Johnson nodded. "Oh, Sage, we heard back about Agent Ryuzaki Miyaza. There's no information about who that man was. The Federal Bureau of Investigations has never heard of him nor do they recognize anyone who even roughly resembles him."

"Either way it was a waste of time," Ryan mumbled. He looked at them and changed the subject, "I know that you guys need to get back, but bring me my computer and I'll do my part here."

"Yeah right," Johnson smirked. "We'll let you do that once you're better. Until then we'll handle everything."

"Get better soon," Felton told him as they left.

Shortly thereafter Doctor Grayson returned, "I don't want to talk to you for too long, but I need to know if we should contact anyone else."

"No, there's no one else," Ryan told him, "I'm single."

"What about family?"

"They could care less," he stated. "I pretty much disowned myself a while back."

The man apologized and left the room. It was colder than he thought it would be, emptier too. He didn't feel alone though.

The voice returned. It was quiet, calm, and Ryan believed he was the only one who could hear it. It spoke, "Twelve."

"What? Who," he paused and looked at the open door and then whispered, "Who are you?"

"Rest."

"Who are you?"

The voice didn't speak again. Ryan sat there in antic.i.p.ation of a response though it never came. He called back time and time again but to no avail. Ultimately he dwelled on the investigation all the while listening intently for the voice to return.

2:30 PM.

Both.e.l.l, Washington Jordan sat with Rachel in the gra.s.s at the entrance to their favorite park. His second chance at life began that morning with a drink, two cigarettes, and a joint. The light which saved him remained unknown to the both of them, as Jordan for a brief moment believed he might have saved himself, took a knife, p.r.i.c.ked himself, but failed to heal in any manner. His troubled demeanor from the past few days left entirely as well. He couldn't explain it, but since his near-death experience he'd been at ease, peaceful even. Crystal's murder and the circ.u.mstances around it worried him, but he told Rachel he didn't have a nightmare as he had each night since the murder. He felt healed entirely, aside from his continued conscious decision to drink and smoke.

Rachel hadn't slept well since the incident. In fact, sleep practically eluded her altogether. Her thoughts surrounded the incident and though she wondered where the healing light came from, her primary concern was directed to the mystery behind the attacker. The only suspect she and Jordan could find was Vladimir, though Jordan failed to recall the attack. Rachel tried her best to excuse all thoughts of Vladimir's role in the matter, though she held a troubling inkling of the idea with her.

Rachel held her wrist and felt naked. She hadn't found her bracelet and that troubled her as well. Jordan even noticed the change in her mood and noted how uneven her makeup was, as well as her absence from their conversation.

"Rachel?" Jordan spoke, "You there?"

She blinked, looked at him, then smiled, "Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?"

"What happened last night honey?" he asked her.

That caught her off guard, "Honey? When have you ever called me honey?"

"Huh?" he briefly shook his head, "Sorry. Well what happened last night?"

"I don't know. You left with Vladimir and then I found you dying in the alley outside of the party."

"What do you mean by dying?"

"Jordan," she paused, "You...Your neck was slashed open and I think your ribs were crushed."

He took a breath, "Wow..." he stopped for a moment.

Rachel put her right thumb nail between her teeth and gnawed at it. Her hair wasn't the same as usual, which Jordan took note of as well. She hadn't styled it at all; it just fell over her shoulders, quiet and reserved. She lay back in the gra.s.s and stared up to the heavens. Light shone through in tiny beams through the leaves above them. Rachel let her mind wander as Jordan lay beside her and picked at the gra.s.s next to him. He stacked it into a rough pile with little regard for the lawn.

"If I was about to die," he started, "How come I'm alive?"

She turned away from him, "I don't know. I came out and found you there and then a bright light came and saved you."

"What do you mean by saved me?"

"We already talked about this; it healed your wounds," she bluntly told him. "It saved you."

He paused a bit before he asked, "Was Vladimir there?" She said he wasn't and Jordan scowled, "I bet he was the one who attacked me."

She shot up, "Why? Why would you accuse him of that?"

"Look, I took him outside and then I'm dying and he's gone? Don't be so blind."

"Don't be blind? What is it that I can't see Jordan?"

"It adds up. Don't be so ignorant just because you've got a crush on him."

"What are you talking about?"

"You two! You two danced like ten times!"

"We danced four times!"

"Well look who was counting."

"Obviously not you. You were too angry and all I was trying to do was be a good friend to him by dancing with him a couple of times."

"A good friend? You haven't known him for more than two weeks! How can you two be such buddies?"

"We're just friends you idiot!"

"I bet you remember every song that you two danced to last night."

"At least I remember one song we danced to, Jordan. Can you even name one song we've ever danced to?" she asked.

"Hey I'm not here for an interrogation!"

"And I am?"

He stopped. Jordan let out a breath and apologized to her.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked while she lay back in the gra.s.s.

He shook his head again, "I don't know. Maybe I was just worried you two might run off together."

Rachel laughed, "You what? You seriously worry that that could happen?"

He laughed as well. "I don't know...maybe I'm just paranoid. I'm sorry." He took her hand and asked, "What do you want to do for dinner tonight?"

She smiled, "Oh, you're letting me chose tonight?" she asked sarcastically.

"C'mon, I always let you pick," he said.

"No. You choose tonight," she told him.

He grinned, leaned in, kissed her, and said, "Italian then," as he knew it was her favorite.

She smiled, "Good choice."

5:34 PM.

Baltimore, Maryland Doctor Grayson sat in a chair in front of Ryan and explained the different options he had for his prosthetic limb. He showed Ryan photos of the different models they had for him; the doctor detailed which models were durable, which were made of what material, and how they all worked.

"I would recommend one of three models," he showed Ryan the images of three limbs. "These contain very advanced robotics."

"Why are they special?" Ryan asked, though distant from the conversation, as he stared past the man and out the window.

"Don't worry about this," the voice whispered.

"All three of them are light and should only weigh the same as your leg did before. And all are extremely durable too," he flipped to show the interior of the limbs. "And within a week or so, calibration would be complete and the limb would act and function as good as before, if not better. Once calibrated, the limb would be covered with a prosthetic skin that would blend and feel like your real skin."

"You don't need to worry about this," the voice persisted.

Ryan ignored it and tried to concentrate on the prosthetic situation, the Cladis case, and all the while he tried to determine whether or not he was going insane.

"Mister Sage?" Ryan snapped back to reality. The doctor continued, "You haven't given me an answer yet. Are you sure that you're up to this right now? We can talk about this later if you aren't feeling up to the task just now."

"Tell him to leave."

Ryan sighed and agreed with the voice, as he truly wasn't ready to discuss anything, and as such he asked the doctor if they could talk about it later. Grayson left and Ryan tried to get to sleep.

"Rest..." the voice told him. Ryan agreed with the voice and tried to sleep, as he hoped that he'd be able to recover as much of his strength as he could. Ryan also hoped the voice would leave once he woke.

6:13 PM.

Washington DC Thousands of people scurried through the streets of the American capitol; in and out of air-conditioned museums, restaurants, and all about the monuments out in the sweltering humid air. They tread on the past, they gazed at monuments, and they saw the face thereon, and ignored the core, the soul, the purpose, the meaning of those memorials.

Nick and his newfound j.a.panese ally sat beneath trees by the reflection pool at the Lincoln Memorial. The man sat on the bench in his trench coat, gloves, dress shirt, and slacks and despite the heat and humidity he seemed entirely comfortable, in contrast to the sweaty young man who sat on the ground with his back against the seat of the bench. Nick's coat lay slung over the back of the bench.

The j.a.panese man told Nick they were in Washington DC to meet someone who was a part of his project, though they'd been there for nearly an hour and Nick began to believe he suffered from heatstroke. His j.a.panese ally knew he was fine though.

They looked at the ma.s.ses as they walked by the large strip of filthy water. Nick always believed the water in the reflection pool was clean, clear, and pure, yet there it was not forty feet away and he knew it was some thicker-than-water substance filled with animal urine and fecal matter as well as any other sort of trash that found its way there.

"Your nation is going to waste."

"What? W-Why?" the exhausted boy asked the man.

"Only twenty-three percent of these people actually know what this pool symbolizes," he began, "Yet there it is as an accurate reflection of your society, in all of its degradation, corruption, and so-called glory."

Nick scowled, "I-I take it you're n-not American then."

"No."

"A-Are you j.a.panese?"

"Racially, yes. My nationality isn't though."

"Th-Then what a-are you?"

"Nothing; I was j.a.panese but now I don't belong to any nation."

"H-How d-do you l-lose your nationality?"

"You stop acting as a citizen should."

Nick paused, then asked, "W-Why are w-we here?"

"We're here to gather someone."

"For the p-project?"

"They're already part of it, so we're merely picking them up," he reported.

"Wh-Who are they?"

"Someone similar to you."

"Like me?"

"No, similar. 'Like' implies that they are close to identical in their properties. 'Similar' implies the same thing, only vaguer."

Nick tried to figure out what he meant, but shook his head and asked, "I-I thought that y-you were going t-t-to help me."

"I am going to help you with the investigation, but I have to help you first."

Nick paused, confused, and asked for clarification.