Trace Tanner stood on the deck of a ferry slowly chugging its way across the Long Island Sound. The wind blowing off the water was cool and nearly clammy on a dreary May day. He wasn’t exactly happy about the duty he was performing. He’d made a few of the higher ups in SUPER a little unhappy with his antics with Constable Barbie (that half a block of New York was going downhill anyway) so he’d been assigned to a recruitment mission that was taking him to Hart Island.

Hart Island was a small island that was nearly dead center in the Long Island Sound. The dossier for the mission had detailed the island’s history and it wasn’t a particularly bright one. The island had been home to several different organizations. Recalling the details, Trace recounted that the island was a prisoner of war camp, a psychiatric institution, a tuberculosis sanatorium and it held the largest Potter’s Field in the world.

Trace initially didn’t know what a Potter’s Field was; he’d thought it might have been an old-time site where pottery was made or some kind of manufactory. It was not. A Potter’s Field was a place where lost, disenfranchised and unwanted souls were lain to rest. New York state had operated the cemetery with the efficiency gifted those that didn’t quite find their place in society: stacked in boxes, in mass graves.

It really wasn’t the city’s fault; what were they supposed to do? But it left Trace feeling uneasy and a bit empty inside as the ferry moved towards the island. The island also held the bodies of some people dubbed enemies of the state. Those individuals had even the most basic rights stripped from them. They weren’t even afforded a decent burial. Unfortunately, many of them were mutants. The world had seen some troubled times as far as they were concerned.

Trace was never quite sure how he fit into the whole issue. He was a mutant working for a government that had oppressed, murdered and mistreated a group of people that he had belonged to. His direct job was to suppress mutants that the government saw as a threat. And these people were a threat. Trace had seen mutants with powers that could take out city blocks and end the lives of thousands with minimal effort.

Trace viewed it all as a police effort. Serve and protect. Help the people that couldn’t help themselves. It was a noble cause and SUPER served that purpose incredibly well. Trace was still pretty new to the team, but it really seemed like it was on the up-and-up. But the word on the street was pretty negative surrounding SUPER. There were rumors floating around about people disappearing in the night, people showing up crazy from having been tortured. But there wasn’t ever any confirmation of these events and there were always rumors about the government doing these kinds of things.

Trace had received a special permit for the ferry ride out to Hart Island today because he needed to make sure that he was alone. Recruitments for SUPER were always kind of dicey; the unseemly reputation of the organization preceded them anywhere they went and Trace was not going to endanger civilians on this trip. The ferry approached the dock and Trace waited for the ship to tie off. He’d contacted another member on SUPER’s roster to pilot the ferry. His instructions were to wait at the dock and keep the motor running in case things got hot.

Trace didn’t even know who the individual he was recruiting was. The file said, ‘suspected psychic’, listed the location as Hart Island and mentioned that previous attempts at contact were unsuccessful. He’d really pissed someone off with his shenanigans.

Hopping off the boat and onto the dock, Trace felt his hand drift to his sidearm. He had a habit of checking to make sure it was still there, as if it could walk away of its own volition. With the slightly misty, overcast weather, Trace felt as though it could. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. Trace turned back to the SUPER grunt that he’d tagged for a ferry pilot “Keep the boat running but don’t call for backup unless I tell you to.” He ordered, proceeding along the dirt road ahead.

He’d covered a pretty decent amount of distance and began to approach a structure that looked as if it had been abandoned for decades. It might have been the remains of the old reform school that was located on the island. I mean, what a better place to take troubled boys than an island chock full of dead bodies to make them get their act together?



As he approached the building, he called out to the emptiness “Hello? Is there anyone there?”

It was misty out again. The fog had started creeping over the edges of the island early that morning and hadn't really stopped. That was fine. In fact, it suited the needs of the man holed up in the abandoned building just fine. The more fog there was over the water and the island, the less likely people were to come and visit...not that there were many of those these days. People tended to stay away from places that held this many dead bodies, unless you were Tarin Brooks.

Things had been fine in the city for a long time. In fact, it was still a bit of a surprise to Tarin that he'd spent this long in one place after practicing a practially nomadic lifestyle for over a decated. There was something about New York City though, something that always made it feel new and fresh, even after so many years. Things had changed recently though, and it had all started when a particularly strange spirit had wandered into his shop a few months ago.

Spirits, in general, were strange creatures. They all had their hang-ups and they didn't become spirits without some kind of unfinished business they were hellbent on sorting out. Years had taught the Medium that it was best to ignore most of them, especially the ones who were particularly distraught. Crazy emotions tended to go along with being new to the territory and newbies were hard to deal with in the best of times. This guy though, his ramblings had caught Tarin's attention and he'd sent all of his other familiars away for the night, switching off his shop sign and locking the doors.

If what the spirit said was true, then there was some dark shit going on in in the city. Lots of other places too. It was all just enough to make a guy paranoid. Tarin had sent out recon, and he'd found out just enough to convince him that maybe now was a good time to hang low for a while. It was tempting to just leave. Tarin had done it before, plenty of times, but if what he'd discovered was true, then location wasn't a particluarly good deterrant to this particular bunch of a-holes. In fact, staying somewhere with a high population density was probably the best bet.

"Yo boss. You got a live one on approach."

Tarin looked up, he'd been lost in his thoughts for too long and had forgotten to check out the sentries he'd posted around the permieter of the island. So much for people staying away on a foggy day. There were spirits everywhere on this island. There were bound to be with the number of sad stories that had brought folks to their final resting places in an unmarked, mass grave. It wasn't hard to pick one out and take a peek at what they could see.

The ferry was here, but there was just one man watching it. That was strange, nobody ever came out here alone. This dude didn't look like the kind of guy who came out here to do maintenance or deliver new arrivals either.

"Give him a hard time for a while. Nothing too intense, just let him know he isn't alone." Tarin said across the bond, funnelling just enough energy to let the spirit do as he said. The guy at the boat wouldn't end up any worse for the wear in the long run, but hopefully he'd brought a change of pants.


"Hello? Is there anyone there?”

"Dammit!" Tarin cursed softly, hopping up from the camp cot that he'd moved onto the island with him when he'd decided to make his accomodations slightly more permanent.

Tagging two spirits that Tarin could feel were in the direction from which the voice had sounded, Tarin looked through the link. He had been right, the guy at the boat hadn't come alone.

"You two." Tarin said throug the link to the two spirits he was currently using to spy, "Let our guest know he isn't welcome."

The sprits did as they were told. To the newcomer where once there had been thin air, two barely corporeal shapes would have faded into view. He would have been able to see through them, but they would have been solid enough to prove that even despite the mist, he wasn't seeing things.

"We already bought girl scout cookies from the last kid that came by." the first spirit said, and Tarin had to chuckle, he'd chosen well with these two. They'd met a rough end on the New York streets as homeless vagrants, but once upon a time, they'd been quite the charmers.

"You'd better go back to your boat before your friend decides it's a better idea just to leave."

Trace walked a bit further forward. Ahead, two forms began to come into view, silhouetted in the fog. The report had said that there was possibly one mutant out here, but, who didn't like a little company? The fog hadn't seemed thick enough to conceal someone until they were that close, but Trace was starting to feel old. Maybe his eyes were starting to go after all.

"We already bought girl scout cookies from the last kid that came by." A voice said from up ahead. Ah. A fellow funny guy. That was actually a good sign. "Well, I brought a double stock of thin mints with me. I heard you couldn't resist them!" Trace replied, hoping that following his joke would gain him some good faith. He'd already began prepping a time bubble in case things went south.

The other figure spoke with a male voice as well and said something about going back to the boat before his friend decided to leave. "Well, he's not going to do that. You see, I had to pay him double time just to get out here today. With the amount of cash he's going home with, he won't budge that boat from the dock." Trace said, hoping he wasn't lying. It would get really awkward if the boat went back without him.

"Look, I'm just out here to talk. Is there someplace we can take a seat and chat?" Trace said diplomatically. With there being two of them, he could probably handle himself. He kept his power just on the verge of activating.

Ahhh. Subterfuge and misdirection. Those were usually two things that Tarin hated. Why the hell couldn't people just come out and say what they meant? Why did everything have to be cloak and dagger nonsense. Truth be told, though, this was pretty funny. The guy outside was oblivious to what he'd walked into and it made Tarin wonder just who had sent him in the first place. It was obviously someone who had simply wanted to see what happened. Anyone who knew Tarin was out here was bound to know what he was capable of, it wasn't like he'd laid low in the city for the past several years. That's what had prompted him to retreat to the island in the first place.

Conspicious banter aside, Tarin decided to test the mettle of his visitor a bit further before having him physically removed from the premesis. There were spirits everywhere and it wasn't hard to snag a few more and send them to join the greeting party. They approached and appeared in much the same way as the first two. These were older spirits, more comfortable with their lot in the afterlife. They were women who had never left the sanatorium they'd been admitted to when they'd contracted tuburculosis. All things considered, they bond with them was far easier to handle than some. Death from illness was an easier scene to see in your head than some of the more violent deaths that brought people to the island.

"What could you possibly have to say that would be of interest to anyone here?" The first newcomer said. Tarin considered things for a moment, then made a decision that he sent to the other.

"If you're sure you want to talk, you can follow us." The second newcomer said, "But be fair warned. Nobody likes a waste of time."

If the guy wanted, the spirits would bring him to the abandonned building that Tarin had called home for several weeks now. The medium had plans though, a show of strength to ensure his personal safety. Spirits would show themselves along the path. As many as he could muster.

It would be creepy as hell. It'd also do that weird all-white thing to his eyes and he'd look spooky as hell when the other guy arrived.

It was a good plan.

Trace started to notice that something wasn’t quite right when two more forms just appeared around the other two that were there before. As in, not physically present. As in, they hadn’t been there! This mission was suddenly seeming to be out of his depth. What the hell? Were they standing in a single file line to conceal their numbers? Was that really a moon? Did size really matter not?

Star Trek references aside, it was becoming clear that something was quite off about this situation. Trace was aware that the subject of this visit was recruiting a powerful psychic mutant to SUPER. Was the mutant making him see things that weren’t there? Had he even actually made it to the island? Was he drowning in the sound? Was he eating his left shoe?

Looking down, he noticed that he did have his left shoe on his foot. Which was a good start. And he couldn’t really perceive that anything odd was going on or that reality was being changed. He held his hand up in front of his face and it looked normal. So, these things in front of him might have been some kind of psychic constructs. That made sense.

“What could you possibly have to say that would be of interest to anyone here?” One of the new shapes said. “Well, I have lots of things to say. I’m not sure if anyone will be interested in them or not, but I’m really more of a face-to-face kind of guy. I don’t mean anyone any harm here.” Trace said, trying to sound genuine. He actually was genuine, but his nerves had him so on edge that he was having trouble controlling his tone. Something about the situation was causing him to have a major case of the heebie jeebies and he was not sure what it was.

The second new shape acquiesced and said that Trace could follow them to where they wanted to lead him. That seemed odd. What if they led him to a cliffside and over? That seemed very suspicious. Come play with us, Danny. Forever.

Trace stopped walking altogether. The island. The history. The millions of poor departed souls that surrounded him. The shapes appearing. The mist. It all clicked into place in a crystalizing-ly horrifying moment that made Trace want to stop and shout “I see dead people!” at the top of his lungs. The next word out of Trace’s mouth was a very, very impolite word to say at the final resting place of a human. “Y-You guys don’t happen to be dead people, do you?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. How exactly were you supposed to broach the topic of mortality with a spirit again?

Now there was no choice but to keep walking. He didn’t want it to be awkward with the dearly departed, now did he?

Tarin had to chuckle and shake his head a bit. Whoever had sent this guy out to his island had really done a piss-poor job of explaining what he was getting himself into. It was almost possible to feel sorry for the guy. Almost.

The fact of the matter was, if someone had gone to all the trouble to privately charter the ferry and bring someone out to the island, they weren't going to come completely unprepared. Despite the fact that this guy was in the dark, there was no way he was helpless.

While he was thinking, the spirits were having a hell of a laugh at the whole, "You don't happen to be dead..." thing. Tarin let it go, these guys didn't get a lot of entertainment.

Still. The new guy was had regained some of his equilibrium, even if he was scared. It was good that he was scared, Tarin would have really been on guard if he hadn't been. Dead people were really effing scary...even to him sometimes. Weirdly enough, though, the Hart Island bunch were relatively cheery. It was like they'd built something of a little society on the island and they were at least resigned to their lot in...afterlife. There was the occasional odd duck who wandered around moaning, but the other spirits weren't very tolerant of that sort of thing.

It wasn't all that long of a walk and the guy was quickly approaching. Tarin wondered how he was liking all the spirits who were winking into existence to guide his way.

Trace was secretly proud of how long he held it together. I mean come on! These people were dead. How the heck could they be so mean? Was life after death just a re-enactment of High School? “Okay, I get it. I’m an idiot for not knowing you were dead. No, I don’t want a roommate. I swear to god Dan if you touch my butt again I’m going to re-kill you!” Trace said to the somewhat large group of spirits that was now congregating around him.

Very funny. Look at the living guy who’s and idiot!

From the outside, this had to be an incredibly amusing spectacle. For all Trace knew, he could be talking to himself in a large open field. There really wasn’t any way for him to tell. It seemed a little strange to Trace that a few minutes ago, he was now viewing these spirits as normal people. That’s forward thinking for you.

Trace stopped in his tracks and saw the mutant that he was supposed to be meeting. The guy was moderately tall, brown hair, and glowing white eyes. What. The. Hell. Was. This. Place? “Um, Hi there!” Trace said, feeling a bit uneasy. Were his eyes always like that? ”Nice place you have here…” Trace said, looking around a bit.

Tarin was ready when the guy finally made it into the room that he'd been calling home for the last few weeks. It kind of hurt the ambiance of the situation. There was a camp bed, a camp stove, a camp lantern, and other camping stuff. It wasn't all that comfortable, but it had been good enough to keep Tarin warm and fed. What more could a guy ask for on an island where most if not all of the structures had been abandoned for decades?

New guy complimented the surroundings and Tarin responded by standing up from the cot and crossing his arms. The place wasn't nice. The place was crap. Was new guy mocking him?

"Are you mocking me?" Tarin asked, just to set the tone for the meeting.

"I hope my friends were hospitable to you on your way up. Either way, I'll bet you're having a much better time than your friend you left at the ferry." Tarin spared a moment's thought to check in. Nope, it didn't look like the guy had brought a change of pants. That was going to be an enjoyable trip back to the mainland.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" They were fair questions and an easy way to start this little pow wow. The thoroughness and honesty of the questions would determine how the rest of the meeting went. Just in case, Tarin kept his link up with the spirits. The eyes were cool...and intimidating.

Oh, so outright hostility and purposeful neglect of a joke was going to be how it was? That was not a good turn of events for Trace. He usually did best when people were willing to accept his humor and not think that he was being a smarmy phallic object.

Not that he wasn’t a smarmy phallic object. He just didn’t like people to realize it at their first meeting. But, Trace was also pretty good at working with what he was given and that just happened to be an all too serious psychic that could probably turn his brain to goo. The man was currently, at the least, making him see what he thought were dead people, so that meant that he was already affecting him. Hopefully that didn’t progress to the goo-forming stage.

“I hope my friends were hospitable to you on your way up. Either way, I’ll bet you’re having a much better time than your friend you left at the ferry.” That didn’t sound good. Trace stopped and listened in the direction of the dock. He thought he heard some faint screams coming. Apparently, his ferry pilot was not enjoying his visit very much either. “Well, That one—“ he pointed at the all to handsy spirit Dan— “Needs the personal space talk again.”

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Okay, down to the point.

” Well, my name is Trace Tanner. I’m here on behalf of my organization. We work towards the greater good, keeping innocent people safe. We’re always on the lookout for people that fit well into our organization and that are able to help us.” he said, gesturing to the side “If these guys are any indication of what you can do, your powers could be put to a lot of good, Mr. –“ Trace trailed off, leaving a gap for the psychic to insert his name.

Tarin rolled his eyes slightly at Dan's schenanigans. The guy did tend to have personal space issues. It didn't matter though, this was what you got for tresspassing. If the new guy escaped with nothing more than an unwelcome grope, he was going to be doing well.

Then came the spiel. All of the parts were there...on behalf of the organization...greater good...innocent people safe. Tarin's brows rose dramatically at that.

"Innocent people or innocent non-mutants?" he asked skeptically. Tarin wasn't interested, not even a little bit. Selfless service for the greater good was something that had never even remotely entered his thoughts as a line of work. There was too little profit and far too much sacrifice.

New guy was actually called Trace. Figured. It sounded just like the kind of name they'd rubber stamp on a kid straight out of whatever college recruiting program they'd dug him from. Tarin didn't feel particularly unfriendly towards the guy, this just wasn't going to end in his favor. No need to be rude though.

Dismissing the spirits, Tarin let them fade from view. The poor guy down at the ferry would need time to recover before he could take his friend and get the hell off the island. Plus, the white eyes were creepy. It was why there were so effective.

"You can just call me Tarin for now." he said, considering the man in front of him.

"Let me ask you something. Why do you think I'm out here? I've got a nice little shop and apartment right across the street from Central Park."

Trace thought for a second. Tarin had asked if he was implying that SUPER was there to keep ALL people safe for just non-mutants. The honest answer was, Trace wasn’t too sure about that himself. “Well, the way that I see the job is protecting all people, mutant and non-mutant. As far as the organization as a whole, I can’t really say.” he said, sighing a bit. “That’s really the best you can do, you know? Try to demonstrate through your actions the way things should be? I really think if we get a few more people like me onboard, we can make SUPER mean something.” he said, seriously.

At some point during his reply, the spirits faded away. Tarin’s eye went from white and scary to a more normal hue and the situation seemed to de-escalate some. Maybe this guy wasn’t the turn your brain to goo type after all.

And then came the loaded question. Trace always hated questions that people knew the answer to. It usually meant some kind of trump card in the conversation. Something the other person knew, for sure, that you didn’t know and it usually threw a big old monkey wrench into any plans that you had. He wasn’t precisely sure what to make of it.

“Well, I’m sure your powers have something to do with it.” he said, indicating the spirits that had recently departed. Well, had recently left the area. Trace wasn’t sure if they had capital DEPARTED departed. “I would think that a place like this would be somewhat appealing to someone who communes with the deceased.” guessing at what it was that Tarin actually did.

Ugh. An idealists. Idealists were dangerous to themselves and others, especially if they were committed to ideas that were easily manipulated or misguided. Tarin had little patience for such things and sank back down to the camp bed, shaking his head.

"Do you really believe that?" he said, heavy skepticism coloring his voice.

Whoever had sent him really had left this kid in the dark. Tarin chuckled.

"Actually, being somewhere like this sucks for someone like me. They've only realized that I'm strong enough to control them. At first, it's always a fight for control." That was true, the spirits who had seemed so friendly a few minutes before had been like a ravenous hoard when Tarin had first arrived. There had been some touch and go moments, and a few near possessions. It had been a risk he'd been willing to take at the time. It had been that important to get out of the city. The locals had calmed down once they realized that Tarin wasn't easy prey.

Enough about him though.

"One of the fun side effects of my powers is that when I make a connection with a spirit, I get a chance to see what killed them." Tarin said, tapping he side of his head.

"I've heard your organization's name on the lips of a lot of dead mutants lately. Made me think that I should go somewhere a bit more defensible."

The medium thought for a moment before continuing, "You being here means there was no point. Just how much did they tell you about me before they sent you out here?" Tarin wondered if his previous intuition was correct. That assumed ignorance had been like armor, after all, and was what had been Trace's saving grace on his way to Tarin's camp.

“Of course I believe that!” Trace said, a bit defensive. It’d been a while since anyone had treated him like a naive child, and he wasn’t really expecting it from some dude living in a ruined, half burnt structure on the corner of Creep Central and Loner lane. He then thought about the tone he’d used and figured the old guy might have a point.

Tarin went on to describe how much being somewhere like this sucked for him. Huh. That wasn’t really something that Trace had ever thought of. His powers were so natural to him that they didn’t ever really seem like they could hurt him or be the source of any discontent. It just went to show that everyone dealt with their own crap and that you couldn’t really tell what people were going through.
The next part caused Trace to get a bit of a chill down his back.

"One of the fun side effects of my powers is that when I make a connection with a spirit, I get a chance to see what killed them." Tarin said, tapping he side of his head.

"I've heard your organization's name on the lips of a lot of dead mutants lately. Made me think that I should go somewhere a bit more defensible."

Trace considered the words carefully and the scenario that had led him to the island. He’d put a few dangerous mutants out of commission himself; there wasn’t any denying that. He’d bagged a Firestarter across town not too long before and watched merrily as the perp was driven off in the back of a van.
But the government was responsible for killing mutants? SUPER in particular? Trace knew that there was some experimentation done but he’d never heard of people being killed. And most of the experimentation was to help mutants control their powers and suppress the psychotic urges that drove them to violence.

Or so he’d been told.

“You being here means there was no point. Just how much did they tell you about me before they sent you out here?” The somewhat dangerous seeming mutant asked, a bit of an edge in his voice. Gulp. This talk seemed to be taking a turn that Trace wasn’t too fond of.

“To be honest, I was sent here with the goal of recruiting a potentially powerful psychic..” he said carefully. ”That’s all the file I was given said. That’s not all that uncommon with these secretive government entities. Need to know, and such.” Trace said, like he actually knew what he was talking about. He purposely left out the part where should recruitment fail, he was instructed to tag the mutant he found. From what he’d seen so far, that idea would go over like a lead balloon.

“I’m not sure about all the things your ‘friends’ have been telling you, but I’m telling you what I’ve seen. And that’s a need for people to do good. Whatever opportunity or form that takes is up to the individual.” Trace said with a sense of finality. If he was going out, he was going out sticking to his guns.

Well. At least the guy had conviction. Tarin had to grant him that, even if Trace was ignorant of the uglier side of the business Trace had gotten himself involved in, he was committed to his opinion of the cause.

It was almost funny in a sad little way.

"Potentially powerful psychic." That is what they had labelled him? Tarin still didn't have a good name for THEM, but it was bad enough that they'd already put a tag label around his neck.

"Recruitment?" he said incredulously. "I wouldn't work for the good guys, what makes you think for a second I'd even consider working for the other side?"

That suggestion was laughable. Tarin chuckled and then gave Trace a level look.

"You might have needed to know that you could have been dead fifty times before you made it up here. Luckily Dan thought you were a keeper."

As for the opportunity to do good and all of that wishy-washy mumbo-jumbo.

"Whatever you think you're doing as an individual, your bosses totally put your picture next to 'expendible' in the dictionary when they sent you out here by yourself."

Not that Tarin was going to do anything, at this point it would be giving them an excuse. It was also a bit cocky to suggest that things would be that easy.

Still.

"So, any more boxes you need to check off before you can leave?"

“Was that a threat?” Trace asked, a bit taken back by Tarin’s incredulity. His next remark was something about not working for the good guys. Maybe his time amongst the dead had worn on his human interactions a bit. “You might want to look around from up on the wisdom pedestal you’ve put yourself on there, Miss Cleo!” Trace said a bit exasperated. This guy just wouldn’t listen to reason.

“Yeah, maybe the higher ups handed me a red shirt with this mission. Maybe I’m not supposed to make it back. But did you ever stop to consider that they might have sent me because I’m the finest example they had to send out here to this desolate argument against the human condition?” he asked, standing his ground.

“With all the cynical crap you’re spewing, it’s no wonder you’ve run out to some island in the middle of nowhere!” he said, gesturing at the surroundings. He was starting to get on a roll, and that wasn’t about to stop. He’d dealt with some pretty freaky stuff today and had kept his cool the entire time, but being threatened really put that on a slippery slope.

“And for the record” he added, ready to do something he hadn’t done in a while, “They didn’t exactly send a helpless puppy out here. I’m more than qualified for the job. And there’s no doubt in my mind I’m equipped to get it done.” Trace said, hoping that he’d not pushed it too far.

“If you’re so worried about the way that things are going, get off your cozy camp bed there and change it. Otherwise, don’t talk to me about sides. At least I’m trying to do something about it.” Trace said, de-escalating a bit. That about checked off all his boxes, the only thing he had to do now was wait for Tarin’s response.

Or the ass kicking that was about to follow.