“As you wish,” she responded coolly pushing the chair aside. “The car is waiting. Follow me.”
She walked like a soldier, but even with all her training and the unflattering fatigues, she couldn’t hide her definite femininity. Her dark hair was cut boyishly short, but her full lips and smattering of freckles across her nose screamed of beauty. She looked to be a little younger than himself, but it was hard to tell—she had an agelessness about her. Creed couldn’t remember seeing before. Inwardly, he shrugged. As the Director’s personal assistant, she probably didn’t mix with regular metas like him.
Creed noticed she discreetly slowed her pace for him.
Unusual, he thought to himself.
Metas, were trained not to be concerned for the weak or injured any more than necessary to complete their objective. That is, unless they had been trained to work as a team. In which case, the objective was to use every member as efficiently as possible. He was noticing the concern she showed was the kind usually reserved for a team member.
Curiosity got the best of him so he asked, “Why did the Director choose you to escort me?”
She stiffened a bit then just as quickly relaxed her shoulders. “Why wouldn’t he?”
Creed and Farrow walked in silence until arriving at the black car waiting curbside. The driver was standing beside the open door. Farrow climbed in the back seat and slid over to make room. Another courtesy he noticed while wincing with the effort to lower himself to the seat. He had to hold the frame of the door to maintain his balance. She was watching him carefully enough to see the pain flash across his face.
“Recovery still takes time, even for a meta like you,” she whispered so the driver wouldn’t hear.
Still breathing hard from the pain, Creed shot back, “What do you mean, ‘like me?’”
Their eyes locked for a moment before the driver put the car in gear and began pulling away from the hospital. For the first time, he noticed her large doe eyes. The intensity of her observation made him feel a wave of dizziness he wanted to attribute to the overexertion. They turned away and stayed silent the rest of the short ride to headquarters.
The building, though only three stories tall, was meant to be impressive. Black granite with black windows and rounded edges gave a contrasting modern feel to the old European countryside on which it stood. Flags representing the country and the company whipped in the breeze to the right and left of the entrance.
A circled driveway left room for an artsy fountain in the center island. It showcased large, marbled, geometric shapes and coursing sheets of water slipping intentionally down at impossible angles until they disappeared under the pond at the base.
The driver pulled around the fountain and right up to the front. Farrow opened her door and walked around to help Creed out. Defiantly, he pushed opened the door himself and shot her a pale but determined glance as he slowly rose from the backseat. The driver nodded once to Farrow and pulled the car away from the building.
“This way, please,” she said turning to walk toward the doors.
If it weren’t for the pain, these events would feel dreadfully surreal, dreamlike. Creed followed his escort and wondered what lay behind the black doors ahead.
When Creed stepped off the elevator on the third floor, an older man wearing a three-piece suit came rushing forward all smiles and handshakes to greet them. Unsure of whom this man was, Creed played along and let the stranger have his theatrics.
“My dear boy, it is so good to see you up and around. I was just sure you wouldn’t be walking so soon after your injuries, but look at you! Here you are a striking example of what all metahumans should be! I’m impressed, Creed. Very impressed. And I’m not afraid to tell you I was very worried there for a while—the way that brother of yours attacked you with a weapon.”
The aging man shook his head and made tisk-ing sounds with his tongue as if reprimanding a child for getting caught with their hand in a cookie jar.
“There are strict rules in those Retribution Matches. It was very unsportsmanlike behavior to have done what he did to you. And that he’s your brother, too!” The gentleman was still holding Creed’s hand as he spoke while gently leading him down the hallway.
“Oh, my apologies, my dear Farrow,” he said looking back over his shoulder at the escort affectionately, “how rude of me. Thank you for retrieving our Creed. You’re free to go wait for us down in the lobby. I’ll have you called up when we’re done with our talk.” When he smiled, it looked like it hurt his face to make it twist up at the corners. Weird. Creed was getting a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach about this guy.