"You have rather pronounced contours to your brain," a young male voice acknowledged.

"Wh-who...?" Avatar asked.  His mind pulsed and throbbed, making it next to impossible for him to focus.  He winced and opened his eyes, then quickly shut them as a spot light momentarily blinded him.

"The light is to stimulate your occipital lobe, at the back of your brain."  The young voice laughed.  "So, next time, you can tell your friends that you do have eyes in the back of your head."

Slowly, carefully, Avatar opened his eyes slightly -- just enough to give him an idea of his surroundings.  He tried to turn his head, but some sort of restraint held it place, and a metal shackle dug into his throat when he made the slightest move.  He noticed sterile walls and a round observation deck, the overall light of the place kept low save for the lamp shining on him.  But shifting his gaze downward, he saw that he sat in a high-tech recliner of sorts, his powerful arms and legs held fast to their respective rests.

Despite his restraints, Avatar struggled.  The already dim lights dimmed even more as a surge of energy crackled across the demi-god's body, viciously throwing his head back.  A thin line of blood trickled out from his mouth as he bit his tongue.  And then, despite his mouth being locked shut, despite his every effort to avoid granting his captor any pleasure from this torture, Avatar barked out in pain.

"Ouch," the voice said.  "Biofeedback.  I thought you knew about that already.  Purely reflexive, mind you.  So the less you move, the less you hurt yourself."

Now, Avatar opened his eyes and pulled his lips back in a snarl.  Looking around, his attention fastened on a smiling youth, standing just off to one side.  He was extremely handsome, and bald, with the build of a professional athlete.  Dressed in tailored pants and designer shoes, a starched white shirt, he studied the Babylonian with an even stare.

"Harbinger," Avatar said.

Harbinger nodded.  "As I was saying, Av, the hemispheres to your brain are quite impressive.  It's not often I come across such a formidable psyche.  I mean, you're not even a registered telepath."

"I'm glad I've piqued your interest," Avatar replied sarcastically.

"Lots of memories to play with though," Harbinger confessed.  "You shouldn't repress your emotions, you know.  Keeping them all balled up inside like a knot -- well, it's just unhealthy."  Harbinger smiled.  "But then again, it gave me something to toy with."

"Just how far are you going to go with these experiments?" Avatar asked.  "Don't think of cutting my hair while I'm in this barber's chair.  I'm not Samson, so it's not like that would work."

"I'm through with the experimenting," Harbinger replied, his brow furrowing into a scowl.  "You embarrassed me, you know that?  You weren't supposed to transpose your guilt of Metatron's death towards your direct actions on Omega.  I ordered you to kill him -- you whimpering moron! -- and now I hear he's alive."

Avatar laughed.  "You're breaking my heart."

"No, but I promise you that can be arranged."  Harbinger shrugged.  "But that's entirely up to you."  He glanced at his wristwatch.  "Sorry, but I've got prior engagements right now.  You know, slaves and prisoners to mind-warp."

"Well, don't let me hold you up," Avatar spat.

Harbinger stifled a laugh.  "I'm sure Brainchild will be along soon enough.  Don't go wandering off now, okay?"

Avatar said nothing, just glared at the back of Harbinger's head as he sauntered away.

"Yes Mindshadow, the account will be ready," the bank president confirmed obediently.

Mindshadow nodded absently, as her concentration was elsewhere.  Although she was at New York City's Citibank, ostensibly setting up some electronic numbered accounts to launder Colombian pesos into American dollars and to establish a mental hold on one of the world's financial cornerstones, a far more important game was taking place across the ocean.  One of her mind-slaves had penetrated into Ireland and was within visual range of the epicenter of the event.

She also got an unexpected bonus, bumping into Old Glory on the way in.  So, he was there too.  He had tried to "save" her servant from endangering himself, but that would have denied her information, so she commanded him forward.  Just as he lumbered further through the town of Wexford, he managed to get a view of two incoming metahumans.  Although her mind-slave was barely literate, Mindshadow recognized the figures just fine; Rook and Proctor, the two new Elite members who had a run-in with that bimbo Knock-Out near the Juilliard campus not too long ago.  She had just that long to make note of them before the blackness hit.

She sighed as she watched Proctor's blow knocked her servant unconscious.  She felt the blow against the servant's head, but shrugged it off.  She had learned long ago how to discount the pain of other people without losing sensations.  Well, it wasn't exactly unexpected, was it?  And the pawn had served its purpose.  She now knew for certain that the Royal Elite was responsible for Ireland's isolation and that things were far worse than the media was letting on. Oh well, that's what pawns were for.  With a shrug, she mentally touched the servant's mind and snapped her fingers.  In an instant, his mind erased and shut down.  All the thoughts, memories and experiences that made up his life vanished in an instant.  Loose lips sunk ships, so the saying went.  And in the game of world conquest, even thoughts could betray secrets.

Harbringer watched with disinterest as Rook and Proctor carried in the unconscious man and dumped him unceremoniously on the floor.  Supposedly, he was stationed here as the Elite's reserve mentalist, but in reality; Autocrat had dumped him with garrison and interrogation duty because of his inability to maintain mental domination over Avatar.  Hell, he thought angrily, the man was supposed to be almost a god -- what did Autocrat want?

He did well holding onto Avatar's mind as long as he did, but ordering Avatar to slay Omega, Earth's newest champion, a Herculean punk who stood to defend their Ireland to the last... well, that had been the last straw, enabling Avatar's conscience to make one last and ultimately successful bid for freedom.  The Royal Elite was forced to withdraw that day, and Ireland hung in the balance.

"Never send a peon to do a Royal's job," Brainchild had later sneered, which stung his pride a little.  But truthfully, he wasn't sure how much of his failure was due to his own hatred of Autocrat and desire to see him fail and punished.  But now wasn't the time; he had to maintain this sham a little longer.  For Nancy's sake.

After Rook and Proctor confirmed that the man was physically restrained, Harbringer began.  His mind-scan efforts were really only half-hearted; after all, just how much resistance could this shabby fellow really offer?  Which made the results all the more surprising...

"Gaah...!"  Harbringer staggered back with surprise.  "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

"What's the matter, Harbringer?" Rook sneered.  "Can't even read the minds of normals anymore?"

"I think he's afraid that this little man's going to jump up and bite him," Proctor snickered to Rook.  "Perhaps we should tie his unconscious body a little tighter?"

"Shut up!" Harbringer demanded.

Now that the initial shock had worn off, he realized what he had just felt.  It had been a telepathic trigger trap construct -- known colloquially as a "jack-in-the-box" by psychic specialists.  But there weren't more than a handful of mentalists in the world who possessed the combined skill and power to build one like that.  What the hell was it doing here?  This fellow wasn't a mentalist; his mind didn't have the sophisticated thought patterns that denoted an ESPer.  But sure as hell, he had been in contact with one.  He clenched his fist and began his mind probe in earnest.  If someone out there wanted to play ball, they wouldn't find him wanting.

Mindshadow winced as pain briefly spiked behind her eyes.  What the heck was that?  She mentally focused her senses and homed in on the source of irritation.  Someone was breaching the psi-trap she left on her pawns in Ireland.  She narrowed her eyes as she focused her concentration to steel herself for battle as she zipped back to her penthouse.  Anyone who could
penetrate that trap was going to be someone to be reckoned with, and she wanted to meet him on her terms.

Harbringer pushed his way through what had felt like a cross between the Normandy Omaha beach invasion and Dante's Inferno.  Someone out there had a vivid imagination, he noted.  Well, mentalists tended to have a lot of source material to draw from, didn't they?  Ignoring the images as best he could, he finally found the seam in the box, and pushed his way through.  The box was well built; it took several hard pushes to get through and that had taken the full force of his powers.  He doubted a lesser telepath would have stood a chance.  He grimaces in pain as "shrapnel" had lodged in his side from a nearby mortar round.  It wasn't real of course, but that didn't matter.  He was on the mindscape now, the detached realm within the psychic ethers -- the astral plane.  Thoughts determined reality, will determined choice, and the mind that blink first here could find itself without a body to return to.

Mindshadow levitated herself into a lotus position in the middle of her living room as she willed her body to relax and her mind to power up.  The room faded away as she entered the mindscape.  She had visited here on several occasions, usually when she wanted to toy with someone else's mind.  But she wasn't here to play this time.  The white fog that denoted the
mindscape shifted and billowed around her, adjusting itself to her stray thoughts.  There, she noted -- a pattern of thoughts that didn't belong to her or her slave.

There, Harbringer noted.  A new presence and a powerful one judging from how the white mists floated around her.  They seemed an infinite distance from each other, but distance wasn't relevant in a place where perception dictated reality.  In an instant, Harbringer and Mindshadow were face to face, as each took the other's measure.

"Well...," Harbringer noted.

"...well...," Mindshadow concluded.

"Fancy meeting you here," both intoned in unison.

The white fog seemed to cringe with fear and anticipation from the mental energy as the mentalists clenched and held themselves into stances, both ready to unleash a Niagara of psychic shock at a moment's notice.  Mindshadow's eyes narrowed, her mind seeking any weakness in her opponent.

Harbringer's lips tensed as his defenses steeled themselves for what he was sure was going to be a surgically precise and powerful attack.  Time took on an indeterminate quality; neither was sure whether it was milliseconds or years that passed between the two.  Patience and focus was by far more important to psi-combat than physical combat; the combatant who lost their
mental focus first was usually the loser.

"So, you're Harbringer," Mindshadow whispered.  "Or do you prefer John Moore?"  She then smiled -- an opening gambit of mental penetration.

"You have me at a disadvantage," Harbringer replied.  "But a reputation of power and accomplished deeds can cost one one's anonymity."  He in turn smiled, shifting his disadvantage into an advantage.

"Touché," Mindshadow acknowledged.  Don't dwell on it, she told herself.  "Having an entire team of Class 1 metas to fall back on must give you quite a feeling of confidence."

"It must be intimidating to be all alone," Harbringer noted.  "I'm sure Hernandez was relieved though."  Two could play the penetration gambit.

"She who dares, wins."  Mindshadow simpered.  "At least I don't hide behind the shadow of an armored, feudalistic madman."

"I have far more independence than that," Harbringer countered.

Mindshadow lifted her eyebrow.  Something about that last one didn't feel right.  "Oh?  So you're not Autocrat's fetching boy?" she asked, selecting her needle with care.

Harbringer's feelings of hatred grumbled for the briefest of moments, but he knew he had just tipped his hand.  His opponent's skill combined with the mindscape's tendency of reacting to one's thoughts and feelings guaranteed it.  "No, I am not," he said through clenched teeth.  "Rest assured, I have an agenda of my own alright."

Mindshadow's expression darkened.  "Abattoir... you bastard..."

Harbringer smiled.  "Let me guess, your long lost brother?"

Mindshadow's expression changed back to neutral.  "Hardly.  I'm just annoyed that you're the one who's made my job so much harder."

"I see.  Pity for you," Harbringer replied unsympathetically.

Mindshadow smirked.  "Me?  I'd say you're the one who needs the pity.  When Abattoir finally gets there, Autocrat's going to want to know who sent him.  He's no dummy and when he finds out, he'll make you wish you were dead."

Harbringer stiffened.  "That's a price I'm willing to risk."

"For what?" Mindshadow dismissed contemptuously.  "If all you wanted was power or money, you could have gotten that and more without the risk.  What's worth so much that you'd jeopardize your life?

Harbringer hesitated.  He trusted his opponent about as much as he could blast through her mental defenses and that wasn't saying much.  On the other hand, he had kept his silence for so long, a part of him wanted to confide in someone, and this place was about as secure from prying ears as it got.

"Someone else's life," he finally said.

Mindshadow now hesitated.  His demeanor had changed so much; she was half-tempted to believe him.  On the other hand, it could have just as easily been a feint to lower her concentration, so she kept her guard up.  Still, if there was indeed a weakness in the Elite, it was worth any price to pursue it.

"Your wife?"

"Don't be absurd, I'm not that much older than you!" Harbringer retorted indignantly, in the only light remark of the moment.

Mindshadow almost laughed, but caught herself.  "Very well, family.  And Autocrat's got them stashed somewhere."

"Didn't even take your telepathy to figure that out?" Harbringer replied half-mockingly.

"Not really," Mindshadow said, brushing off the implied insult.  "Considering he's done this before several years ago when he took Greenland."

Harbringer raised his eyebrow.  "Not bad," he admitted.  "Not many people remember that event."

"I'm trying to conquer the world, Harbringer," Mindshadow smirked.  "I can't do that if I don't study my metahuman history."

"Don't want to repeat Napoleon's mistakes?"

"Oh, thanks," Mindshadow groused.  "Just cast me as Hitler, why don't you?"

"You're both megalomaniacs with God complexes.  I'd think you two'd get along just fine."

"Coming from you, that's almost funny."

"Okay, I've got some issues too.  But at least I had an excuse."

Mindshadow's head tilted.  As both sides slowly lowered their guards, both of their secrets were beginning to leak.  "Your parents?  At least you had parents!"

"Yes, I did," Harbringer spat.  "And had things ended up differently, I wouldn't be hiding behind Autocrat's armor, as you so callously put it."

"Okay, so we're both products of an abused childhood," Mindshadow dismissed.  "That'll make it easier for both our lawyers.  Do you want to call Dr. Freud or should I?"

Harbringer turned around.  He had enough of this nonsense.  "I'm not planning on any court or group standing in my way.  Not until I've got what I came for."

"Then what?"

Harbringer stopped and stood for a moment.  He hadn't even considered that.  "I'll take that path when I get there."

"How would you like to walk that path sooner than later?"

Harbringer slowly turned around and asked Mindshadow to repeat herself so he could be sure he didn't misread her thoughts.  "And why would you even care?"

"Since you won't take my good will to all mankind, let's just say that anything that hurts the Elite helps my goals."

Harbringer nodded briefly.  "The second's easier to swallow.  But make no mistake!  Any screw ups and I'll personally hunt you down myself if she dies!"

"Fair enough.  Just don't expect me to lie down and die for you."

"I'd be disappointed if you did.  But that won't save you if you kill her."

"And if I save her?  What do I get?"

"I won't be your slave," Harbringer announced with determination.  "That'd be no better than I've got now."

"How about my partner?  I could always use... someone to hide behind, as you put it."

There was a long moment of silence as the two mental giants stood in thought.

"I'll consider it."

"Then I suppose I'd better get started."  Mindshadow turned around and carefully began to fade into the white mists.

"So what do I call you?" Harbringer called out.

Mindshadow turned and smiled.  "I don't supposed you'll accept me as 'Zorro?'"

Harbringer stiffened at the recollection, but let the matter drop.  Dredging up an opponent's worst and ugliest recollections and experiences was pretty common, albeit dirty, psi-combat tactics.  "Not hardly -- Zorro didn't wear stiletto heels."

"Then call me Mindshadow," she whispered as she faded away into the mists.

Harbringer remained on the mindscape all alone, thinking about the possible ramifications of what he had just unleashed.  Maybe Mindshadow would just laugh and forget about his plight.  She seemed the cruel type who took pleasure listening to other people's misery.  On the other hand, what if she took him seriously?  She was right; if her goal was world conquest, then the
Elite stood in her way.  And perhaps she thought that rescuing Nancy would weaken the Elite.  Which in truth, it probably would, since Nancy's liberation would essentially end any reason for him to remain with the Royal Elite.

"Trying for a little psychic extroversion?"

Harbringer turned around and clamped down on his stray thoughts as he saw Brainchild standing there behind him.  "Just scanning the remains of this person's mind."

"So I see.  Where is it?"

"The mind?"  Harbringer shrugged.  "There's not much left, is there?  Next time, tell Proctor and Rook to not go bashing in people's skulls so hard."

Brainchild frowned.  The commoner did have some head injuries, but they didn't look that serious, though he was picking up some residual long-term alcohol damage in this commoner's brain.  But anything was possible.  "Very well.  What was this person thinking then?"

Harbringer shrugged.  "Not much.  He had an orphaned childhood, and suffered from delusions of grandeur in his own mind.  He was involved with illegal drugs and beating people up.  He didn't have any idea of what was going on here, so he decided to hop on a plane to find out."

"No threat at all?"

Harbringer shook his head seriously.  "No.  No threat to the Royal Elite's plans here.  Just someone who never grew up."
 

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