorful gleam, a long line of people awaited their turn to escape from monotonous reality.

The interior was enormous, modern, almost science-fiction. Definitely not a place for people who wanted to gather their thoughts but for those who wanted to keep their minds off them. It had four dance floors with different kinds of music, countless recesses with bars and drinking corners to sit and talk. In this temple of ill-conceived freedom everything was for sale and anyything could be bought.

"Here we are." Thera spread his arms as if showing his kingdom to Sarah, Ryan, and Casey. They were already inside, heading to a table. Thanks to Sam's contacts they had been able to make a reservation.

"What are they doing here?" Sam asked Simon, keeping their distance from the rest of the team and not trying to be discreet. "Didn't you say you didn’t want them to come?"

"Yes, I did," Simon answered in a hushed voice, a bit more concerned about the possibility of being heard. "It wasn't my idea. Thera promised Ryan, Ryan invited Sarah, and Sarah came up with the wonderful idea that they could all go for an ice-breaking party and talked Casey into going."

"Fuck!" Sam laughed. "What a lovey-dovey team!"

They found a round table prepared for them and ordered drinks. An awkward silence hung in the air. Sam was amused by the situation and watched their new colleagues with moderate interest. In fact he had no intention of spending the night in this company, but for the time being he could enjoy himself at their expense.

Sarah hadn’t made any effort to change her image; she still wore her everyday clothes with her hair tied up into a bun and no make-up. She pretended she didn't notice Sam and his attitude, staring off into space with comical intensity. Ryan was completely indifferent, more interested in what was going on around them than at the table, and Casey was analyzing all of them one by one, his face thoughtful. When his eyes met Sam's he froze for a second but didn't look away. They looked each other up and down for a moment, Sam with a tongue-in-cheek smirk, Casey with a face devoid of expression.

We're not gonna have fun together like this. That’s obvious to everyone, Casey thought. I should have stayed at the dorms. Well, I don't care. I can take a look around by myself.

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to dance. I had a tiring day and if I just sit here I’m liable to fall asleep before I get drunk. Sarah, would you...?" Casey moved his chair back and held out his hand to her.

She blushed slightly. "I...thank you, but I don't dance."

"Oh, that's okay." He smiled warmly at her and was just about to turn and leave alone when he heard another voice cut in.

"You always have me. I dance." It was Sam, his tone mocking.

Funny, huh? Okay, I won't let you to put me off my stroke. Let's play, mister joker.

"I'm sorry I didn’t notice you before. Apparently you don't stand out from the crowd. May I have this dance?" Casey made a theatrical bow.

"Man, believe me, you don't want to do that." Thera shook his head helplessly.

Simon chuckled and whispered, screening his mouth so Sam couldn’t hear. "Don't give in, Casey."

"Ladies first." Still clowning, Casey showed Sam the way to the dance floor.

Ryan grinned, trying to light a roll-your-own. "Shit, what a shame they won't put a tango on for you!"

"You won't smother my hand with kisses first?" Sam waved his fingers coquettishly.

"Forgive my crudeness. I was so excited, I forgot my manners." Casey reached across the table and took Sam's hand. He leaned towards it and suddenly bit the back of it. Sam hit him lightly in the face and stopped smiling. Sarah, sitting close enough to feel the breeze from his hand, cringed and tensed, expecting a scuffle. But nothing like that happened.

Casey released Sam's hand and said, with immense satisfaction, "I'm so sorry, milady. It's just that your tiny, lovely hands are just asking to be eaten."

As everyone was laughing, relaxed and entertained by this surprising show, Sam regained his composure and his smile, inscrutable this time, appeared again. "You lack technique, actually, Your Grace. This is how you should taste fingers." Having said that he stuck his tongue out and slowly licked his middle finger. "Wanna try?"

"Thank you, madame, I'd rather deny myself that pleasure. I don't know where your fingers have been."

"If you knew, you’d deny yourself the pleasure all the more." Sam chuckled and finished his Bloody Mary in one gulp, signalling the end of the performance. "Coming?" He beckoned Casey to follow and received a confirming nod. They disappeared in the crowd.

"Wow, that was good!" Thera snorted with laughter.

"Yeah, the guy really has balls. Quite unexpected, I'd say." Simon smiled widely and took a sip from his glass. For a moment he looked thoughtfully after Sam and Casey, still impressed by Casey having somehow managed to defuse Sam's annoyance.

"Thanks to him the ice-breaking party wasn't a total washout." Ryan smirked, inhaling the aromatic smoke.

"It was the best ice-breaking party I've ever seen." Simon smiled at his thoughts and gave Thera a meaningful look.

"Aren't you sleepy, guys?" he asked Ryan and Sarah. "You sure had a heavy day."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. Too much adrenaline, too much has happened. I have to calm down a bit first." Ryan sprawled in his yellow plush armchair.

"Calm down? Here? Are you insane?"

"I sit, I drink, I give my head a break. That's enough."

"How 'bout you, princess?" Simon winked at Sarah, who seemed to be deep in thought.

"You too?" She roused herself from her meditation upon hearing the hated nickname.

"What's wrong with it?"

"I just don't like it, okay? All princesses, ladies, Juliets, beauties and so on."

"But why? A moment ago Sam was being called milady and I didn't notice him being offended or irritated."

"If you call Sam a lady, everyone knows it's a joke. When you call me a lady, you mean I behave like one. You see the difference?"

"Well, there’s something in what you say." Thera smiled at her. "But you should ease up. For your own good, you know? When people see your weak points they want to tease you even more."

"Listen, thanks for your concern, but don't teach me how to take care of myself, okay? I'm a big girl and if I ask you not to call me a princess you could just do me the favor instead of explaining me how to accept what I don't like. How about it?"

"Ooookay," Simon answered, his face serious. He thought Sam had misjudged her. She wasn't frustrated. She just had her ways and was assertive enough to follow them no matter what the others thought of her. "I’m at your service. I guess we all are. Except for Sam, of course, but you already know that."

She nodded her head, smiling. She had met a lot of guys full of themselves who used to look down at her. There had always been a moment, sooner or later, when they’d had to eat their words or just admit they’d been mistaken. Now, Sam was just another self-confident pretty boy.

Simon analyzed her forgiving smile for a while and was almost sure that Sarah was probably seriously underestimating Sam, but he said nothing. I'm not here to set anybody straight.

Casey followed Sam through the colorful, wild crowd. He was not one to visit places like this often, so his eyes were busily casting glances to left, right, and center while still trying not to lose sight of Sam. Absent faces, frantic or dazed eyes, sweaty, feverish bodies, all this was alien to Casey and he felt like an outsider.

You surely need some magic pills or a considerable blood alcohol count to enter this.

The floor was conveying the low, regular beat of the music and Casey felt the rhythm deep inside his body. They passed a scantily dressed girl with silvery lipstick who was dancing absent-mindedly and smiling sweetly to figments of her overheated imagination. The cocktail glass in her small hand that was full of kitschy plastic rings swayed and spilled blueish drops which rolled down her forearm in thin trickles. One couple was kissing passionately, so close to a nearby girl who was in a trance that they were nudging her. Both were attired in black and had disheveled hair, the girl's dyed green and the boy's dyed black. Half-closed eyes outlined with black eyeliner, and black lipstick smudged over pale chins and cheeks from kissing, gave them the appearance of ghosts.

Casey's senses reacted with confusion to the intensive stimuli that were attacking him from all directions. He couldn't gather his thoughts; the level of sensation was completely overwhelming. But there was something fascinating in this lunacy, something that made his heartbeat accelerate. New, unknown fields of reality lured him; inside his body and mind he felt the exciting pulsation—the answer of his still-hidden nature.

"Hey! Don't doze off standing there." He heard Sam's voice and reluctantly tore his gaze away from the surrounding phenomena as a strong hand pulled him aside. Sam was watching him with amusement, his even teeth glowing in the ultraviolet light. "Virgin, huh?"

"Kind of." Casey immediately understood the question.

"And...?"

"And what?"

"How do you like it?"

"Dunno." Casey shrugged. "It's a bit like watching parachuting."

Sam smiled devilishly. "Damn right! So—you wanna dive?"

"I'm not quite sure."

"You won't know until you try, right?"

Casey cast a glance at the quivering crowd, indecisive. His inner self was inclined to give in to temptation, while his reason told him to be cautious.

"Give me some time, okay?" he asked finally.

"Take as much as you need, decent boy."

"Was that scorn?" Casey, unpleasantly stung, made a wry face.

"Kind of." Sam winked at him, putting his hands in his pockets.

"And I probably should undergo a baptism of fire and trip out in order to become a respected, serious man?"

"Noooo," said Sam, in a slow, drawling voice. "You should try it to satisfy your curiosity. The best way of getting rid of temptation is to give in to it."

"I said 'pass'. I can deal with my temptations so far."

"Lucky you. But the question is, what for?"

"Not 'what for' but 'why'. And it's because I try not to do things on a whim, especially in places I’m in for the first time, with people I don't know."

"You say you 'try'...does that mean sometimes it doesn't work?"

"Well, kind of." Casey squinted one eye and smiled mischievously.

"Good. I think we might find a common language."

"Such a possibility should flatter me, I suppose."

"I suppose, yes." Sam put on a provocative face, arching his brows and slightly raising his chin. "Anyway, you still owe me a dance, Your Highness. And appearing on the dance floor at your side would be an honor."

"I don't owe you anything. But here I am. You lead." Casey looked around and spread his hands, signalizing that he didn’t know where he should go.

"Trance? Disco? Rock?"

"Whatever."

"Okay then, you had your chance." Sam turned and started to make his way toward one of the dancing rooms. Casey followed him through the tangle of heated bodies. The rumbling beat, just at the brink of audibility, was getting stronger and more pervasive with every step. It filled the walls, air, and bodies. From the wide, crowded passage Casey and Sam flew into the swaying sea of dancing people. They all were moving rhythmically to the music as one complicated organism, animated by the powerful heartbeat. Hard white flashes of strobes created a disturbing slideshow of surrealistic scenes and silhouettes frozen in bizarre poses. Casey stopped abruptly as if he was afraid of being swallowed up by the enormous creature. Sam pulled him by the sleeve and they plunged into the pulsating mass. Hot, sticky bodies nudged and shoved them in more or less controlled jiggling. In a few seconds Casey's shirt was sticking to his back, and wet hands were rubbing—accidentally or not—against his tensed body. The vibrating, humid air filled their lungs; it felt thick and viscous and made it hard to breathe. Casey tried to weave between people to avoid physical contact as much as possible. He felt a bit claustrophobic, like being in a submarine.

"Hey!" A familiar voice broke through the noise. Sam put his hands on Casey's arms and looked him in the eyes. He was standing very close and Casey could detect the faint scent of a mild perfume, fresh and pungent. Something like cinnamon and musk, with a fruity note.

"We're here to have fun, remember?" he winked and smiled. Casey took a deep breath and nodded his head. "Yeah, I know. I just have to adapt. Five minutes."

"Be my guest." Sam withdrew his hands from Casey’s arms as two smaller ones suddenly slipped around him. A short, slim girl clung to Sam’s back, pressing her palms against his ribs, waving her hips and inviting him to join in this movement. He did. Their hips swung slowly, ignoring the rhythm. The girl's eyes were covered with sparkling violet eyeshadow and were half closed and dull. Sam, an enigmatic expression on his face, rested his hands on hers and guided them up his chest, not taking his eyes off Casey. Casey stood there feeling awkward but did not avert his gaze.

The girl’s hands started to slowly unbutton Sam's sleeveless shirt. Once the last button was undone she pulled the garment off his shoulders in a long, sensual motion, revealing a few scars and the intriguing tattoo in all its glory; the detailed black design bloomed on his left breast and sprouted curved creepers right up to his cheek. The girl moved her lips, murmuring something to herself, and touched his shoulder blades.

Casey was hypnotized by the scene. No one, man or woman, had ever been stripped in front of him, and the slow uncovering of Sam’s bare skin embellished with the exotic ornament, shredded into black and white images by the strobe’s flashes, worked on him like a magnet. But soon reality came knocking and he shook off the impression. Being a fifth wheel didn't suit him at all so he took a step back, saying, "Well, that's it, I suppose. You’ve found your princess, or rather she’s found you. See you later, then!" Shoving his hands into his hip pockets, he started to turned away when Sam grabbed him by the ponytail.

"Easy, milady. The circle is open, nothing private here. Join us."

"I don't feel like it."

"Oh yes, you do." Sam tilted his head, smiling, and clasped the girl to his side.

"Are you testing me? Do you think my ears will turn red just because some delirious chick on drugs can't wait to be taken to seventh heaven by the tattooed macho guy? What a shame the light doesn't allow you to enjoy the sight of me blushing. I promise to make it up to you; maybe you can show me a porn flick or something. I'm sure you’ll figure something out. Man, avoiding parties and drugs doesn't automatically make me an innocent boy, does it?"

"Actually, it does," Sam chuckled. "And now I can tell you’re ashamed of that."

Casey had to stare at Sam’s lips to catch every word the man was saying. "Oh, then that’s your mission—to open my eyes and make me free and aware?"

"Hmm. I hadn't really thought about it. 'Spontaneous action' sound credible to you?"

"Not really. I'm not that interested in your motives, anyway."

"Jeeez, what a fucking philosopher! Take a chill pill, why don't you? I just wanted to have fun and you were willing to join in, it’s that simple."

"Fine, whatever. Let's say I don't like sharing a woman. Sound credible?"

"Wow, not really. But wait five minutes—you’ll have more than one just for yourself. That suit you? Or maybe you really wanted to dance with me...in which case I'm all yours." Sam laughed.

Casey shook his head, impatient and annoyed. He didn't think he was being strange or funny and there was no reason whatsoever for Sam to scoff at his reactions. But the more he tried to behave naturally the more Sam made fun of him. He didn't like it at all. In the beginning he had really wanted to dance, and he’d been pleasantly surprised by Sam's friendly attitude.

I should have chosen another dance floor. After all, Sam had asked him what he preferred.

"Yeah, I’ll remember that. Maybe some other time." He gave up the conversation and clenched his teeth to keep from further attempts to snap back. He knew he would probably just get mixed up and end up completely humiliated. All in all, this wasn't his territory and he wasn't at ease there. He didn't look at Sam as he turned back and started through the crowd.

"Please yourself, decent boy," Sam whispered to himself, and turned to the girl. She wasn't particularly pretty so he kissed her on the forehead and pushed her gently into the arms of the man dancing behind her, taking back his shirt.

Casey was right, Sam was testing him. To tell the truth, all he had ever been doing was testing, overstepping the mark, pushing the limits, and provoking. And using, when necessary. It was his way of dealing with people: seeing how much liberty he could take with them and how much they were able to endure. A peculiar kind of game.

Cramming the shirt in his belt, Sam rolled his eyes and tilted his head back, laughing sarcastically. You’re as innocent as the Virgin Mary, frigging smart-ass.

Casey managed to break out of the dancing crowd and anchored himself at the nearest bar. His pride wouldn’t allow him to go back to the table to face his colleagues and admit, “Yes, he made fun of me, he treated me with annoying understanding.” He felt that Sam was to blame. After all it was he who had behaved defiantly, ignoring Casey's self-consciousness. But Sam was in his element, while Casey was in a hopeless situation, his rather rigorous lifestyle and lack of experience making him a wonderful target for Sam's remarks.

"Bloody Mary, please," he said before he even realized what he’d ordered. When the tall glass landed in front of him he sniffed, staring at it in disbelief. Shit, I don't even drink that much.

He tried to evaluate the situation and considered the possibility of abandoning the red drink, but some inner prompting made him take the glass and dip his mouth into the thick liquid.

Whatever. He shrugged and decided to stop analyzing.

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I am waiting for your comments - let them charge my batteries :D