New Armour

by Noah Harris

  "Meechum...OK...yeah, sure...I'll be right there." With a beep, he turned the phone off and slid it back into the pocket of his glossy, black suit jacket.

  "What's goin' on with all that?" said Wiliams, taking another hesitant sip of his drink. "Colonel wants one of us to make a sweep of the rafters. I think this one's on you."

  Williams made a conceding face. "Yeah, yeah," he said, getting up, taking a long draw from his bottle, and tossing the empty container into a nearby trash bin. "You keep an eye on the VIP."

  Meechum smirked as Williams squared his shoulders and left the room. Kevin and Meechum sat in silence for several minutes.

  "Is there at TV in here we can watch or something?" Kevin said, boredom replacing the former fear in his voice.

  "Sorry, unless you're on the security detail, the--"

  There was a hard rapping at the door.

  "Hey, it's Williams," said a muffled voice, "I forgot my key card. Lemme in."

  Meechum sighed, and walked to the door, pulling the heavy steel thing open with a grunt. Williams stood at the door, and Meechum gave him an impatient gesture to enter and shut the door behind him.

  Kevin watched Meechum enter with a curious eye. There was something different about the way he was carrying himself, something familiar.

  "Sorry, sorry," he said, his gruff voice soft with an apology.

  "Oh, it's not me you need to be saying sorry to. If the Lieutenant he--"

  He didn't finish his sentence. Williams drew a small, silver gun from his jacket pocket, aimed it at Meechum, and fired a slim, red bolt of energy from his weapon. The bolt connected with Meechum's chest, let out a hissing sound, like hot steel being dropped into water, and sent Meechum flying backward into the wall behind him, knocking a painting off and onto the floor.

  "What the fuck!" said Kevin, moving backward along the cushions of the couch.

  "You know, babe," Williams said, his voice shifting from his deep gruff to one different, low and professional, belonging to someone else, "when I didn't kill you before, this wasn't what I was hoping you'd do with your warning."

  Then, the tall, stout body of Williams began to change, the skin swirling and blurring, like adjusting the reception on a TV. The stubbled, stern face of the agent warped, almost melting, before settling into a new form. His body shrank from the impossibly tall form of Williams to one that was a bit shorter, but still strong and wide. After another moment of the old body "tuning in" to its new form, it finally settled on a shape.

  It was Mike.

  Kevin's face was struck with shock. Cold sweat began to form on his forehead, and his heart began to race.

  "M--Mike! What the hell? How did you?"

  Mike gave a dry chuckle. "Vampires and werewolves aren't the only creatures lurking around these days."

  "You mean, this whole time, you were a...a--"

  "Shapeshifter, shifter, skin dancer, it doesn't matter what you call me. I bet when you found out I was a hitman you thought that that was the only secret I was keeping."

  Kevin was balling himself into the corner of the couch, unconsciously making himself as small a target as possible. He couldn't speak.

  "This was supposed to be an in-and-out job, but then I saw you wandering around the lobby in a pair of jeans. Now I have two targets tonight."

  He raised the slim, chrome weapon and pointed it at Kevin.

  "Sorry babe. Don't say I didn't give you a chance."

  With a beep, a thud, and a yell, the steel door to the room burst open, and a camouflaged figure, followed by two others in suits, swarmed into the room.

  "Put the weapon down now!" said a familiar voice.

  Kevin recognized it immediately; it was Lt. Ted Fridolf.

  Mike whipped towards the door and fired his weapon. Another red line arced from the gun exploded against the chest of one of the agents.

  "Kill him!" shouted Ted, opening fire with an energy pistol of his own.

  Mike threw a sneer in Kevin's direction, and with a tense closing of his eyes, exploded into a wispy, gray mist.

  "What the hell?" said the remaining agent as the mist swirled upwards and into the silver grate of the ventilation system above.

  Ted fired one last discharge from his pistol at the mist, which passed through it harmlessly, exploding in a shower of sparks into the wall behind it. The mist went entirely up into the vent and was gone.

  The three men stood still in the room, all of their eyes locked onto the vent above that Mike was somehow able to change himself to travel through.

  With a shake of his head, Ted regained his presence of mind and dropped to his knees at the side of the agent shot by Mike.

  "Is he OK?" said the other agent, his voice tinged with fear.

  "Yeah, he's breathin'," said Ted, rising. His eyes then drifted to the body of Meechum, slumped against the opposite wall, a long, black burn across his chest. "I'm thinkin' I can't say the same for him."

  He then turned to Kevin, ran to him, and put his hand on his shoulder, giving him a quick shake to make sure he was in the moment.

  "Hey, buddy, you still with us?" His voice had an element of warmth to it.

  "Um, uh, yeah, I'm here," Kevin said, his eyes blurred ahead of him, his voice soft and weak.

  "Good."

  Ted turned to the other agent.

  "Get Nichols to a doctor, ASAP. I'll let everyone know we got a hostile shifter on the loose."

  The agent nodded in compliance, threw a brief, worried look to Nichols at his feet, and ran from the room.

  Ted turned back to Kevin.

  "OK, listen, buddy, I know this is a really, really, weird scene for ya, and that you've probably been through enough already, but here's the deal," he said, his voice slowing down, "your husband's a shifter. And you know what that means now. And that means for us that we're gonna have a way, way harder time trackin' him down than we thought. So we need ya, buddy. You know him better than anyone, and we got about an hour before the senator gets up on that stage, which for your husband is gonna be about the best bull's eye he could hope for."

  Kevin turned towards Ted, his face marked with confusion. "Wait, they're not gonna just cancel the whole thing?"

  Ted's face tensed. "Were it up to me, buddy, that's exactly what we'd do. But Benson's a stubborn old coot. He's all about keepin' a brave face and all that nonsense. 'Sides, anyone in favor of the MRA's been getting' so many death threats that they just don't take 'em serious no more."

  "OK. So what do you want me to do, exactly?"

  "Stick with me. We're gonna sweep this place, and you're gonna keep an eye out for your husband.

  You've known him for years; I bet you've got an eye for him that none of us got."

  Kevin thought back to how he knew right away that there was something off to Williams when he walked back into the room.

  "OK, I can do that," he said, the fear exiting his voice as the plan began to come together.

  "And we're gonna keep you safe," said Ted, his voice firm with duty, "I'm gonna make sure nothin' happens to you. Cause if Benson gets taken out, I'm sure you don't need me tellin' you that you're probably gonna be ol' hubby's next target."

  A pool of anxiety formed in Mike's stomach as he considered the truth of these words. "So what now? I mean, can't he just turn into that mist thing and appear on stage?"

  Ted shook his head. "I'm not a shifter expert, but I know this: The more different the form than how they normally look, the harder it is to hold it. Makin' his face look a little different is easy, but turnin' into somethin' like that? He's probably in some closet catchin' his breath. So if he's gonna have the concentration to pull off a hit-job like this, then he's not gonna shift into anything too off the wall."

  He stood and extended his hand.

  "OK, we need to be done talkin' five minutes ago. Come on now; we're gonna go backstage and see what we can't find out."

  And with that, Kevin took Ted's hand, feeling the firm warmth of his palm against his f
ingertips. Ted gave Kevin a soft, comforting look, and pulled him off of the couch with a firm tug. The exited the room, passing by two doctors sent to tend to Nichols. The weaved through the crowds now forming in the hallways, which grew denser and denser as they got closer to backstage. Eventually, they approached a door nearly packed with service staff entering and exiting. Ted gave Kevin a quick look up and down and sighed.

  "I know this's been kinda of a stressful night, but you really couldn't find anything nicer than jeans and a t-shirt?"

  Kevin made a sheepish expression. He'd been self-conscious about his clothes as soon as he walked into the Heathman lobby.

  "Normally I wouldn't care if you were wearin' a barrel with two straps on it, but we're gonna be runnin' around some real high-society types, and you lookin' like you're on the wrong side of a Netflix binge isn't gonna have you blendin' in." He pointed to the service staff door. "Run on in there, grab some waiter- type clothes, and get on out. But don't look too much like a waiter, ya hear?" "Waiter clothes, but don't look like a waiter. Got it, kinda."

  And with that, he ducked through the bustling service staff and entered the room. It was a break room of sorts, with servers sitting here and there, drinking coffee and chatting. The din of gossip-heavy conversation filled the space. To the right was a wide, open closet filled with slacks, dress shoes, and button-up shirts. Kevin darted over, and with the alacrity of a shopping pro, yanked off some clothes in his size, ducked into the small service bathroom, and made a quick change. He looked at his face in the mirror; the stress and wine were visible in his features. He slicked back his hair with some water, tossed his old clothes to the side, and went back out into the hallway.

  Fridolf gave him a quick once-over. "Not bad, buddy; you clean up all right."

  "You should see what I can do when I'm not avoiding a homicidal, shapeshifting husband," he said with a smirk.

  Fridolf rolled his eyes and began to walk with quick steps through the crowd. Kevin followed close behind, the too-tight dress shoes pinching his feet. Upon approaching a huge set of swinging double doors, Fridolf stopped and held up a hand to Kevin.

  "OK, so just past these doors, we're gonna see them society-types that I was talkin' about. I want you to keep an eye out for ol' hubby. He's gonna need to blend into these folks for a while, so keep a lookout for anyone who looks like him, but doesn't look like him. You get what I'm sayin'?"

  "Got it, I think."

  And with that, Fridolf pushed one of the swinging, circular-windowed doors open, and gestured with a polite wave for Kevin to walk through first.

  "After you, buddy."

  The convention room of the Heathman was a celebration of tasteful excess; the sort of sly wealth display that only old money can pull off. The crowd of tuxedoed men and gowned women milled here and there, falling into small clusters of conversation before breaking apart, all bathed in the orange light of crystal chandeliers that hung from the tall, vaulted ceiling. A jazz band on stage played a mellow, unobtrusive standard. Though Kevin was now dressed a little more formally, he still felt extremely out of place. At least Ted, with his camouflaged garb that marked him immediately as an on-duty member of the military, looked like he belonged.

  "OK," said Ted, "so we're just gonna move around the crowd here, all quiet-like. And you're gonna keep an eye out. Lemme know if you see anything."

  Kevin nodded and began to look around the expanse of the room. Aside from the moneyed crowd, Kevin noticed several metahumans here and there, all well-dressed and mixing. There were alabaster-skinned vampires, all with dark, slicked-back hair and immaculate outfits; they all seemed to move with elegance, laughing and chatting with mouths displaying openly-bared fangs. He saw beefier, gruffer men and women with tawny skin and bodies that seemed ready to burst out of their suits and dresses at any moment; these were surely the werewolf breed of shifters. He saw more men and women like Meechum, all were ethereally beautiful, with faces that looked to be freshly carved from marble; strange, serpentine markings of various colors, similar to those of Meechum, covered their arms and necks. All were a part of the crowd, and if any humans were unhappy at their presence, they didn't show it.

  Kevin continued to scan the crowd as they moved through it, but he saw no one so far who reminded him of Mike, either in look or movement.

  "Anything?" said Ted, his voice barely rising above the polite din of conversations.

  Kevin shook his head. "Nope. I don't see him."

  Just as Ted grabbed Kevin's wrist to help him further through the crowd, a slim man with a black beard dusted with flecks of gray approached the pair. His face was lit with happiness as he walked towards Ted.

  "Well, look who it is!" he said, throwing his arms around Ted, "if it isn't the wonder of the Crimean campaign!"

  Ted's frame hunched a bit in humble modesty. "Well shucks, Admiral, I don't know if I'd go as far as to say all that."

  "Nonsense!" he said, leading by the arm a distinguished-looking middle-aged woman in a salmon- colored dress and with neatly curled hair atop a face of curious interest, "Ted, er, Lieutenant Fridolf, I'd love for you to meet my wife, Loretta."

  She extended a hand sleeved in an elbow-length glove the same color as her dress. "Lieutenant Fridolf, it's a pleasure to meet you finally." She turned her attention to Kevin. "And who is this handsome young man?" She ducked her head close to Ted in a mock-conspiratorial fashion. "Someone we should know about?"

  Ted chuckled, his face reddening. "Oh, nothin' like that, just someone I met tonight." "Well, you simply must tell us about the..."

  Kevin tuned the conversation out as he continued to scan the crowd. There were easily over a hundred people in the room, and he had no idea how he was supposed to pick out the disguised face of his husband among them. His eyes darted from group to group; each seemed to be a handful of humans with one or two metahumans mixed in; he wondered if they were all being forced into being the center of the conversation.

  Beginning to lose hope, he saw something by one of the marble columns topped with a leafy, green plant that dotted the glossy wood floor of the room. It was a man--tall, built, with an intense look of concentration on his face. He didn't recognize the face, but something about his mannerisms--his tight, methodical bearing, his steely gaze, the way he ran his hand over his hair to keep it back in a sheened slick--reminded him of Mike.

  And just as he was beginning to wonder if this was him, he saw something. The man's face did something strange for a moment, it blurred with a strange waviness, and when the effect faded, the man began darting his eyes around the room nervously, as though trying to see if anyone spotted him. And then his eyes met Kevin's. They locked for a moment, just a moment, but enough time for Kevin to see his face snap for a moment into an expression of recognition before he caught himself.

  Kevin was sure--this was Mike.

  He grabbed Ted by the upper arm, noticing the firmness of his bicep, and pulled him away from the couple.

  "Uh, it was good seein' y'all!" he said, as Kevin dragged him a few feet away.

  "I see him!" he said, his voice excited, but low, "he's the guy standing over there by the column; the one by himself!"

  Ted made a surreptitious look at the man, then quickly turned his eyes back to Kevin.

  "You sure?" Kevin nodded. "Alrighty then."

  He then stepped away from Kevin, slipped a small device that looked similar to a phone out of his pocket, and murmured something into it.

  "OK, we'll be getting him soon," Ted said.

  But just as he said this, Kevin saw Mike as he glanced once more in their direction before ducking his body and moving towards the stage.

  "Hey!" Kevin said, grabbing Ted's arm again, "I think he saw us; I think he's gonna try to get backstage and do it there!"

  Ted's face flashed into an expression of seriousness. "Well, shit. We gotta go get 'im, then. Come on."

  And with that, Ted walked with quick steps towards where Mike had been standing. Kevin followed
behind, his stomach beginning to quake with anxiety at seeing his husband again. They dashed through the crowd until they reached the door that Mike went through. Sure enough, it led backstage.

  The shoved through the swinging doors, and they opened into the kitchen. More servers darted here and there, carrying black, cork-lined trays topped with various one-bite appetizers and tall flutes of bubbling champagne. Looking to the end of the kitchen, they saw the suit-clad figure of Mike slip through another set of doors. Running past the servers, they moved into the kitchen area, dodging utensil-wielding chefs dressed all in white. Various expletives shot out at them from different areas of the kitchen as they sprinted through.

  Once out of the kitchen, they found themselves in a carpet-floored, dimly lit hallway. More suited men and elegantly-dressed women were situated here and there; Ted and Kevin flew past them. Gasps abounded as they made their way towards Mike, who they could see just ahead, violently shoving people out of his way.