To Save the Worlds
By Monica Rose

Have you ever considered that there is a fine line between Yes and No, Black and White? When you are cold, how low can you raise the temperature before warm becomes hot? Major Micheal Davis is going to discover that you cannot have one without other.

Chapter 1

Davis inhaled slightly, sampling the smell of dust under his nose. Afghan dirt smelled just like the dirt in California, half a world away. With a little imagination, he could see himself in the California hills, rockhounding for gemstones. He blinked the pleasant thoughts away and returned to the mission.

He raised his head just enough to see through the binoculars he had focused on the center of the village. He and the rest of his team had been scattered around the settlement since before sunrise and had not seen anything unusual. They were dug into the rocks and brush around him and were well prepared to last thru the day's heat. It was a standard Search and Destroy mission, intended to confirm the presence of insurgent leaders who had been reported to be hiding among the villagers. If he deemed it possible, Davis would either try to take out their targets or order an attack from a distance.

The village wasn't large. There was a cluster of hut-like residential buildings lower on the hill, enough for maybe a hundred people to live. There were some larger buildings separated out from the village proper, apparently for livestock or for public functions. What made the place unusual were the vehicle tracks in and around the village. Davis could see through his binoculars that tracks led up to several of the larger buildings which would be barns. Right now, they were garages for insurgent trucks.

Movement around the buildings drew his attention. A small group of men was walking across the square toward one of the garages. Davis quickly zeroed in on each face and compared it to his memory of the men they were looking for. Two of them were the leaders of terrorist cells in this zone.

"Jones, can you confirm my sighting?" Jones was perched further up the hill behind him and had the same view Davis did. The other three members of the team were spread out in a shallow arc on the hillside with Michael.

One by one, each of the Special Ops team quietly offered their confirmation that they had sighted the men they had been sent to find. Davis slowly moved his hand to his radio and changed frequencies.

"Hunter Team One to Command," he said. His voice could not have been heard even three feet from the hollow he was hidden in. Communications was kept short and to a minimum to prevent the possibility of detection.

"Go, Team One," the lieutenant back at base acknowledged.

"Targets located. Moving into large building on east side of square. "

"Acknowledged, Hunter Team. Standby." That was the extent of the contact between the Special Ops team and their command post back at base. Command already knew what the area looked like. Davis settled down to await further instructions. Depending upon the situation, they might be instructed to eliminate the terrorists or to just identify the other men around them. This added intelligence could be used to find more insurgent cells.

If Command determined that their targets should be eliminated, Jones would be the one to take the shots. The rest of the team would provide fire to take out the fighters that were sure to be present. As Davis waited for instructions, he saw at least a dozen children go running from the surrounding structures to their target building.

He keyed his throat microphone again and said, "Hunter Team One to Command! Be advised that the targets are using a school for their operations. They are using children in the school as shields!" This was not an uncommon practice by the insurgents as they reasoned that the American forces would not risk hurting civilians. It meant that his team would take a more surgical approach to eliminating their targets.

"Acknowledged." The response was as brief and expressionless as if Davis had told him that the sun was coming up.

He knew that it would require little time for the commander in charge of the mission to determine that the Seal team would need to go ahead with the frontal assault that had been planned out. Instead of the order he was expecting, Davis heard the low-throated snarl of an incoming missile as it came over the ridge of the hill, taking a direct line for the school.

The team watched in horror as the smart missiles fanned out to strike the school and the surrounding buildings. The entire village disappeared in a blast of dust and flames as the Hellfire payloads exploded. Even at their observation point, the heat of the flames could be felt. As the village was being destroyed, a blast from behind them caused them to stumble forward as an errant missile struck near the equipment they had been about to recover.

The four team members quickly moved up to where Jones waited, no longer needing to be concerned about being seen. A quick look at their equipment cache showed that the whole area was totally involved in flames. Being able to move more freely, they jogged across the hills to a point a few miles from the village they had just seen destroyed. Running along the base of the hills exposed them to the risk of a mine field or a sniper nest set up to watch for travel on the roads. If they moved along the tops of the hills, their silhouettes called attention to their presence. Staying below the crest in the midpoints of the hills and working with their camouflage made them almost invisible.

When they reached the point where they needed to cross over the hill, they stayed low and then ran down the hill to their rendezvous point. In response to a quick message that Davis had sent out earlier, a transport Osprey came roaring up the valley and touched down near them. The men were loaded and gone in less than thirty seconds.

Shocked by the vicious destruction they had witnessed, they did not talk to the flight crew or each other. The two-hour flight passed in silence, while Davis mentally composed the report he would be submitting on their Op. All five men would be filing reports when they returned. He had seen civilians killed in the past, even children. But not this way. This operation was to have been a surgical strike and only the men they were looking for should have died. An entire town had been destroyed instead.

The team knew something was wrong when their helicopter was met by a squad of military police. The weapons the MP's held were at the ready.

"Major Michael Davis," the squad leader began. "You and your team will come with us."

They found themselves disarmed and marched at gunpoint to confinement. The MP's refused to answer questions. While they were not in jail cells, each man found himself under lock and key in quarters that would normally be assigned to an officer. Michael was able to get cleaned up before he was visited by an Army lawyer. It was quickly explained to him that he was being charged with dereliction of duty and ordering the missile attack on the village in violation of his mission orders.

* * * * *

Charisse turned into the alley and ran, hoping that she would be able to get out and away from the gang behind her. She had been walking home alone from the youth center for weeks now and had not been in any danger. The teenagers behind her must have seen that she was alone and had moved in around her within a block after she left for home. There was no way to get back to safety, so she had to hope that she could find an open store or building she could take refuge in.

There was a fence across the alley ahead of her, making it into a T-intersection. Both sides were dead ends that held dumpsters behind fences as well. Charisse looked wide-eyed at the ten-foot fence before her seeing freedom ahead and then at the eight-foot fences on either side of her. The howls of the gang chasing her sounded close and she was sure that they would catch her before she could get down the other side of the tall fence. If she went to the side, she would be out of sight and she might be able to hide before they got there.

These observations were made in a split second and she turned to the right and hit the shorter fence with a jump that put her halfway up. Spurred by fear, she was over the gate and down far enough to drop to the ground safely. The service door to the building was locked when she tried it and she only had moments to run to the dumpster and squeeze into the space behind it.

She heard the slapping sounds of sneakers and the sounds of boots coming down the alley outside that stopped when they reached the fences. Then she heard the sound of more running feet that were different.

"She didn't come out this way! She must still be in there!"

Charisse was horrified to realize that the alley had been a trap. She had been herded to this point. Even if she had been able to get over the high fence, they had been waiting for her on the other side. She could hear the group of boys or men outside split up and rattle the gates on both sides. Then the sound of climbing absolutely terrified her.

She kept her head down and body pulled into the little space as much as she could. She could not bring herself to look up when the scuffling of boots came right beside.

"Stand up or I'll yank you out of there," the man's voice said.

All Charisse could do was lever herself out and stand before him. Only then did she look up into his face. She saw a young man, probably only eighteen years old. He had a slight Oriental appearance, but that was ruined by the line of his nose that had not appeared to heal properly after being broken. The security light above them put most of his face into shadow so that she could not see the top part of his face clearly.

"You led us on a good chase." His voice was smooth and did not carry any anger or viciousness. He spoke as if he were ordering a drink from a waitress.

"Please," Charisse said. Her voice was barely a whisper, caused by fear and breathiness from her running. "Don't hurt me. I was only helping the kids at the youth center."

"I know," the man said to her. "It's nothing personal." As he said that, he took a step forward and his arm drove the knife into her heart. She was unable to even speak as her eyes dimmed. She did not see the look of distaste for what he had just done on the man's face as he said again, "It's nothing personal." Charisse never even heard him repeat himself.

* * * * *

Halfway around the world, Thomas Brady was preparing to begin his day. He pulled his Peugeot hybrid into its parking space in the garage and made sure it was secure before heading down to the exit. The day's schedule was not very pressing as he was only working with a pair of corporations exploring the possibility of a merger and he had been consulted as an impartial advisor. His evening would be devoted to working with a group of wheelchair-bound kids to improve their basketball game.

The scrape of a shoe behind him said that he had company heading out of the garage. That was not unusual as he was not the only one in London to beat the congestion by going into work early. As a result, many people would park outside of the city proper and walk to a Tube station. Earlier was always better.

Suddenly, the steps were right behind him. Before he could turn around, Thomas felt a ham-sized hand clamp over his mouth and pull him backward. Being off balance, all Thomas could do was fight to remain upright and claw at the hand cutting off his air. Then a blade lanced through his back and into his chest. He struggled against his captor, but quickly lost his strength. Once he was sure that Thomas was dead, his assailant dropped the body and walked back up into the parking garage.

* * * * *

The goddess Nyx stood looking out of the skyscraper's window, admiring the sight of the city and sea below. Osaka was an old city as far as age went, but it had the distinction of being able to provide any service or vice for money. She and her sister, Erebus, had used those vices to corrupt many of the people who were now cooperating with them. While those people had the money and authority to indulge anyway, most were susceptible to blackmail. Those people found it easier to do the small favors that were requested of them than to endure the public shame that they were threatened with.

She and Erebus had never had followers as such. That meant that they had no avatars to draw upon or prayers giving them power. If they wished to affect the human realm, they had to take human form and use what powers they had directly. Under better circumstances, they could have given an avatar the ability to do their work. They had their victims doing those tasks instead.

There was a knock at the door and it opened briefly to admit a thin, middle-aged man. He stood just inside the room for a moment before saying, "Madam Nyx? We have eliminated the girl in Los Angeles and the man in London. There are only a few more before your plans can move forward." His voice was as thin as his body and it oozed of obsequiousness.

He was thrown back against the teak wood door by the eighteen-inch sword hurled by Nyx from across the room. The impaling blade passed through the right side of his chest and embedded itself in the wood.

"Fool!" Nyx spat as she stomped across the room. "You were told to capture those people and transport them here so that they could be eliminated by ritual. You have given away our plans because of your stupidity!" She tore the sword out of the door and the man's body, letting him fall to floor once he had nothing to support him. Nyx stalked from the room, not looking to see if her underling was still living or not.

* * * * *

L sat completely still at the desk, hands steepled before him and a pensive expression on his face. His eyes were closed, as if he were in meditation. Anyone looking at him would notice his strong features and then immediately forget that they had looked at him. The office was not necessary at the moment as no one would be walking in from the street, but even a god needed a place of solitude and all of the deities in his charge knew not to disturb him when he was here.

There was no sound as a white-robed figure appeared inside the room's door. Still, L sensed the presence of his non-mortal visitor and he opened his eyes to focus on the slender being across the room. The robe that he or she wore was simple and seemed to be wrapped or draped around the body. The slight golden glow that emanated from them made it obvious that L's visitor was not of earth.

L studied the entity that he knew to be an angel for a moment. This was not the first time he had hosted a messenger from his own creator and he had no problem with their presence. It had been his experience that angels all seemed to resemble each other. The best way to describe the features was to say that they were bland.

"Greetings, L," it said. Even the voice made it impossible to say male or female. He was not sure that angels even had sexes. He had never been told a name and it really did not matter to him.

"Hello," he replied, dipping his head in acknowledgment. "How can I help you?" He did not mean help the angel itself, but entity the angel represented.

"There is activity in the world that is endangering the balance," the angel said. "Avatars are being killed before they can be replaced. If the balance is not maintained, this world and all of its associated worlds will be destroyed."

"What is it that I can do?" L asked. He was not averse to taking action in the world and had done so in the past, but he always knew exactly what he wanted to accomplish.

"Some of the deities in your realm are directly affected by this. Protect them and their avatars and the crisis will resolve itself. I have the knowledge that you will need." The angel held its hand out upraised toward L. He nodded and stepped forward to lay his hand against the angel's. The contact between them immediately allowed the spiritual being to transfer all its knowledge of the crisis to L, saving a great deal of time and eliminating any miscommunication.

When it was over, L removed his hand and said, "I see. I will begin preparations immediately." Having fulfilled its mission, the angel nodded in understanding and faded from sight.

L crossed the office in two steps to reach the door to the hallway. As he opened the door, the small man in the chair across the hall came to his feet quickly and hurried over to his boss.

"Mr. Luk," L said. "The Balance is in danger. We need to have a tenant meeting." He strode down the corridor toward a single door that appeared in the white marble wall, not checking to see if Luk was behind him. The small man was almost running to keep up with his boss and skidded to a stop as they both reached the door.

L opened the door and pushed it in. The space beyond did not open into a room or corridor, but a space filled with grayness that was not fog. There was the impression of vastness and gigantic, human shaped figures moved about in the distance. The door closed behind Luk as they walked into grayness.

* * * * *

The destruction of the village quickly became public knowledge across the world and a rallying call to remove foreign troops from the region. Both the American and Afghan governments opened inquiries into the incident and Major Davis found himself the focus of those inquiries. The rest of his team had been allowed to remain anonymous. In true political fashion, Davis was labeled as being responsible for allowing the attack to take place and he was thrown to the wolves. Court martial proceedings were quickly initiated.

The trial itself only lasted a week. But the media circus surrounding the investigations were drawn out for weeks. In the time between their return and the court martial, the rest of Davis's team had been discharged and shipped back to the States, making them unavailable to testify at Michael's court-martial. The prosecution produced statements taken from his men that were damning for Davis. They stated that they had not heard Major Davis's message about the presence of civilians near the insurgents, which was true. They had not been on his communication channel.

His defense that he had made his report was not provable as there was no record that he had made a call of that nature. His legal counsel was lackluster, even though the lieutenant colonel assured him that he was doing everything that he could. The soldier the prosecution put on the stand who was to have taken his message denied that Davis had made any call to that effect. The official recordings of the patrol's communications had mysteriously gone missing and no issue was raised about it.

The prosecution presented evidence that Davis's mission was to verify the presence of the insurgents so that they could be destroyed by the missile attack. If civilians had been present, he was not to have authorized the attack.

The charges were incomprehensible to Michael and he could not believe how he was being treated by his leadership. As time went on, he almost found himself believing in his guilt. He had been accused so many times of ordering the massacre that he found himself almost believing it. Had he misunderstood or misread his orders? Had he only thought that he had reported those children in the danger zone? He was glad that Jessica, his ex-wife, was no longer around to go through with this. The stress of military deployments had torn their marriage apart, but they had still cared deeply for each other. She had died in a traffic accident over two years before. Going through this with him would have been awful. Without any support to depend upon, Davis was an emotional wreck and was starting to spiral into depression and self-loathing.

The outcome of the court-martial proceedings was surprisingly lenient. He was stripped of his rank and discharged from the Army. No other punishment was deemed necessary. He was transported out of the area to Germany where he found himself turned into a civilian. He would have to find his own way home from there.

Once in Germany, he took commercial flights back to the States. Even though he had booked an economy seat, Michael had found himself upgraded to first class on the flight out of London to New York by an agent who respected him for his military service. Michael was glad that the Army had not publicized his picture. His name had only been used often. Mercifully, his picture had not been used so his face was not widely known but that would probably change after the results of the inquiries and his court martial were made public. He would not be able to go out in public after that.

The flight itself was fairly smooth, but Michael was unable to fall asleep without help. He knew that he could not drink enough of the complimentary alcohol to deaden his mind, so he had to resort to other means. As much as he hated taking drugs, he resorted to washing a sleeping pill down with some water and then managed to doze off. Once he hit REM sleep, the dream he had been enduring for weeks started once again.

He was walking along a gravel road, lined with scrub pine trees. Michael recognized this road. It had been
his second mission in-country and it had gone very wrong. The road curved about a mile ahead and passed
behind a large stand of trees. There was an IED in the road and a band of teen-aged rebels hiding in the trees.
He had been the only one to live through the ambush and he had spent two months in the hospital because of
the wounds he had received.

He was the rear guard in the patrol, thus being the last one in formation, as luck would have it meant he was out
of the kill zone. The other members of the squad were spread out ahead of him. As much as he tried, he was
unable to stop moving or call out to them. He couldn't even look around, but he sensed a dark fog behind him.
The bomb in the middle of the road exploded and the automatic gunfire broke out.

Being in the rear of the formation, Michael was out of the kill zone the insurgents had established. He worked
himself into the trees to attempt flanking the attackers. He reached a point where he saw a group of youths,
barely into their teens, firing upon his comrades. He attacked from the trees, firing from the hip. He killed most
of the insurgents before a machine burst stitched across his body and things went black…

Michael jerked awake, his clothes sodden with cold sweat and his heart pounding. He looked around at his fellow passengers to see if he had said anything in his sleep, but everything appeared normal. He knew that he was dealing with the guilt and self-hate that had come back to him. He had been the one to kill the last of those rebels. Knowing that it was kill or be killed was of little comfort when you were shooting at a man barely old enough to shave.

* * * * *

Being in first class, Michael was one of the first to exit the plane. He was sure that the image people saw when they looked at him was not too favorable. With the poor quality of sleep he had been getting over the past weeks and the condition of his clothing, he probably looked more like a bum than anything else. The shortness of his hair was the only sign that he might be a member of a branch of the military.

He strode though the concourse, intent upon just getting out of the airport. He barely paid attention to his surroundings, going around obstacles on autopilot. His thoughts were intent upon the massacre he had witnessed and his treatment by his leadership. He'd been blamed for authorizing an action that had killed scores of people and he was sure that he had understood his orders. But had he misunderstood them? Was he responsible for the heinous crime he had been accused of? The doubt that arose lead to self-loathing. The expression on his face was enough to discourage any panhandler or leaflet litterer.

He passed the security checkpoint exit and headed out to find transportation into the city. He did not want to be near people and intended to avoid the bus system like the plague. He breathed a brief sigh of relief that there was no wait at the taxi stand and he headed over. The cabs were stopped back from the loading zone and the lead car prepared to pull up. As it began to pull forward, it immediately braked to a sudden stop as it was cut-off by a taxi that roared around the line of cars and pulled up in front of him. The driver of the other taxi leaned on his horn and leaned out his window, yelling profanities at the driver in front of him.

The driver of the cab that had jumped the line hopped out, ignoring the angry yells coming from behind him. He came around to put Davis's duffel bag in the trunk. He was swarthy in appearance, apparently middle Eastern. He opened the rear door for him and said, "Here you are, sir." His voice sounded vaguely Turkish to Davis. He ignored the drama involving the cabs and just nodded his thanks to the driver as he climbed in.

"Where to, sir?" The driver asked. The taxi license listed the driver's name as just Kemel. The picture looked identical to his driver, which surprised Davis. In his experience, the pictures were hard to make out and always seemed to be a couple of years out of date. Things must have changed some in New York.

"Somewhere near downtown please, the Greenwich Village area. I might as well enjoy my night in a ritzy hotel." He planned on spending his only night in town in one of those hotels. He had no idea what he was going to do after that, he had no plans made. If he woke up in the morning, he might visit his parent's home town.

"Yes, sir. You have an address?" Kemel's dialect seemed to get easier to understand as he drove.

"Not really. I'm just going to be there for the night." Michael leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. He noted that the back of the cab was surprisingly clean and there was none of the cracked upholstery and unpleasant odor he remembered from his last visit home.

"Greenwich Village can be pretty expensive this time of year, sir." Kemel responded. "Are you sure that you want to go there?"

"Money really isn't a problem, Kemel. I can afford a good hotel," Davis replied. "I think that a luxury hotel is good place to be tonight."

"Yes, sir," replied Kemel. "We will be there in approximately an hour. There is construction on the 678."

Michael found himself suddenly very drowsy, as if he had been drinking too much. As much as he did not want to experience another dream that might trigger another bout of PTSD, he could not keep his eyes open. He settled back and closed his eyes. "That's fine. I think that I need to take a bit of nap." He yawned uncontrollably and closed his eyes. He was fast asleep almost before the cab pulled away from the curb.

* * * * *

Kemel looked back at Davis in the mirror and smiled. His passenger would be asleep until he was allowed to awaken. They made good time on the 678 and were in Greenwich in less in half the time he had quoted to Davis. However, he continued on past Greenwich itself into a neighborhood several blocks removed from the Village itself. He pulled into a small square bounded on one side by a picturesque park. He pulled up to the building opposite the park where a large, dark-skinned man waited at the curb.

"Is this the one, Kemel?" the man asked, looking through the passenger window.

"Hi, Horace," he answered as he came around to open the trunk. "Yes, I believe so. Mr. L told me that the one we were expecting would be coming in today. He fit the general description, so I grabbed him and brought him over. The others are standing by in case someone else comes in that might be the guy. I put him to sleep to make it easier to handle him." Kemel got Davis's luggage while Horace took Davis out of the cab.

While he was not a small man, Michael looked like a child as Horace picked him up and carried him like a child into the six-story brownstone. While it was not a physically imposing structure, it positively towered over the rest of the one and two-story businesses on the square. Carved into the stone above the entrance was the name of the building "D--ty Arms", the aged stone had crumbled somewhat to obscure the letters in the name. Crouching over the edge of the building and appearing to survey the sidewalk below were four large gargoyles. The sculptor had obviously taken his job seriously because none of the stone figures bore a resemblance to each other, considering that he could have taken the easy way and created four identical concrete guardians. No one in the area took notice of them as they appeared to crane their necks to watch Horace carry Davis into the building.

Standing in the middle of the foyer, was a tall thin gentleman with his hands clasped behind his back. His olive-colored skin made his close-cropped white hair stand out somewhat. The white suit that he wore was neatly pressed, the creases in his trousers looking so sharp they might slice bread. His bearing was rigid, almost military in nature, but he relaxed somewhat as he examined Horace's burden.

He stepped over to where Horace stood with Davis in his arms. At the moment, Michael did not look like the hardened soldier that he was. L beheld a well-built man in his early thirties with a close-cropped military haircut. The face was weather-beaten, obviously having been in the sun for long stretches. What belied his tough-as-nails appearance was the complete relaxation in his face. Obviously, Kemel's sleep spell had been enough to allow Michael to get past the stress he had been experiencing over the past weeks.

"Yes, he is the one we are expecting Horace," he said with a slight smile. "Please pass the message on to Kemel and the others that they no longer need to keep watch. Our next guest will not be coming to the city until the day after tomorrow. Hopefully, we will not need to watch for her. Please place Mr. Davis in one of the comfortable chairs over there and we will see about helping him get checked in." He waved to the waiting area off to one side of the foyer.

"Yes sir, Mr. L," answered Horace, with a nod and Horace settled Davis into a chair. Michael never even stirred. Horace headed back to the street to give Kemel his instructions.

L turned to the little man who was standing to one side, awaiting instructions. "Luk, please make sure that Mr. Davis's room is ready. I believe that we will use the sixth-floor apartment."

Luk bobbed his head and said, "Yes sir. Should I make the usual changes?"

L shook his head and answered, "No. We will make them tonight, after the meeting and he has agreed. We cannot do anything for him until then."

Luk bobbed his head again and scurried away. He returned a few minutes later and said, "Sir, his room is ready."

"Thank you, Luk. Good work," L nodded his approval. "I believe that we can allow Mr. Davis to wake up and check in now." He stepped over to be in front of Davis.

"Mr. Davis," he called. He spoke again, raising his voice. "Mr. Davis!" This time Davis stirred and began to return to the waking world. "Mr. Davis! Please wake up!" L patted Michael's cheeks with a bit of force to get through the sleepiness that had been imposed upon the man.

This time, Davis opened his eyes and began to become aware of his surroundings. It only took moments for him to be fully awake and he jump to his feet. "Where am I? Where's the cab?" He was more than a little concerned about his disorientation because situational awareness was drilled into every soldier.

"The cab driver was unable to wake you up and he had us move you here to the lobby before he left," Mr. L answered. "He told us that you were looking for a hotel room for a couple of days and he dropped you off here."

"What hotel is this?" asked Davis, looking around.

"This is the Deity Arms. My name is Logan and I am the manager," replied Mr. L. "We have prepared a room for you. How long will you be staying?" Logan stood back and gestured to the reception desk where Horace now sat.

Davis did not move from his place by the armchair and said, "I'm sorry Mr. Logan. I asked the cab driver to take me to a hotel in Greenwich Village, I'm afraid that I am not familiar with your establishment."

"I don't know what to tell you, Mr. Davis," replied Logan. "I'm sure that the cab driver had a good reason to leave you with us and we have gone to the trouble of preparing a room."

After the treatment he had endured at the hands of his own superiors, Michael wanted to be in control of what was happening to him. "I'm sorry Mr. Logan. I would feel better staying at a larger hotel for the night. Would you mind calling a cab so that I can move over there?" He looked around to see his bag beside him.

"Certainly, sir. However, it is late in the day. As a rule, taxi cabs do not come to this neighborhood to pick up fares in the evening. Might I suggest that you stop here for the night and move in the morning?"

"Thank you, but your establishment appears to be smaller than the large chains and I would really prefer to not involve you in my affairs. I mean no offense to you or your hotel." Davis bowed to Logan in respect.

"Thank you, sir. I do understand," Logan said as he also bowed slightly. After everything the man endured in the past weeks, the fact that he was still capable of being respectful and this raised Logan's estimation of his guest. "Please do not be put off by the apparent size of our hotel. We are a large institution and we should be able to provide you with anything you might need."

He stepped back a bit and waved toward the check-in desk.

"Please…Avail yourself of our hospitality for this evening and we will assist you in moving to any hotel you might desire in the morning."

Realizing that he was stuck for the night, Michael's resistance collapsed. "Very well. Thank you." Davis gave another slight bow.

L smiled slightly and said, "Please come over to the desk and we will get you signed into your room. As it is getting late in the evening, you may want to consider ordering from room service so that you do not need to leave the building."

They moved to the reception desk where they went through the formality of having Davis sign into a room and to give him a room key. Around them, the main floor of the hotel appeared to be rather spacious, but somewhat spartan. The ceiling was high, giving it an airy atmosphere. There was a single door in the wall opposite to the reception desk, quite probably the hotel manager's office. A standard elevator door was also on that wall. There was a small area at the front of the area for armchairs and benches near the entrance from the street. The fourth wall that was opposite to the entrance was a blank wall, covered with frescoed art depicting what appeared to be ancient buildings.

Luk picked up Michael's bags and led the way over to the elevator. Michael noticed absently that there was only a single elevator to service all the floors. Strange. How many floors were there? Judging by the panel, there were six floors in the building.

Luk made no conversation as they rode up. The elevator appeared to open directly into the room, which also seemed strange to Michael. "Mr. Luk," he said respectfully. "Aren't there more rooms on this floor?"

Luk bowed slightly and said, "This is one of our finest rooms, sir. Mr. Logan wanted to make up for the inconvenience you were being put to. This suite takes up the entire floor. Only the rooms on the seventh floor are better." Luk stopped himself at that point when he realized that he had something wrong, but Davis did not appear to pick up on his slip.

Michael returned the bow. There was something about the man that called for decorum and respect.

"Thank you very much. Would it be possible to be called first thing in the morning?" Davis did not plan on being around come morning, but the wakeup call would put events in motion.

"Of course, sir. Will you be making use of room service this evening? The kitchen is not yet closed."

"No thank you, Mr. Luk," Davis answered. "I believe that I will just turn in. Thank you for your help." He held out a large denomination bill to Luk as a tip, which Luk refused, saying that employees were not allowed to take tips. After all, Luk thought, what would he do with money?

* * * * *

Once Luk had left and he was alone, Davis took stock of his room. Discovering that he had rented the entire floor of a hotel was a shock. Out of habit, he made a brief tour to familiarize himself with the layout as his training always had him looking for an escape route. While having a single bedroom, the apartment consisted of a large sitting room with floor-to-ceiling windows, an eat-in kitchen, and a stocked wet bar. The kitchen was fully supplied with pots, pans, plates and utensils, while the bedroom itself was so large that it put him in the mind of a two-car garage. It was more like an apartment than a hotel room.

He took a glass from the kitchen and a bottle from the bar and returned to sit before the large panoramic window. He found his view framed by the carved stone gargoyles that were placed on either side of the window. It put him in the mind of a medieval castle. He settled into one of the armchairs and poured a glass of whiskey and raised it in silent toast to the ghosts that haunted him. That drink was followed by another and yet another until he was numb.

Completely invisible to Davis and unable to be heard, L and Luk stood in the room, studying him.

"I like him," Luk volunteered. He very seldom spoke to Logan except in response to a question or to request instructions and he never began a conversation. "He is an honorable man and a good soldier. The kind of man that would have worshipped me." His voice was slightly wistful as he remembered when he had been an honored war god so many centuries ago.

"Yes. He is a good man," Logan answered. "He thought that he was carrying out an honorable task. It is not his fault that he was misled or that so many died. He carries the responsibility for their deaths when he does not need to. He is the kind of man our friends need and will be proud to associate themselves with."

* * * * *

Michael sat before the large windows and watched the daylight fade and the city lights flare up. Even at six floors, the hotel was still the tallest building in the area, giving him an excellent view and the large windows improved upon it. As he contemplated the sterile beauty of the scene, he would fill the glass and sip the smoky alcohol.

His mind hashed and re-hashed the events surrounding the massacre he had somehow been blamed for and the anger and self-loathing came rushing back. It had been a Black operation, meaning that only the commander, the support team, and the team in the field would know about it. He had been in a few of these Ops before, where a field commander was bucking for promotion and wanted to prove he was worthy of a colonel's wings or a general's star. If the Op succeeded, they could claim the credit or deny all knowledge if things went wrong. Success depended upon choosing the right operational intelligence and field team. Only one Op had ever gone bad for him and Davis had been able to prove that the colonel in charge had sent them across the border against higher orders. Could that have been why his own leadership had treated him this way? He lost track of time as he ultimately emptied the bottle and fell into an alcohol-fueled slumber.

He found himself moving in the dark with the rest of his team, making their way silently to the positions they had
identified with drones. The presence of the team was necessary to make the final identification of their targets
as the presence of the drones in this area would be noticed.

Peters dropped off at the top of the hill to settle himself into his blind. Anders, Maxwell, and Olsen spread out to
their positions across the hill. Davis had selected a spot approximately three hundred yards from the village.
They were well hidden before the sun rose and could make them visible.

Davis found himself reliving the entire massacre again. He really had tried to prevent the deaths of everyone
in the village. The graphic images of the destroyed buildings and of the dead played before his eyes.

The grief he felt at witnessing something so heinous overwhelmed him yet again. It only reinforced his feeling that he must somehow atone for all those deaths with his own.

* * * * *

Michael snapped awake, his senses on high alert. Something had awakened him. He was in a combat crouch before he saw L and Luk standing beside him.

Before he could speak, L said, "Please be calm, Major Davis. You are quite safe here."

Davis straightened and looked back at the hotelier. "What do you want?" His tone was decidedly hostile, but then it was bad manners to enter someone's bedroom and more than a little creepy.

L smiled disarmingly. He was quite accustomed to the brusque manners of mortals. Davis was also entitled to be annoyed at the perceived trespass, in addition to having to deal with his PTSD. They did not want a docile pushover for what they had in mind and Davis only continued to demonstrate his fitness.

"I have some friends who would very much like to speak with you. I'm afraid that now is the only time that is feasible."

Michael could only look at L with a questioning expression. Before he could voice his opinion of how stupid the request sounded, L held up his hand to forestall him.

"Major Michael Davis, I promise you that you will be interested in what we have to say. It will be beneficial to us all."

Davis cocked his head at L. He knew that the whole incident had started as a minor news item and that was the only time his rank had been mentioned. The massacre of the one village had ignited a firestorm over whether the US military should continue the fighting in the Middle East or if everyone should be withdrawn.

L waved his hand to the door. "Please join us. I promise that everything will be explained."

"I'll need to change my clothes first," Michael said. He looked over to where he had dropped his clothes and came to a dead stop when he looked back at the bed. To see himself lying face up and apparently asleep.

Anticipating his thoughts, L said, "No. You are not dead, even though you have contemplated it in the past. We are in a place where dreams exist on a different level."

As L was explaining, Michael looked away from the bed and down at himself to see that he was dressed in his full-dress uniform. He had not worn these clothes since Donaldson's funeral a year before. His dress-blues had been left behind in Afghanistan when he had been discharged. He could only assume that he must see himself as wearing his uniform in his dream. Instead of letting his appearance unnerve him, he just accepted it and shrugged.

"I don't know if this is your dream or mine, Mr. Logan," Michael said. "I guess that I am at your mercy."

"Please follow me," L said. "There is a great deal to be done." He left the room without looking back. Luk stepped to Davis's side and gestured that they should follow. They caught up with L at the elevator. The door opened as they approached and they filed in. Michael found himself standing between Luk and L. The elevator car did not seem to move after the door closed and then reopened almost immediately.

Outside the door, Michael saw greyness. But it was not caused by mist or fog, but instead seemed to emanate or bleed from the air itself. There seemed to be light of some form up above somewhere, but the exact source was impossible to pin down. There was the impression of a extremely high ceiling of a room and, at the same time, the absence of anything but sky overhead. In both the far distance of the place and close up, there seemed to be people moving about. Their forms were indistinct and Michael thought that the place must be playing with his sense of proportion or perspective as the forms seemed to be very large.

Michael found himself being left behind as L and Luk walked into the vastness and he hurried to catch up. It could have been an airplane hangar or a mountain valley as he could not get a sense of size. They walked for several minutes before the ground resolved itself into well-groomed grass that ended in white stone steps leading up to a dais or stage-like formation.

As he reached the top step, he saw that they stood at the focus of a large amphitheater. There appeared to be thousands of seats for an audience. The greyness that had been so pervasive when they had entered had receded outside of the amphitheater. Underfoot was green grass as cool and fresh as any Michael had ever had a chance to enjoy, that gave off the smell of freshly cut grass. Confusingly, there was a blue sky and sunshine directly overhead.

The seats were rapidly filling with men and women who wore wildly varying forms of apparel. Some wore elegant clothes while others were clad in robes or animal furs. The clothes that they wore barely registered, however. What drew Michael's attention was the fact that the people who were taking seats were human sized and human shaped. However, he watched as these people approached the amphitheater from the sides and back as giants. They rapidly shrank down to match human scale as they moved into the arena and took seats.

He turned to L for a possible explanation, but he was only waved to a seat on a bench beside L. Luk took up a standing position behind L. As he turned to L with a question forming on his lips, L held up his hand and said, "Explanations are forthcoming, Mr. Davis. You will have a chance to ask questions. Please make sure that they are good ones."

The audience was very well behaved and was completely silent. There was a sense of attention and expectation when L stood and walked to the center of the dais.

"My friends," he began, his voice easily carrying in the silence. "I have been your host and your guardian for a very long time. As I told you before, the Balance is threatened and I have undertaken to find a champion for you. That is the extent of what I can do, however. You must explain to him your need and ask him for his assistance."

Michael immediately understood that L could only be referring to him, but he had no idea what was meant beyond that. Before he could stand and voice any questions, a man and woman stood up from opposite sides of the audience and walked to the dais.

They appeared to be perfect specimens of humanity in every way. If he had seen the woman on the street, he would have followed after her and done everything he could to meet her and know her. The smile she gave Michael was casual and friendly smile that was both welcoming and calming. She wore a light-blue toga that reached almost to her knees. Her golden hair was pulled together in back so that it fell down the center of her back, exposing an oval-shaped face. Her eyes seemed to alternate between a deep blue and some shade of lavender.

The man was someone who would put you on your guard the minute you saw him for some unknowable reason. When Michael's gaze met the newcomer's dark eyes, he immediately felt as if he were under attack. His appearance seemed to change subtly if you were not paying attention. One moment, he looked like some sort of strong man and the next he was a normal, well-built guy. His expression did not change though. He gave off the impression of a very self-assured person who was always in control. He had an open kind of face, a sharp nose, and a square chin. His bearing said that he was not someone to get into a fight with. At the same time, Michael felt a kind of kinship with him.

The three of them stood there for several moments studying each other. Though neither of the newcomers looked as if they were dressed formally, Michael was glad that he was in his dress uniform.

He waited for another moment and finally broke the silence, "Who are you people?" He had seen some strange things already and it was becoming difficult to believe that they were coming from his subconscious. If this was somehow real, he wanted some answers.

The woman spoke first, her voice rich and cultured with no trace of an accent, "You're right. I think that introductions will make things go faster. Major Davis, we have had many names. You may call me Peace and he is War." She inclined her head toward the man next to her. Michael almost got the impression that acknowledging the man's presence required an effort on her part. The man bowed at the waist in a courtly manner.

Michael was at a complete loss for words. Things had been happening to him that he had no control over for quite some time. Most of those events seemed to be beyond explanation. All he could do was nod in acknowledgment as he was introduced.

Peace smiled as she said, " Major Davis, I can see that you are confused. Let us sit down together to allow us to explain what is going on. I promise that things will make sense."

War gestured to one side on the dais where a table and chairs had appeared. The seats in the audience section of the amphitheater were now completely full with silent observers.

After they were seated, War leaned forward on the table and looked at Michael intently. "I believe that you might be the one we need, Major." His voice was deep and conveyed a sense of confidence and welcome. Davis really did not feel comforted though.

Peace frowned at War for a moment, annoyed that he was just contributing to the confusion, and then she looked at Michael again.

" Major, much of what I am going to tell you will sound impossible and I just ask you to bear with us." At Michael's nod of agreement, she continued. "First, this gentleman and I are gods." She indicated War. "Not gods with a big G, though. We are the embodiment of Peace and War in the world. Our friends," she indicated the mass of people around them, "are just like us."

"What would gods want with someone like me?" Michael asked.

"There is something called the Balance in the universe, Major," War said.

"You mean the balance between Good and Evil?" Michael could understand that.

"Yes, something like that," Peace nodded in acknowledgement. "But there is a balance in all things. Light and Dark, Good and Evil, War and Peace. The balance between War and myself is in danger of being upset. Both sides of the Balance are necessary in the lives of people in the world. If peace becomes ascendant, cultures will stop growing and developing. They will ultimately die out. If War becomes prevalent, it would ultimately result in the destruction of the world."

Michael nodded, but did not really understand. "The world appears to be fairly stable, at least according to your description of what it should be."

War spoke up. "That is true, Major. But not in actuality. Someone is killing the avatars of Peace and is working to reduce her influence in the world. If Peace is removed from the world, I will exist unchecked. While it might seem like something I would relish, we need each other to survive."

"Can't you just stop the fighting around the world?" Michael asked War, frowning.

"It does not work that way," Peace said. "We exist because people believe that we exist. Our influence on the world is always there, but it is strongest with and around our avatars. Some of us might only have a single avatar in the world, partly because of the level of belief and confidence in us. As our avatars work in the world, we gain additional adherents and avatars.

"At a certain point, avatars become unnecessary as attitudes and opinions of people are following our path already. Right now, the worlds are angry places and War does not have an incarnation on any world. Because of that, I have or had, many incarnations walking the worlds, trying to balance out the violence that exists everywhere."

Peace stopped and closed her eyes with a grimace. War took up the narrative again.

"Someone is killing the avatars of Peace, Major. If her final incarnation is killed here on Earth, the power of War will become too great to resist and it will precipitate the end of existence. The end of existence across all worlds."

Michael just sat and looked at the god of War across the table from him. The end of the world was something that he had faced every time he and his team went out on a mission, but it was just the end for him. He had fought to prevent the end of everything for his entire life.

"But why do you need me?" He looked between Peace and War.

Peace leaned forward. "Protect my last avatar until the cause of this instability can be stopped, Michael."

Michael sat back from the table in confusion. "Why can't you defend them? I mean, you're gods." He looked back and forth between them. "Aren't you?"

War shook his head. "We no longer take a direct hand in our interactions with the world, at least with the exception of avatars. Those of us here only work to influence people now. There are very few of us with the power to interact with the world and to directly affect it." War glanced at L as he said this.

Michael turned to Peace and asked, "But can't you just get another avatar if the last one is killed?"

She nodded in response. "Yes, but bonding with an avatar takes time. While there are many people who believe in and support peace, it takes time for an avatar to gain the ability to have a close relationship with us. Almost all avatars are completely unaware that they are, in fact, an avatar for one of us.

"However, Harmony knows something is going on, even though she does not know she is my avatar. When she speaks to groups of people, they listen to her and lose their desire to argue and fight. That is why she has become one of the chief negotiators for the United Nations on their peace missions. If she is lost to the world, it would be quite some time before another person could replace her."

"Time that would be lost to the violent natures in people," War said. "The worlds might not recover from it this time."

Michael frowned in confusion. "You keep saying worlds. Why?"

War smiled indulgently. "You only see your own level of creation. There are actually many levels of existence. They also balance each other. If your world destroys itself, it would be like tipping the first domino in a long line. All of creation would end."

L stood up at the end of the table to take the lead in the conversation.

"I have been informed that our problems are being caused by the gods Nyx and Erebus," he said to the group. "They have long hated how creation favored order and light. Their intent is to cause everything to collapse and return it to the darkness and chaos that they prefer."

"Can't you stop them?" Michael asked.

"No, we cannot," L replied. "They have never had many adherents and they have never been able to invest an avatar. As a result, they have manifested themselves as humans in your world to be able to affect events. They are currently beyond our ability to control."

"My avatar must continue her work as much as she can so that peace has a chance to work in the world," Peace said. "But her life is in danger. My existence as a god is in danger as well."

Michael frowned. "I don't understand."

"If my avatar is killed ritually, I will be unable to find another true avatar for almost a generation of human existence. If she dies any other way, I must still find another human who is compatible as an avatar even though that would require less time. The existence of creation will still be in danger during that time."

Michael sat, digesting the information his hosts had thrown at him. Realistically, this all sounded like some sort of fantasy. Considering he had looked down at his own body at one point, this had to be a dream. Everything seemed more real than any dream he had before though.

"Major Davis," L said, rejoining the conversation. "I know the circumstances surrounding your last mission. The fact that the terrorist stronghold you reconnoitered was a children's school was concealed from you. It was always intended that the village would be destroyed. You and your team were also intended to die in that attack. Your superiors wanted you to believe that the deaths of those children were somehow your responsibility."

"I'm not guilty?" Davis's relief was almost overwhelming. He had been sure that he was not to blame, but even he had begun to have doubts. The realization that he and his team had been manipulated and used in such a way was a shock and disappointing. He expected better from the people who had been his commanders.

"No, you are not. You were made into a scapegoat for political and monetary reasons. Your superiors knew full well the truth. They allowed themselves to be corrupted and led to believe that removing the United States from the area would allow them to share in the mineral riches of the region."

Michael felt a great relief at that news. He had killed people as part of his duty as a soldier, but to know that he was not guilty of killing an entire village of people who did not deserve it was a load off his shoulders.

He smiled happily at Peace. "So, you need me to act in your place. As another avatar. I have to point out that I am a soldier." She returned his gaze, shaking her head no.

"No, we need you to be _my_ avatar," War said. "We want you to be the guardian of the last avatar of Peace."

He nodded his head and said, "I can do that. I guess that I'm your man."

War smirked as the scene before Michael began to fade into grey. "Not exactly, Major. But you'll do."