The small stage in the Mission Room wasn’t exactly that grand, but it could get the job done.  The people in the crowd all knew who he was, and he knew them too. Of course, not all of them knew Marcus on a personal level.  They all obviously knew him, Marcius Milne, the star child, the baby of light, the one born of the two most pure-hearted people in the Universe, but they had only heard stories from other Keepers and friends in the Order.  They didn’t know who he was.

He had read about each of them before he set off to Earth; Zephyr, the cocky French gypsy who could find his way out of any sticky situation.  Geno and Jurri, children of Bambi and heirs to the royal forest. Ranjun, the adopted brother to Keeper Mowgli of India and an overall nutcase that put his “bravery” into question.  Pinocchio, the adopted son of an Italian wood whittler who came to life from being a lifeless puppet. Chip Potts, son of the royal maid of King Adam and Queen Belle and a master at problem-solving.  Webbigail “Webby” Vanderquack, niece to the maid of Scrooge McDuck and an expert gymnast. Princess Melody, daughter of King Eric and Queen Ariel and a mermaid who could make Frédérick Bousquet look like he’s going backward.

And then there was Ani.  God, how many months had it been since he’d seen her?  Marcius still remembered what happened when he stormed out of the party, Ani was right beside him when his heart was degraded into dust.  Sure, he missed her, but why would she want to see him after he shoved her out of the way and called her such an awful name?

“Today, we have a new Warrior to our Brigade.”

Marcius finally emerged from his daze when M.R.T.I.N.I.’s high-pitched, robotic voice came over the speakers and he returned to the Mission Room deep under the film studio.  “Everyone welcome Mr. Marcus Milne.”

Everyone cheered and clapped, hooted and hollered.  Marcius trudged over to the glass podium to give what everyone thought was a prepared speech.  No. Marcius barely ever prepares. Improvisation is how a man survives, especially in Marcius’ professions.

“Thank you, everyone.  I know that this job isn’t exactly easy, but for me, easy is a sin.  I promise you all, I will protect Order with all my heart and all my strength.  No matter what.”

Everyone clapped and M.R.T.I.N.I.’s voice echoed throughout the room, “Dismissed.”

Marcus walked down the long hall of doors to find his quarters.  He moved past any doors that had any decorations or if the age was apparent to the naked eye.  Finally, he found the last door at the end of the hall, crisp and shiny as if it had just been installed.

He had seen a similar security system on a Galactic Federation mothership.  He knew the procedure: enter the password, place your hand on the pad, gaze into the eye sensor, prick your finger on the needle, drop a hair in the tube, and finally, speak into the microphone, “Marcus Milne.”

“Access granted.”

The door sunk into the ground and revealed a white room with a bed, a screen, and a small couch.  Color, Marcus thought.  That’s what this room needs.  With a wave of his hand, the entire room was digitally transformed with shiny reds, blues, yellows and purples, even the bed itself changed to a light blue.

Marcius dropped his suitcase on the bed and immediately threw himself onto the couch.  His shoes were no longer of use to him, so with a simple flick of his leg, he kicked them off and a cupboard emerged from the wall, catching them.  Finally, the long road to this place had at long last concluded. Marcus began to close his eyes and let the silence of slumber overtake him.

And then, a foul stench began to fill the room.  The door.  Right…  More irritated than disgusted, Marcus reluctantly opened his eyes and heaved himself off of the couch and turned towards the door.

“Name’s Geno,” the chestnut-haired boy at the door said with an ecstatic smile.

“Pleasure, your Majesty.”  Marcus stretched his arms out, walking to the door.

“Wh-how did you know?”

“I read all your files before I arrived.  I know all your names, who your parents are, what your status is in the Order, even what your strengths and weaknesses are.”

“That’s … very impressive, Mr. Milne.”

“No, Mr. Milne is my father’s name.  Call me Marcus.” He could see the adoration in the kid’s eyes.  Wasn’t there someone involved with the Order who hasn’t heard the name Marcus Milne?

“Oh-okay, Marcus.  It’s a real honor to be working with you.”

Marcus placed his hand on the door panel.  “And I look forward to our first mission together.”

Slam!

The weights here are heavier than what you would usually find at an Earth gymnasium.  It isn’t even iron, it’s lead-encased uranium. Potentially dangerous, but a hell of a workout nonetheless.  The sweat that gushed down Marcus’ neck began to create a pool under the bench press. How long had it been since he started?  Forty minutes? An hour? Marcus had lost track of time, but not the number of presses; 830, 831, 832, 833, 834…

He could feel eyes gazing into his head.  He opened his eyes, regardless of the wet salt seeping into them, and turned his head to the right.  Jurri, Melody, and Webby were all standing there, their eyes completely glued to Marcus’ glorious, glistening six-pack.  The girls quickly turned their backs to him and made a charade as if they had been talking the whole time.

He suddenly smelled freshly-toasted french bread and apricot jam.  “Tu sais, si tu voulais m'inviter à manger,” Marcius strained under the large, crushing bar.  “Attendez au moins d'avoir terminé mon entraînement.” Even though Marcus was weightlifting, causing his mind to faze in and out of focus, he still remembered his lessons in his many, many various known languages.  Including Earth’s French.

“Cela fait un certain temps que nous sommes ensemble dans la même pièce.”  Zephyr’s thick French accent felt like warm, dripping butter in Marcus’ ears.  Oh wait, that’s just his sweat.

“C'est certainement le cas.”

“Je n'ai jamais compris comment vous pouvez exercer et avoir une conversation simultanément.”

“C'est beaucoup plus difficile quand un croque monsieur séduisant est à proximité.”

“Posez les poids et déjeuner avec moi et Pinocchio.”

“Je suis sur le point de battre mon record personnel.”  Even though Marcus could push past the pain and soreness, he was finally beginning to wear down.  “Je dois effectuer environ trente autres.”

“Vous avez déjà terminé plus de huit cent cinquante.”  Zephyr stood up and moved behind Marcus to spot for him.  “Je ne pense pas que vous pouvez continuer beaucoup plus loin.”

Marcus suddenly felt his arms go numb.  “Ô, merde!” He braced for the pain of a single locomotive to drop onto his chest, but it didn’t.

Zephyr was above him, struggling to keep the bar from crushing Marcus. “Will you just relax for a moment?”  They both lifted the bar onto the support beam and Marcus sat up, completely out of breath. A towel flopped over his face, as he stood up and leaned against a wall.

“Fine.”

The food hall was about the size of an Earth, American high school cafeteria, but the food was ten times as good.  Pinocchio had already been sitting there with a plate of chili-cheese fries and a small cup of coffee.

“Why are you so wet?”  Pinocchio scooted to the right a bit, pinching the wide of his nose with his thumb and index finger.  “And stinky?”

“I was just pumping that lead,”  Marcus flopped into the chair across from Pinocchio.  He placed his hand on the button to order something. Perhaps a delicious burrito, or maybe a fizzy cola?  

“Water, please.”  

A hole opened in the table, and a clear glass of ice water rose out of it.  Marcus lifted the glass up to his lips and in a few short gulps, it was half full.

Zephyr pulled out the toast from his bag and began to munch.  “So, how do you like it here, so far?”

“I like this place, very clean.”

“Do you like your room?”

“Why are you asking me these questions?”

“You didn’t read our files?  I’m the Captain of the Brigade, I am obligated to ask.”

Marcus stared into his cup.  “Check it again.”

“I don’t need to, I’ve read it a hundred times before,” Zephyr said as his eyes narrowed.

“Did you know that they update every ten Earth minutes?”

Zephyr tapped his Arm Bar, the device that the Warriors wear to keep up with current events and keep in contact.  Only the Warriors of B.O.W. hold these devices, the honor of having one could be compared to a royal knight’s sword.  He put it on and pulled up his own profile:

Name:  Zephyr de Chateaupers

Species: Human, Earth

Hair:  Blonde

Ethnicity:  French, Earth

Eyes:  Blue

Height:  5 ft. 9 in.

Weight:  180 lbs.

Age:  ~540 Years

Status:  Warrior

Substatus:  Soldier in B.O.W.

Tier Level: 8-C

The utter disbelief made Zephyr feel as if he were trapped between life and death.  “What?” He immediately closed his profile and opened Marcus’.

Name:  Marcus Milne
Species: Human, Earth/Mewman, Mewni
Hair:  Dark Brown
Ethnicity:  Caucasian, Earth and Mewni
Eyes:  Heterochromia; Blue (Right) and Green (Left)
Height:  5 ft. 9.125 in.
Weight:  180 lbs.
Age:  ~50 Years
Status:  Warrior/Keeper
Substatus:  Captain of B.O.W.

Tier Level: N/A

“I don’t…understand.”

“Honestly, I didn’t even want to be the Captain, but I have to do what the Keepers say.  Anyways, don’t take it personally. It’s just buss--”

“I WORKED FOR THIS FOR THREE-HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS!!!”  The chair behind Zephyr was shoved to the floor, as he jumped up and shouted at Marcus, who had no current means of rivalry or disrespect for authority.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t help it.  The Keepers have stated I will be the Captain of B.O.W.”
“But I’ve been leading B.O.W. for over three-hundred years.  How could this be happening?” Zephyr begins to collapse and stumble, tears welling in his eyes.  He leaned on the wall for support, when he feels a hand on his back.

“Look, I know that the Keepers have said I’m to be Captain and it can’t be helped, but it’s just a title.  A true leader is born when they have earned the respect of his friends and colleagues. I don’t want to be Captain, and you’ve been captain for decades now.  So how about this; I just have the title, whilst you have the mantle? And if we’re ever inspected, I’ll just act like I’m in charge. ‘Drop and give me twenty!’ Or something like that.”

Zephyr began to rise up from the floor, realizing that Marcus’ plan might work.  His plan. The plan of a Captain. Where Marcus wanted peace, Zephyr saw a challenge of authority.  “My father was Captain of the French royal army before either of us were even born, discharged for defending a family suspect of harboring gypsies.  My mother grew up on the streets, dancing for food and money, almost killed by the man who discharged my father. I have a fighting spirit inside my blood, my soul.  You, the oh-so-perfect you, you can just walk in, steal my job, and act like it’s not even your fault?!”

Marcus stood perfectly still, a statue before Zephyr, not even wanting to fight with him, the blankest stare as if he had gone through the process a trillion times before.  He opened his mouth to speak when Zephyr’s knuckles crashed into his Marcus’ face. “You know what? I deserved that.”

Zephyr didn’t even bother to comment on Marcus’ statement.  He stormed out of the food hall with such fury, that one could swear they saw a cloud following close behind.

“You see that, Pinocchio?  That is the walk of someone who lost everything.”

“Maybe my arms are still sore?”  Marcus had definitely hit the center of the target’s head, but not in the dead center.  He knew he could do better than that. He rose his blaster again, aiming for the chest this time, instead of the head.  Peew!  “There it is.”  Perfect. Just as he had always practiced and perfected.  Marcus loved the feel of a weapon in his hand, the heaviness of a blaster reminded him of how he’s going to have so much weight on his shoulders in almost no time at all.

Can I actually do this?  Can I lead them? Not just the Warriors, but the rest of them as well?  Marcus looked back at the gun again, gave a good examination of all its contents.  The handle giving support, to the full weight of the barrel, the barrel that held the power to make peace or start a war, depending on where it is pointed and how it is held.  He then walked over to the armory wall and found a ninja’s katana and began to examine it over; The edge of the blade so sharp, it could carve a statue out of a building, the handle still giving support, the guard providing protection to the wielder, able to thrash an enemy with a single swing, but most important of all--

“Perfectly balanced.”  The voice of Ani behind him made Marcus feel a ferocious heat, blanket over him.  He finally remembered she had an odd ability to hear other people’s thoughts. Specifically, people who--

“Have experienced great loss.”  Dammit.

“Ani, please stop.”  The sub-machine gun felt good.  Marcus grabbed two and walked towards the target range.  “I er- I’m sorry about what happened. I just felt … angry.”

“It’s okay.  I should’ve understood.”

“Don’t worry.  I mean- I-”

Her tender hand gripped Marcus’ left gun, slowly pulling it away from him.  “You never did have a gift for words.” After he gently let go of the gun and let Ani walk to the range beside him.  “I think that’s why I fell in love with you.”

B-tt-tt-tt-tt-tt-tt-tt-tt!  The sound of their bullets whizzing through the air, turning the heads of the targets ahead of them into theme park photo walls.  One could say it was almost like a dance. “Guess so.”

Ani leaned forward, so she could meet Marcus at eye level.  “You enjoying your stay here?”

“Two weeks of practicing my aim and continuing to hone my skills with the best food in the Galaxy.  Nah, I hate it here.” Ani let out a loud laugh, making Marcus wait for her to finish so he could fire his initials into the target. B-tt-tt-tt-tt-tt-tt-tt-tt!

She examined the bullet holes in the target, each perfectly symmetrical as if they were pixels on a computer screen; “M.M.”  “So…” Ani fiddled with her gun like a six-year old’s toy. “How have you been holding up?” The look of concern on her face could cut through a Blitzball crowd.  “I heard what you were thinking a few minutes ago. As well as what you and Zephyr were talking about in the workout room. And at the inauguration ceremony. And--”

“After I left the party last year?”  Marcus didn’t need magic to expect what Ani was going to say.  “Honestly, I’m still trying to process exactly what Master said.”

“Hey,”  Ani walked around to Marcus and placed her hand on his shoulder.  “Take it from someone who’s just a simple by-product, I get it. You didn’t know who your parents were and learning something terrible about one of them, it just sucks.  It’s the same way I learned about who my dad is. I was distraught for weeks.”

Marcus walked towards the weaponry wall to pick up a sniper he was eyeballing.  “I remember. You stained most of my shirts with your tears.” He returned to his spot in the shooting range.  “You want to know something?” He held the gun on his shoulder and turned off the laser. “I didn’t even care.”

T-sew!  The throat of the target had a perfect hole in it, right where the trachea would be.  Marcus lowered the sniper and the head tipped backward, leaving the target headless. “I don’t mean that I’m heartless and didn’t care that you were sad, but I didn’t care that you were getting my shirt salty.  All I cared about was making sure you felt better.”

“I know.”  Ani took the gun from his hands and aimed at the same target.  T-sew - T-sew!  “That’s why I kept going to you for comfort because I knew you cared about me.”  She lowered the sniper and the target’s arms were cut clean off.

“How did I get here?”  Marcus leaned against the wall and slumped down, putting his hand against his aching head.  

“I’ve got all this weight on my shoulders, the Keepers are expecting so much of me, and I still gotta consider if I’ll even be able to rule my cousin’s kingdom if anything happens, not to mention I have my Mark of Mastery exam in a few months … I-I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, Ani.”

Ani sat down in front of Marcus, putting her feet against his.  “What happens is up to you. You are the master of your own destiny, no one else.”

“You don’t understand, the Keepers are going to appoint me as--”

BEEP - BEEP - BEEP!  The gray room filled with flashing red lights as a deafening alarm blared and echoed off the walls.  “Alert, ” M.R.T.I.N.I.’s voice flooded the room as the lights flashed and the alarm screeched. “Disturbance detected.  All Warriors to the Mission Room.”

“Finally!”  Marcus painted the biggest smile on his face and jumped up from the floor.  “Whoo-hoo!” He dashed out the door and towards the Mission Room, leaving Ani in his dust.