<strong>Name:</strong>Oleg<br/><strong>Species:</strong>Demigod<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Los Angeles, California, USA<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>No one, yet.<br/><br/><strong>3 Days Ago</strong><br/><br/>The sky was filled with clouds, and Oleg could sense the promise of rain within them. He was unsure if the promise would be fulfilled, for the taste of an oncoming storm was tantalizingly fleeting. The weather, however, was not the thing of most immediate concern or attention. The young man found himself seated in a motel room, facing two middle-aged men in suits. They were not relaxed, nor did they regard him pleasantly nor seem to take any joy in their current assignment. For his part, Oleg felt anxious because they seemed so devoid of joy and so obviously prepared for something unpleasant to transpire. He sat with his hands folded in his lap, and simply waited for the men to speak. Surprisingly, they appeared to be expecting him to do something, but whatever course of action either of the suits seemed to believe that Oleg would perform was out of Oleg's mind.<br/><br/>At last, one of the suits cleared his throat. He placed a neat, sealed white envelope on the table between he and Oleg, and then reclined back into his seat. "This is a summons for you. It is issued by the highest office of these United States of America, under the strictest secrecy and with the full and utmost authority."<br/><br/>"It's from the president?" Oleg asked, looking at the envelope. The pair of suits looked to one another, and seemed quaintly amused by the question. Neither deigned to answer.<br/><br/>"Our mutual contact suggested you because you are tractable and able to follow orders. Would that be a fair assessment?" The second suit asked, tone blunt and direct.<br/><br/>Oleg shifted his weight. "I guess. I'm not a rebel without a cause, if that's what you're asking." The answered seemed to be pleasing.<br/><br/>"That's good. Understand that we stand on the brink of annihilation. What we undertake is no less than the preservation of the human species from an extinction level event that would render this planet incapable of sustaining life as we know it." The first suit said, and Oleg started at the gravity of the situation.<br/><br/>"Yes. Our mutual contact might term it 'the end of days.'" The second suit added. Oleg nodded, and reached for the envelope.<br/><br/>"I'm just one man." Oleg said. Really only a boy. He was not even old enough to legally consume alcohol or gamble in most of the continental United States of America. He could barely smoke in most states, and in some he could not. Not that either activity were ones that Oleg engaged in, but they were considered benchmarks of adulthood. He looked at the envelope and the vulnerability of his youth and inexperience was laid plain. For an unseen moment, both of the suits were touched by it and regretted that they were asking something that might very well result in the death of the youth before them . . . but the situation was what it was, and for billions to live, it was acceptable arithmetic that fewer might die. "But I'll do my part." And thus why it was so necessary: Oleg was one of the rare few beings with supernatural powers that was not just out to meddle and mock humanity. One willing to follow orders and see the mission done, rather than wallow in inhuman ego and vanity. There were so few prospects that seemed like they would actually be worth recruiting and tolerating.<br/><br/>"Your country, and the world, will never know what you do. This isn't about glory. This isn't about fame. You will never have your face on the front page of print media." The first agent stressed, leaning forward. "If you die, your mother will taken care of, quietly, for as long as she lives and so long as there exists a framework capable of providing for her. But you will not be sent home in a flag-covered casket. There will be no medals. You will not shake hands with any politicians in front of cheering crowds."<br/><br/>Oleg held the letter in his hands, and nodded once to signal that he understood. Outside, there was some electrical activity, and the distant sound of thunder. Oleg could sense that the clouds were breaking up, and there were soon rays of sunlight piercing through to the ground. Did his father approve? Or was the lack of rainfall a sign of disapproval? Oleg resolved not to worry. He resolved to move forward, and do his best to be unafraid.<br/><br/><strong>Now</strong><br/><br/>"Thanks!" Oleg called, waving to the trucker as the vehicle pulled away and merged back into traffic. The youth hefted a duffel bag and walked along the streets of Los Angeles, California. He walked for a long time, but that was no burden to him: he had in the past walked for days at a time between towns and cities. A few hours along sidewalks was no particular onerousness. The brightness of the day was new to him, and the first of experience of the much-vaunted California sunshine. There were so many people! He had never before been in so densely populated an area. In such a place, if not for his size, he might have looked like prey to the more seasoned, entirely human predators that stalked the streets and shadows.<br/><br/>So Oleg was unaccosted as he walked the streets, and he found the headquarters of the DCE. It was a convenient name; one might assume it was simply concerned with the elimination of vermin. Oleg entered the front doors, opening the glass door without any difficulty. He was greeted by what appeared to be a reception area no different than any number of government facilities, whether state or federal. There was a desk with stations for several receptionists, and cordons to form people into lines, akin to what one saw at the DMV or at a bank. Oleg moved through it, and waited, alone, for the single receptionist to acknowledge him.<br/><br/>The receptionist was a woman of African ethnicity, and she was currently engaged in a telephone call that Oleg did not attempt to eavesdrop on. In the fullness of time she placed the telephone in its cradle and addressed him, "how can I help you, sugarpie?" She asked as Oleg walked forward. He drew the envelope given to him by the suits, and placed it down between them. It was somewhat worse for wear for being in his pocket for several days, but the seal was intact and it was whole. Upon seeing it, the woman's warm expression changed dramatically. She regarded him with ill-disguised suspicion, fear, and anxiety. For his part, Oleg met that change in demeanor with a brief flash of hurt and resignation, with the former fading in the latter as he waited for whatever would happen to happen. He was perhaps blessed in that he could pass, but if all members of the DCE would treat him this way Oleg knew the road ahead would be difficult. The suits made it out the reaction was merited, and it did not endear him to the thought of meeting other supernatural beings.<br/><br/>"I . . . I just want to do my part." Oleg said softly. "I don't . . . want to hurt people."<br/><br/>The woman's expression softened, but she remained on guard. No doubt there were creatures that tried to play that card to ingratiate themselves past defenses. "Well, sugarpie, you just take that there elevator and hit the blue button with a '3' on it." She pushed the letter towards it. "And I'm sure you'll get your chance."<br/><br/>Oleg nodded, and took the letter from her. He held it in his hand, and went as directed. The elevator's doors opened soon after he depressed a button to summon the elevator car. Once within, the doors closed and Oleg hit the button he was told to. There was a brief moment where he felt weightless, and then the elevator was moving down below street level. The ride did not take very long, and soon the doors opened and Oleg was free to exit into a white hallway. He walked out of the elevator and into the hallway, finding his way into a room designed for eating. There were some baked goods - bought from a supermarket - on a plate and there was coffee ready in a coffee maker pot, with cups and whitener and artificial sweetener packets. Oleg entered and took a seat, assuming that in due time others would enter here or someone would be along to collect him and/or direct him where to go.