The Legion: Heartson

Patience had always been the virtue Mason struggled with most. The idea of waiting weeks—actual weeks—for something that could potentially change the trajectory of his entire life? It made him want to stab a needle straight through his eyes.

Claire: Mason, are we absolutely certain this was our best move? I'm here to ensure your safety, per your family's instructions, and inviting unknown elements into our home seems... counterintuitive.

He rolled his eyes, biting back a sarcastic retort. It wasn't worth the headache. Leave it to Claire to turn an already miserable experience into outright torture.

Mason: Frankly, Claire, I'd wager my parents would prefer an unexpected guest over their son turning into a human torch at the dinner table

He smirked at his own remark, though Claire's lack of reaction made it fall flat. As always. She sighed—softly, but just loud enough for Mason to catch it and feel that familiar sting of annoyance. She didn't believe him. None of them did. He knew that. But that just made him more determined to prove her wrong.

Claire: I still don't believe this is smart. At the current moment, all of the maids have gone with your parents leaving only me in the household. If this "guest" turns out to be a threat, the only defense we'll have is us. More than that, how do you expect a normal person to know how to deal with whatever "issue" you seem to be having?

Ah, there it is. The classic 'this is all in your head' undertone.

He had to fight back a laugh. Claire's calm, deliberate way of dismantling his reasoning always got under his skin, but today? Today, he wouldn't let her win.

Mason: Look, Claire, you and I have been preparing for situations like this for years. We can handle ourselves if things go south, and this guy—he's seen things like this before. Strange animals, weird flames. He's been on this trail for as long as I have and he's never even met me so he knows I'm not making this all up.

He finished with a self-satisfied nod, as if that should have settled the matter. But Claire, as usual, was unimpressed. Her eyebrow lifted slightly, but the rest of her face remained unreadable.

Of course.

Claire: I don't recall ever saying that you were making this up, did I? I simply doubt that a random stranger from across the world will be able to make any more sense of this than you, if I'm being honest.

This left Mason temporarily stunned as he hadn't expected Claire to believe him. Once again, Mason grew frustrated at the young maid for stumping him, but before he could come up with a comeback there was a loud knock on the door. 

Mason: Finally!

At once Mason got to his feet and rushed to the door, completely forgetting his argument with Claire. After weeks of anticipation, the man he had been waiting for was here.

He flung open the door, half-expecting some grizzled, old man—maybe with a cane, a cigar, that seasoned detective vibe. Or maybe a younger man, muscular, the kind who'd storm in and solve everything in one fell swoop. What he got was... a boy.

???: Thomas Martin at your service. 

Thomas stood at the door, his attire an impeccable Italian suit, extending a hand more confidently than Mason had anticipated from someone so young.

Mason quickly gave the boy a second look, wondering if he had simply imagined him and the real client hadn't arrived yet, but still, the boy remained on the front steps of the manor, with his hand waiting, still, for the handshake that wasn't coming.

You've got to be kidding me.

The boy was clearly Asian, however he had a thick European accent, most likely British, with short oily black hair that barely came down to his ears. He looked to be about fifteen, maybe sixteen at most, with pale skin, as if he hadn't seen sunlight in days, but he had a confident look in his eyes as if he was much older than he appeared.

Mason: This must be a mistake. You must be at the wrong manor kid.

Thomas's smile faltered for a brief moment, but he stood tall, lowering his hand slowly.

Thomas: I read your message thoroughly and I truly believe I can help you sir. Despite my appearance-

Mason: Of course, it makes sense doesn't it? The only person on the planet who believes me is some kid, fresh out of middle school. 

At this, Thomas dropped his professional attitude and glared at the boy in front of him. 

Thomas: That's rich coming from someone who barely looks older than me huh? How spoiled do you have to be to ask for help and then insult the person who's actually willing to help you?

Mason: Well maybe I wouldn't be insulting you if you were who you said you were, you little brat. I don't have time to play make-believe.

Thomas: Seriously? You think I'd jet over from across the Atlantic to "play make-believe" without actually knowing how serious your issue is? How about a little gratitude?

Mason: What the hell do you mean by that you little-

Before Mason could finish his sentence, he was hit across the top of the head by the female maid who had appeared behind him.

Claire: Please excuse my foolish young master. I appreciate you taking the time to come here, Thomas. 

Thomas blinked, the irritation in his eyes fading slightly as Claire extended her hand to him. He hesitated for a moment, then shook it, though the flush on his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment.

Great, now he's flirting with the help. This just gets better.

After deciding that the boy was harmless, Claire quickly led him inside, while Mason followed behind, sulking and muttering to himself occasionally.

Claire: Make yourself comfortable while I prepare lunch for the two of you. Mason can fill you in on the situation while the two of you wait.

And with that, Claire dashed out of the dining room, leaving the two boys alone.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

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Mason: Alright. What's your real deal with these flames, kid?

Patience. Control. 

He needed Mason to take him seriously

Thomas: This isn't the first time mysterious flames have appeared in this city. Believe it or not, you're not as unique as you fancy yourself to be.

Let him chew on that.

Thomas crossed his arms, clearly agitated at being called a kid. Mason on the other hand decided to ignore the insults, curious as to what information Thomas had about his circumstances.

Mason: If this has happened to other people, why haven't I—or anyone else for that matter—heard of people like this before?

Thomas: Because someone, or a group of people, are working very hard to keep it that way. Every lead I've chased has been shut down. Every. Single. One. Until now.

Mason: So you're telling me I'm the first person you've actually seen with my problem? I thought you said you had experience dealing with this!

Of course he'd zero in on that.

Thomas: Maybe I stretched the truth a tad. But I had to make sure you'd-.

Mason: So you lied about your age, lied about your qualifications—what else are you lying about, huh? Can you actually do anything at all?

Thomas: I had to lie in order to make su-

Mason: I don't give a damn about any half-baked excuse you have Tom! Why don't you go to one of those other people instead of wasting my-

Thomas: That would be an option, if they weren't all dead.

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Mason immediately became pale as the realization of what Thomas had just said hit him.

Mason: You don't mean-

Thomas: For over a century in this city, numerous individuals have been found with unexplained burns and scars, and every one of them, without fail, has ended up dead.

Mason's eyes widened, and Thomas could see the panic building behind them. He reached for his water like a lifeline, gulping it down as though it could drown the sudden terror rising in his throat.

Mason: How much time do I-

Thomas: No.

Mason: What do you me-

Thomas: For the past 150 years, people have been dying from the same problem you currently have. While that may be true, it's uncertain if the flames are the cause of death or if there's something more. If the cause of death is some outside influence, and you haven't been killed since you discovered the flames, there's still a chance that we can prevent your death before it happens. And besides, you have something that none of the other victims have had.

Mason: What would that be?

Thomas: Me, you prideful prick. Even if you are the most irritating bastard I've ever met, I'm not about to let you die. 

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It didn't take long for Claire to finish preparing lunch, which was a relief for Thomas. Partly because he couldn't stand being alone with Mason for much longer—his superiority complex could fill the room with its own oxygen supply—but mostly because he hadn't had a decent meal since flying over to the manor. 

That, and the airplane food might have been sent to poison his very soul. At least that was his working theory.

But when Claire laid out the feast before them, Thomas stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as he took in the mountain of dishes.

Platters upon platters of food were piled across the table: sandwiches, chicken, steak, pasta, soups, lasagna—it was like someone had robbed a five-star hotel's entire kitchen and brought it here just to show him what real food looked like.

Thomas: How on earth did you have time to cook all of this? You're not a sorcerer?

Claire laughed lightly at the expression on his face, the small bit of drool threatening to escape from his lips. But she didn't answer him, instead turning to Mason, who had already begun tearing into the chicken like a starved man who hadn't eaten in days.

With a sharp thwack from the wooden spoon, she hit Mason's hand before he could grab another drumstick.

Claire: Before you begin eating, we need to discuss with our guest the exact situation, to see and understand what he knows.

Mason: Wreee, it'shh nnrotha—

Another thwack, this time to Mason's head, leaving him to glare at Claire while rubbing the sore spot.

Claire: And for heaven's sake, finish chewing before you start talking, you barbarian.

Thomas had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as Mason gulped down his food, his cheeks flushing red.

Mason: Well, there's not much to talk about really. I told you everything in my message, but for the sake of this conversation, I'll give you the highlights. I woke up outside the manor back in December with no memory of how I got there. Around me were some... deformed animals, dead. And on the palm of my hand was a black flame. Then, I passed out. That's it.

Thomas studied Mason carefully as he relayed the events, noting the tone of skepticism in his voice. It wasn't just the words—it was the challenge in Mason's eyes, as if he didn't expect anyone to take him seriously.

You don't get to doubt your own story when I'm the one trying to make sense of this circus.

Thomas: Were you alone that night? No chance someone led you out?

Claire: I checked the mansion several times after Mason was found. Every entrance was locked, every security camera was working. The only footage we have shows Mason leaving through the window in his room, but he claims—

Mason: I didn't jump out the window! I swear, I was asleep the whole night.

Thomas paused, tapping his chin in thought.

Thomas: So if Claire swears she saw you leave through the window, and you swear that you were asleep the whole time, that leaves us with three possible options doesn't it? One-

He raised a single finger while looking at the two people in front of him.

Thomas: One of you is lying, or at least not telling the whole truth about what happened that night.

Mason: I'm telling you everything that happened that night. I swear I wouldn't lie about something like this.

Claire remained quiet, but Thomas noticed her eyes harden slightly. Yep, she didn't appreciate being lumped into that theory.

Thomas: Not very likely, I admit. I can't see a reason why either of you would lie, unless one of you is secretly part of a shadow organization bent on world domination... but that's a discussion for another time. Actually, that sounds like a plot I'd read in a cheap detective novel.

Mason threw a puzzled look to Clair.

Reaching for a potato that was near his plate, Thomas raised his hand again, this time displaying two fingers. Mason began to protest, but Claire silenced him so that Thomas could continue.

Thomas: Option two: You were sleepwalking. Maybe you climbed out of the window without realizing it.

Before Mason could start talking, Thomas raised his hand and continued.

Thomas: Again, this is pretty unlikely, as I doubt you just happened to end up in an alley that was connected to those strange animals.I think it's safe to say this isn't the case either.

Thomas put his hands down again, taking a sip from his cup of water and reaching over for a small piece of lasagna with his fork. After chewing for a few seconds, he raised his hands again, this time holding up three fingers.

Thomas: This brings us to option 3. Someone or something controlled you that night and forced you to go into that alley.

Mason: What do you mean controlled me? Like some kind of mind control? I thought you said you understood this was serious.

Thomas: I'm aware. It's only the second most ridiculous thing on the list. But here's the thing: We're dealing with an unknown. And when you're dealing with unknowns, the rules we know don't always apply. We have to be open to all possibilities. Even if they sound like the plot of a bad sci-fi flick.

Mason looked at Claire, however she was looking down at the table, a blank expression on her face. Mason could tell she was trying to hide her emotions, which frustrated him because she happened to be great at that.

Thomas: For now, I need you to tell me everything. Every detail, no matter how small. Have you come into contact with anything strange recently? Specifically, have you seen or touched a golden watch?

Mason: A... watch? No. What are you talking about?

Of course not. Why would anything be that easy?

Thomas: Most victims with burns were reported to have this watch on them, at least at the time of death. I assumed you would have had it the same as them, but I reckon-

Mason: You're making assumptions again. For all you know, this has nothing to do with your other cases. You could be barking up the wrong tree entirely.

Thomas: I considered that possibility before I got on the plane. But before I came here, I did some digging on my own. Are you familiar with Harrison Stager?

Mason: Who?

Claire cut in before Mason could say something snarky.

Claire: Have you been living under a rock? Harrison Stager owns one of the biggest biomedical companies on the planet. The innovations his company has accomplished are second, only to that of Adrian Levere, or at least was until Adrian-

Thomas: Went completely insane.

Claire nodded, but Mason looked even more confused.

Mason: What does this have to do with anything?

Thomas: So, there's this employee of Harrison Stager, the main secretary, Margarett. It took a while for me to find out about her, and even longer for me to secure an interview online with her. She told me about something eerie, similar to what you've gone through. There was this guy, a complete mystery, who just happened to be situated right outside Stager's main office building with absolutely no clue how he had arrived in that location. He reached out to Margarett for help, knowing she worked at the place, but by the time she got to him, it was too late. The man was dead, covered in burn marks, but not just any burns. On his body, there were small white flames.

He paused, ensuring his listeners were keeping up.

Thomas: What's weird is, Margarett noticed these flames vanished before the ambulance even arrived. And like all the others we've heard about, he was wearing this golden watch, identical to the ones mentioned in other cases. Afterward, Margarett claimed she's been being followed. In the papers there was no report about the cause of death for this man or even the circumstances around it. She feared for her own life and was reluctant to even share any of that information with me. 

Mason: So the flames were white instead of black? What's the connection between the different colors of flames?

Thomas: No clue, although the fact that you don't have the same watch as the others could hint at a reason for the change in flame color. 

Claire: The only thing that I can think of that can cause a black flame is some kind of chemical reaction that changes the properties of the flame.

Mason: So you think I have some chemicals in me or something?

Thomas: That seems awfully random, don't you think? You're thinking too scientifically when we're dealing with multiple cases of spontaneous combustion. I doubt the solution is something so logical.

Claire became visibly upset at her idea being shut down.

Claire: Thomas... don't you think you're relying on too many unconfirmed reports. This information sounds shaky.

Thomas: Of course it's shaky. Like I said, we're dealing with invisible flames, mind control and spontaneous combustion. There's no scientific explanation for it, and yet here we are. And trust me, I'm not going to sit here and wait for the 'ghost of logical conclusions' to bless me with all the answers.

Claire: That's... not a thing.

Thomas: Exactly! Which is why I'm doing my own digging.

Before Claire could respond, there was a sudden, loud bang at the door. The kind of bang that said, someone wasn't knocking, they were trying to break through the entire building.

Thomas: Expecting anyone else today?

Claire: No.

Her expression shifted instantly, sharpening into something far more serious. The change was so fast, it made Thomas' stomach knot. He followed her gaze to the front door, just in time to hear another loud bang, followed by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. The window nearest to the dining hall exploded inward, sending shards flying as a small, spherical object hurtled into the room.

Claire: Get down!

The words barely registered before the object imploded, releasing a thick, choking gas that rapidly consumed the room. The smoke was everywhere, filling the air, blotting out their vision. This wasn't just a break-in.

This was an attack.

Claire: Both of you. Upstairs! Now!

Thomas didn't need to be told twice. He barely caught a glimpse of Mason, already halfway up the manor's grand staircase, and sprinted after him. Claire lingered behind for a second, scanning the smoke-filled room for any sign of their attackers, but more windows shattered with ear-splitting crashes, filling the air with more smoke grenades.

BOOM!

Another crash echoed through the manor—this one from the front door. It rattled the entire house, and the crude pounding continued, each blow coming harder than the last.

CLASH!

The front door gave way with a final, sickening snap, the sound of wood splintering as it was ripped off its hinges. Claire gave up her attempts to see through the smoke and bolted up the stairs to catch up to the boys.

Mason: There's a safe room just this way! Follow me!

They sprinted through the winding corridors, Mason leading the way with the kind of confidence only someone who had lived in luxury his entire life could have. Thomas was just barely keeping up, his lungs burning.

Just a little bit further

Then, a deafening crash erupted from one of the upstairs windows. Glass exploded inward as a blast of concussive force knocked both boys off their feet, sending them sprawling onto the ground. Pain shot through Thomas' side as he hit the floor hard, the breath knocked clean out of his lungs. Dazed, he forced his eyes open just in time to see several figures climbing through the shattered window.

Despite the fear gnawing at his insides, Thomas couldn't help the surge of frustration bubbling up. Everything had gone from bad to catastrophic in a matter of seconds. But Mason—Mason, for all his bluster and arrogance—was frozen, his eyes wide, panic clear on his face.

Figure 1: Hand over Mason Heartson.