MB Short Story: Nox (Kent, Ferro, and Ambrose Version) (Patreon)

“You’ll need to act as a Ment, should you agree to enter the program,” Ambrose Kim continued. “A cover has already been selected for you as a Level Eight Empath.”

Kent stared at the paperwork before him. After receiving his lackluster ASE Score in the mail, he’d felt disappointment, sure, but mostly relief that he hadn’t told his father about his initial decision to apply for Aeon. Kent hadn’t anticipated receiving a phone call from Adsila Branham, nor her request that he undergo the test usually only administered to Ment operatives—AMOs, they were called. He hadn’t anticipated that he’d be able to pass most portions of that test, the APE, with flying colors, either. And he most definitely hadn’t expected to be offered enrollment for a program that sounded too good to be true.

“My classmates won’t get suspicious when I don’t react to their emotions?” he asked.

Kim leveled him with a solemn stare. “If your real score comes out, the NPO Program will be deemed unsuccessful. But many Empaths choose stoicism so as not to expose the feelings of others.”

Stoicism was something that Kent was good at. He wondered if that reason was why Kim had selected him for his grand experiment. If so, Kent supposed he might actually owe a debt of gratitude to the paparazzi who’d hounded him after his mother’s death; they’d inadvertently trained him for this. As had his father.

“The Mayor will need to be convinced,” Kent said.

Kim didn’t even blink. “Let me worry about that.” He sounded so certain, so utterly sure of his persuasive abilities, that Kent couldn’t help but feel a tiny seed of hope. Maybe Kim could get his father to go along with this—something about his potential new supervisor made Kent instinctively respect him. Ambrose Kim acted like a man who deserved respect, with an authoritatively dangerous air of someone who had places to be and people to kill.

Every fiber of Kent’s being longed to grab the pen off Kim’s desk and sign his name. This was his chance to be an example, to prove to everyone that it was possible for a Lo-Po to go up against Ments . . . and win. He’d thought that perhaps he could prove that as an MIV, but Kent’s talents lay more to the physical than the tactical.

“Will I be the only person in this program?” Kent asked.

Kim didn’t answer, only stared pointedly at the still unsigned document. His message was clear: either Kent agreed to join, or he’d learn nothing more. The nondisclosure agreement that he’d signed before entering Kim’s office would take effect, and the role as first ever non-Ment AMO would be offered to another hopeful.

Yet Kent could hear each of his father’s objections in his mind:

This is the reason you graduated college early? To throw away the tuition that I paid and become a glorified cop?

You’re my son. Stop running from your responsibilities, and become the leader that you were raised to be.

Playing superhero won’t bring back your mother.

Kent wasn't totally sure that his father would ever voice the last protest; Tobias rarely mentioned what had happened to his wife, or talked about Kent’s mother at all for that matter. But even if his father never uttered the words, Kent knew that they’d both be thinking it should he give his father the chance to dissuade him. And the words, however imaginary, were true: joining Unity wouldn’t bring his mother back.

But it might save someone else’s. If not by him, then by a police officer inspired by Unity’s decision to bring non-Ments into their operative ranks. Maybe Kent joining this NPO Program was the first step to a world where law enforcement didn’t timidly wait for UCRT to arrive and save a victim from a Ment, but rather took action and did their jobs. Maybe his mother’s death wasn’t just a source of darkness in his life, but could also be a motivation for change.

Kent signed. He filled out the boxes of information—his health history, his actual Pollard score, his ASE and APE results. The only box he left blank was for his future AMO facename, which he wasn’t ready to choose. That felt too much like settling on an identity, and everything still felt too new.

Kim picked up the paperwork when he was done, with only an arched brow to acknowledge the portion that Kent had failed to fill out.

“Your MIV’s name is Taliaferro Parker,” Kim said. 

* * * *

“I’m thinking that we tell our classmates that you’re mute,” Glitch said as he and Kent walked down the hallway, headed towards their first joint class assignment between AMOs and MIVs. He glanced at Kent from the corner of his eye. “I know, I know. It’ll be excruciatingly difficult for you to keep quiet, given that you’re such an incurable chatterbox, but silence probably our best bet to not get caught.” He motioned zippering his lips. “From now on your codename is ‘Silent But Deadly.’”

Kent bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he thought about his new partner, Taliaferro Parker, but thus far any positive response only seemed to encourage him to talk more, and ‘Glitch,’ as Taliaferro insisted on being called, talked a lot. Kent had been living alone since his grandparents had passed away during his senior year of high school. Before that, even, if one counted his father’s constant absence. He wasn’t sure how to respond to Glitch’s constant chatter, nor the fact that Glitch had picked out a facename despite not needing one, and that Kent was still undecided upon his own.

Thankfully, Glitch had no issues self-conducting the conversation without Kent’s input. “We’ll claim that you damaged your vocal cords while moonlighting as a circus performer,” Glitch said, his hand motions growing more and more enthusiastic as he warmed up to the idea. “It’ll work given your past as a gymnast, and explain any incidents where you don’t act Ment-like. Everyone expects carnies to be a little different.”

Kent sighed. “I’m not pretending to be an acrobat.”

Glitch gaped dramatically, then his shock turned into a wide smile. “That’s the longest sentence you’ve ever said to me! It contained more than five words!” He gasped, overloud. “We’re becoming friends, Kenzie. Friends.” He raised his fist for a bump that Kent didn’t meet.

Glitch’s overexaggerated delight made Kent frown. If he hadn’t spoken much, it was only because he didn’t think that there was anything necessary to say. They’d both been assigned their duties: Kent as a false Ment AMO, and Glitch as his MIV. What else was there to discuss?

“Fine, then,” Glitch blithely continued on, “we needn’t pretend that you can’t talk. How do you feel about—”

“Why did you join the NPO Program?” Kent interrupted.

Glitch gaped at him again, this time in genuine surprise, causing Kent to feel a twinge of guilt that he hadn’t thought to ask the question earlier. He hadn’t considered it relevant, but he and Glitch were supposed to trust each other, right? That necessitated some level of learned familiarity.

“I don’t like limitations,” Glitch said after a moment of pondering Kent’s query. “If someone tells me that I can’t do something. . . well, don’t folks like that just make you itch to prove them wrong?”

Kent tilted his head, contemplating the other man’s words. In truth, he didn’t feel any particularly strong need to prove anyone wrong—not even his father. He simply wanted to help people, and maybe prove that they could help themselves along the way. Glitch’s rationality seemed almost child-like, in Kent’s mind, and he couldn’t help but feel a stab of disappointment over his partner's immaturity.

“You only signed up because it was a challenge?”

“I signed up so people one day realize that brains are worth more than their Pollard Score,” Glitch’s tone became louder and increasingly impassioned. “Have you listened to the news—listened for what they don’t say? UCRT and AMOs get all the credit for fighting Ment crime, but it’s Lo-Po MIVs who make victories possible behind the scenes. Honestly, Unity’s whole divide is stupid. What if a Ment is a genius who should be an MIV? Or what if a Norm could kick ass as an operative? People should be able to be whatever they want, without . . .” He took a deep breath as if overwhelmed by his own vehemence. “Without letting their brains define who they are and what they’re capable of.”

Kent nodded. That rational, he could understand better.

“What about you?” Glitch countered. “Why did you join?”

Kent froze. He hadn’t thought far enough in advance to realize that he’d be expected to share his own motivation, and he wasn’t quite ready to talk about what had happened when he was eight.

“Similar reasons,” he settled on saying.

“Uh-huh.” Glitch’s side-eyed stare returned but seemed gentler this time, giving Kent the definite impression that his partner had already researched his backstory. “It’s fine,” he said, confirming Kent’s suspicion. “I can wait until you’re comfortable sharing.”

They reached the door to their classroom. Glitch grinned at Kent, and this time Kent didn’t bother to bite his cheek.

“Ready to go make history?” Glitch asked.

Kent nodded. He still wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about his assigned MIV—he’d have to ask how Glitch felt about dogs, later—but he was beginning to understand why Kim had paired the two of them. “Ready,” he said, just because Glitch seemed like the type to appreciate the additional verbal confirmation.

Glitch’s smile widened. “Then let’s go, partner.” He began to turn the doorknob before pausing once again and turning back to Kent. “Are you certain that you want to nix the acrobat story?” He sighed, getting his answer from the way that he crossed his arms. “This is the fifth idea of mine that you’ve turned down. I’m going to call you The Nixer. Mister Nix, dark and broody.”

“Not Nix,” Kent replied immediately. Glitch’s words inspired an idea for his facename—one that addressed his motives for joining the NPO Program, without being too on the nose. That being said, he preferred the Romanized version of Greek god names. “Nox. I’ll be Nox.”