D.A.R.E.

[Misericorde]

Michael sat stoically in his chair, trying desperately to focus on the teacher's droning voice. His gaze kept diverting from the lecture on the ecology of UB-240-Upsilon to the crumpled paper he had smoothed onto the surface of his desk.

He already knew about the ecology of UB-Upsilon anyway. He'd chased the Nemesis Army all over that rock, hadn't he? He could travel across dimensions, across time; he had even defeated Lord Recluse and his cadre of Archvillains in the future itself. A false bottom to his locker held the badges to prove it.

So why all the fuss?

His eyes flicked over the slightly wrinkled paper.

This document is to recommend that student Michael Corde, be banned from all extracurricular activities for an undetermined period. Furthermore, Michael Corde is not to leave the grounds of Saint Joseph's School without prior permission. Failure to abide by these rules will result in further Disciplinary action by the faculty of Saint Joseph's School, possibly including expulsion.

So he had left the country for two weeks. Technically he was a Longbow free agent, and he had the documents (and training) to prove it, high school student or no. Conversely, he was also a multiple murderer on work-release from the Zig, and technically all borders were closed to him, with the exception of the Isles. Irony?

What a joke. Of course, it was unspoken that he was authorized, even expected to leave the school for missions...but this effectively left him cut off from extended social interaction with his peers. What was the game? Another test, to see if he would break? Or did someone have plans for him? Perhaps they were not ready for him to integrate with society; for his blades to dull just yet? Naturally, if he acted up, then they could claim he violated his disciplinary action and parole, and end up back in the Zig again.

He glanced around the classroom, raised a hand to answer a question about native flora to Upsilon, and continued staring at the paper shackles that lay upon his desk. He eyed the signature at the bottom.

Conrads. Conrads signature leered at him at the bottom of the document. Conrads knew why Michael had felt compelled to leave. That he had to go back there, to Schwarzvald, to see if it was true. Conrads had known before Michael did, that he was going back to those woods, to see for himself. Because Conrads had known.

He remembered the night of the interrogation; seeking the location of the Mad Monk. The turncoat had talked. Named names, of those who knew where to find him. Or rather, one name; staggering him emotionally, if not physically.

Doctor. David. Conrads.

Michael had hidden his surprise well, when the turncoat had mentioned Conrads. Michael cursed to himself; he had learned long ago that coincidence was gauze that covered the eyes of the weak. Of course Minerva had sent him to Conrads; he had to have had some ties to Longbow in the past. If Conrads had trusted Minerva, he would have kept her appraised of Michael's emotional development. An unwitting accomplice to her plans...and those of the Mad Monk.

So Misericorde made his way to Conrad's office after hours, reviewed some secure files. Learned some things. Learned the Mad Monk had recieved amnesty, among other things. Augmentations, to make him more...functional...than Misericorde had left him, when last they had met.

It had made their counseling session the next day uncomfortable at best; Michael's flat statement of "you knew," and Conrads empathy leaving very little questions to pass between them. Conrads managed to offer a sympathetic utterance of Michael's name before Misericorde left the room, returning to that same office yesterday after a two-week "leave of absence."

Conrads had said little; offered him this document, ensured he understood it, and told him to get out.

Michael tried to find it in his heart to care, and felt the old familiar walls closing about him, insulating him from the world.

He still hadn't seen Franky, hadn't even warned her he was leaving. Was better for her anyway, considering recent events. He knew it was foolish, arrogant to try to protect her, but it had seemed the right thing to do at the time.

His two week "Fact finding mission" had left him with more questions than answers, but he knew he was drawing close to the heart of things. So close he could almost feel the pulse of events drawing themselves to their end. Some might call it fate; others may leave it to Lady Luck.

Misericorde did not believe in luck. He believed in cause and effect.

[Misericorde]

[ This storyline continues in Greystone College, located here.]