Caesar's Story

Manicured nails tapped against a wooden desk as a blonde-haired woman gazed at the tall stack of papers before her. It seemed that rather than separate papers by person, whatever fool compiled this file found it more convenient to collate everything into a huge whopper that was barely sandwiched in a manila folder.

“Honestly, what am I paying these people for?!” She exclaimed before flicking one of the documents, “I asked for one person, just one, and instead I receive this.”

“Surely you can’t expect everyone to read your mind, especially with the mess you left us with,“ a muffled voice asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh shut it AJ. You and I both know that I’m the one holding this place together,” she snapped, tucking back a curly lock, “I picked all of the new board members. I write all the checks, and I control the timeline.”

““Correction. You have final say, but you know that the Board still expects certain things from you.”

The Handler shot him an icy glare.

“Nonetheless”-AJ straightened his tie-“”we can both agree that this matter needs to be taken care of as soon as possible. We can’t have any rogue variables running around, not when last year’s meeting...”

He trailed off as the Handler lit another cigarette. She blew a thin stream of smoke towards the fish before leaning back in her leather chair.

"Lucky for you and the rest of the Commission I've assembled a team to take care of our runway."

Red lips parted as the Handler inhaled nicotine, relishing in one of the few pleasures that the 1950s could afford her. Though she had all the money in the world, the base simply wasn’t built to accommodate the luxuries that modern life offered. Whether it was wireless Internet, color television, or spaceships, the Temps Aeternalis’ only technological achievements were the briefcase and the pneumatic systems that allowed cross-temporal communication. As much as she tried, her smartphone was useless.

“"And the prisoners?" he asked, a bubble escaping from his upturned mouth.

AJ was an anomaly even among the colorful cast of agents that the Commission employed. Though sapient animals weren’t unheard of, AJ was the first to be more than a workhorse and the first aquatic creature to be more than a lab experiment. His creator rigged a robotic body that not only sustained him but allowed him to communicate with others.

"Lila’s watching over them while analytics hashes out the details of their execution.”

If AJ could raise a brow he would have done so, but settled on rolling to his side.

““Is that such a wise idea? You know what’s at stake. If he-”

“If he what?” The Handler stood, setting her cigarette holder in its golden stand.

She walked behind him, her free hand resting on his shoulder.

“You remember who spared your life right? The one who transplanted you from that bag? I could have easily flushed you down the drain or swallowed you whole, yet out of the kindness of my heart I had our best mechanics repair your body and even reinstalled you as Vice Handler.”

Before he could open his mouth to speak, she circled back to her desk and pressed the intercom.

“Hello Joshua? Please tell the Alpha team that I’m ready for them.”

She turned towards the Vice Handler and made a shooing motion before picking up her cigarette once more.

“I tire of your defiance AJ. Begone.”

---

Pneumatic tubes flew through the piping of the Commission headquarters, finding their way towards the inboxes of Caesar, Marco, and Jaime. Rather than the usual pleasantries the message read simply "Come to my office." The Handler initially set their appointment for two o'clock, but deadlines depended more on her mood than a number on a clock. Not to mention that time was relative.

She sat back in her chair, thinning the folder until only a few papers remained. With Hazel and Cha Cha gone, Caesar and Marco were the best agents in the operations and Jaime well...It wasn't like he had anything better to do. Unlike Lila, he offered nothing special and his lack of ambition left a bad taste in her mouth. Oh, why couldn't Caesar have been one of those special...children (was that what they were calling them?)? The loyalty combined with the potential for superpowers would have been exquisite.

"Ah miss, Alpha team is here." A perky voice boomed from the intercom.

The Handler smirked as the three agents entered the room.

“Thank you for coming."

Her hands were steepled and her eyes entirely focused on her new team.

“Gentlemen we have traitor on our hands,” she announced, sliding over a dossier with a picture clipped to the top, “do you know this man?”

“Herb is-was-one of the operators of the Infinite Switchboard and one of our top analysts. Yesterday a briefcase was stolen and this man was nowhere to be found. I tried asking that Dot woman, but she's been playing dumb."

The Handler shook her head. “Regardless, I need the three of you to retrieve the case and stop whatever he’s planning."

Beneath the folder the coordinates were written clearly in black ink:

November 11, 2019
Anchor Academy, West Anne

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Moments between missions were few and far between. Marco preferred to stay busy, idle hands and all that. He’d been pressed for something to break for too long now, obsessing over the sketches in his notebook endlessly compounding the details until it looked too real for comfort. Ceaser would probably work out to release the energy but Marco felt exercise was more of a chore – some mindless repetitive behavior that he had to do to maintain his agility rather than a release.

He rented an apartment above a soda pop shoppe, it always smelled like sweets – which only attracted the rats. He didn’t keep food around for long, usually opting for a Salisbury steak from the diner down the way instead. Every now and again he’d go to a cabinet, greeted by some fat fucker who had gorged himself on the stale box of crackers Marco had long forgotten about. Thankfully they stayed out of the bedroom, which is all he cared about. He let them live alongside him rent free so long as they respected the boundaries he’d put in place. They were around the place more than he ever was anyways.

The message came when he’d been showering, hearing the noise of the incoming capsule over the sound of water rushing in his ears. Always so fucking loud – it had undoubtedly saved his ass a couple times but still, could they not figure out a way that wasn’t so fucking loud? It had the Handler’s letterhead and her signature candor.

She was all hard angles. He’d fantasized what her skin would look like if he sliced into it slow, how the blood would look on her ever red lips. Not that he had anything personal against the Handler, just where his mind would go eventually if he spent enough time with a person. He donned his suit, shoving his sketchbook into his pocket and heading to the Handler’s office.

He let Jaime and Caeser take the lead in the office, he didn’t need to know anymore than whatever was in the folder. It was more fun if he was able to add an air of mystery, it’d been years since a real fight. He glanced at the photo, wilting with disappointment. They needed the three of them for this half-man? Marco could tell even in the photo, this man didn’t have the guts to stand up against the likes of one of them let alone three.

Marco looked to the other two, his eyes low with disinterest. Maybe between the three of them they could be back in time for dinner. Cracking his knuckles with anticipation, he nodded to the others gesturing for them to lead the way.