The next morning is misty, grey, and cool. None of the ‘Bats know this though, and it matters little to not at all. But it sets the scene. For Mars, standing before the office window that carries a view of the sky, is watching the sun rise. It unleashes ribbons of colour that part the mists over the city. But most importantly, it means that the nature of the gods has defeated true evil once more during the night and that, as ever, the days will go on.
Mars sips his cold tea, for he has finished praying. He is merely waiting for the day to start now, waiting for other mortals to crawl out of bed and- he tenses slightly. He can sense a certain someone on their way into the building. Someone who would hope to speak with him, this early in the morning? That makes it someone who thinks they know him.
Mars smirks. How amusing. He wonders what the occasion is – but is interrupted. His private phone is ringing.
Frowning, he strides to his desk and picks the phone up, switching the cheap thing on. Tea still in hand, he hums in guise of a hello.
“Sir?” it was Stephen, of course. The poor man had probably stayed up all night running the name through various databases. Well, it was his fault. He shouldn’t have started a gambling addiction in the first place.
“I – I think I’ve found your person,” he says, voice wavering.
“Oh?” Mars says coldly, harshly. He doesn’t appreciate people thinking they know what he wants.
There was a gulp. Stephen fidgeted audibly. Papers were shuffled. “Well I, I ran it through all the databases, and you know it’s not really a name? No one’s called that.”
Mars waits patiently. Idiots talked so much.
“But I, I found her. If it’s a her. I’m sending you the file right now,”
Mars hung up. Good job, Stephen.
Flicking through the applications on this terribly sub-bar phone, Mars checks the email he isn’t supposed to have. And there it is. A file with the name ‘Ranger’ on it-
“Knock knock,” a male voice says from behind him. Mars jumps, courtesy of the war. He hates people sneaking up on him.
But when he turns he is composed, not frivolous and angry.
“Ken,” he says smoothly. And he might as well be speaking with a pre-packaged plastic doll. For Ken, dear Ken, had smoothly chiseled features and a body that was once special ops. For now he was wearing a suit and a tie that was undone around the neck.
“Hey,” says Ken. And there is something else on the tip of his tongue. Ah.
Mars has seen this play out a hundred times. Ken will find Mars alone, outside of their normal meeting hours. Ken will have something special to say.
Well Mars hates emotions. He dislikes the way they get in the way, the way they turn people all mushy. So he smiles coldly to Ken. “What is it?” he asks, his words carrying magic.
Because suddenly, it strikes Ken that this is a terrible moment for this sort of thing. Not that he doubts himself and his feelings, but he fears the ensuing ‘no’ from Mars.
So Ken puts his hands in his pockets. Instead of gushing, he simply tells his boss news. How the party decisions are going. What’s their new strategy to outdo Mars in the new election?
“I think they’re going to elect me,” Ken says, and again those emotions surge, hope flutters in his stomach. Would Mars be proud of him?
Despite himself, yes, Mars is. Proud and amused, like when a puppy does their best begging trick. He smirks, seeing how this will play out. For Ken, his favorite pawn, is part of the opposition party. If Ken is the appointed leader during the next election, then, well, Mars will control even more.
How amusing. And illegal. But there was no paper trail and Ken was a most faithful lapdog. There wasn’t possibly anything that could come to light. So Mars is satisfied. Ken has done his job well.
“I am very proud of you,” Mars says, echoing the sentiments he reads fluttering about in Ken’s stomach.
Ken catches his breath. A wry smile breaks out over his features and, just for a minute, the question almost slips out.
But Mars stomps it down. “Make sure you do get elected though,” he adds in, coldly. And this was how Ken was going to do it: and he listed the things Ken had to do. How to persuade. How to show he was best.
Ken nodded, emotions all doused now. Hands in pockets, he listened attentively. In the back of his mind, he was thinking that maybe some other time would be better.
“Now go,” Mars says icily. “Before someone sees you here.”
Ken licks his lips one last time. He lifts up a hand, trying one last time.
How strange. Usually Ken doesn’t try more than twice. This displeases Mars. His eyes narrow dangerously. “Go,” he repeats.
Ken pockets his hand and nods. He knows he’s outstayed his welcome. Maybe next time…
Mars waits until Ken is gone to roll his eyes. Sentimental dolts. As if Mars would ever date his own underling. No, Ken was a hobby. A puppy. Something amusing and totally not on Mars’ intellectual level.
Which, speaking of intellect, Mars turns back to his desk where he had put down his private phone. He opens it, and once more there is Ranger’s name.
Mars sits down in his office chair, poring over the file. It’s a medical file for a psychiatric hospital known as Beelz. Beelz? Mars pauses. Beelz? He’d sent some enemies there. It was for the criminally insane.
What in Kosara’s name would Ranger be doing there?
Frowning, Mars reads through the file. Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe Stephen needed to be threatened into doing his job better.
But the symptoms? Auditory hallucinations, delusions, catatonia. Multiple voices. Tv sending signals.
Mars scowls. This sounded like Ranger. Those damned voices. They never would talk with Mars and what was that one in particular? George? Damned annoying.
Treatment was injections due to the patient’s refusal of treatment.
Mars scrolls more. Past the long list of medicated history. Past the therapy session summaries.
What stops his impatient flicking is a picture. It makes his heart stop.
It was Ranger. Sleepy blue eyes, red hair tumbling around her oval face. Almost ten years older, but it was her.
Mars blanches. Now, really, it was hitting him. All this time, she’d been alive. He’d called off the search too soon.
Cursing, he rises from his seat. Then he pauses, gulping. He can’t just run to the hospital and release her. He needs a paper trail, maybe to decide he’s her relative or something. A way to quietly release her without anyone knowing.
So he sits back down, and begins to think.
And so begins Mars’ morning. Quietly, soothingly, with time to think things over and make wise decisions.
Unhinged and unenlightened 