A Rare Breed of Bookworm (Vincent)

Despite having just moved in, Vincent's office was nowhere near as cluttered as his home. His katana, which he had purchased from a legitimate swordsmith during his military days, hung on the wall; its black lacquered sheath gleaming in the low light of the florescent bulbs above as a stylized silver dragon wound around the pitch wood. Every book he needed for his work (and a few he did not) resided on a bookshelf in the corner. New files had been organized neatly into desk drawers-- the desk had already been there when he arrived-- and the chair opposite was a mirror of the one he sat in; old, wooden, and not terribly comfortable.

Still, he didn't mind. The office was relatively small, but it was his. He leaned back in the chair, only two of its four legs touching the ground as his long legs kicked up against the close wall. His back was to the door, his left hand resting on an open and well-worn Japanese copy of the hardback book he rested in his lap. He glanced between these two books frequently, often mouthing a few words silently as if trying to understand without speaking. He wasn't expecting anyone today, so it came as a surprise when a very quiet knock came from the door behind him.

Looking over his shoulder at the sound of the voice, it took a moment to comprehend that the voice was speaking English, such was his state of mind and the softness of the voice. Furrowing his brow, Vincent turned in the tilted chair towards the door, as if he could see through the wood at the person who stood outside.

"If you have something to ask," he stated gruffly, "come inside. It is rude to speak of business and favors through doors." He didn't mean to scare whomever was on the other side away - he just preferred speaking face-to-face with people. This is also why he didn't have an email account outside of work and rarely used his telephone.

As the boy entered the room, Vincent gave him a once-over and closed the hardbound book in his lap. He seemed young; a student here, likely, and very very nervous. His shoulders had hunched inward slightly, his head was bowed, and his face flushed pink. If he didn't know much better, the trainer would have guessed that the boy was ashamed to be here.

He didn't catch the first time the boy spoke, due to its speed and pitch, despite the fact that he was listening closely and looking right at him. Holding up his hand, he patted it down in a gesture of calm, saying, "Slow down. English is not my first language."

When the teen had calmed and spoke more rationally, he understood that he was talking about the book he was currently reading. Looking down at the cover, Vincent picked it up from his lap and showed it to the boy. "This book?" he asked, clarifying. "I only borrowed this today. It will take me a while to finish it."

He thought about it for a moment, then added, "However, if you need it, we can... discuss. Philosophy is better understood between two questioning people. If you would prefer this, I have no objection." Vincent honestly meant it as well; he did not minor in Philosophy to have the certification sit at home in a picture frame. He used it with his students - to train them and understand their feelings. Better yet, to make them understand their own feelings and master them.

Taking his feet from the wall, the trainer stood, brushing himself off before placing the book on his desk and leaning over it to look at the young man in the eyes. "I do not believe we have met. What is your name?"

He did not offer his own - the boy obviously knew it, as it was on the plaque outside his office door. And he had come looking for him specifically. It seemed unlikely that he did not know his name.

Nodding, the trainer sat back down, shifting the chair so that he faced Amos across the desk. He preferred sitting when talking to people - it made them less intimidated by his height. He motioned for the boy to sit as well.

"I have plenty of time," he answered. "I apologize that the chairs are not very comforting - they will need to be replaced soon." The small talk was a part of his culture; something to fill the air lightly before speaking of business. It was something that often put people at ease, suggesting that whatever the topic of importance was, it was still less important than their comfort.

Nodding to the young man, he added, "It is good to meet you, Freeman-san. You have quite the responsibility, for someone of your youth. Understanding as well; not many care for the world, unless it is something they can own. Your dedication is respectable." He bowed his head in a gesture of such, then noticed the tape recorder.

"If you would like. I have no objection. However, if you are to quote me, please do so directly and in context."

A slight smile played at Vincent's lips at the mention of Sean's office. "This is true," he answered mildly. "I must admit, being comfortable make it easy to talk, especially about personal topics."

He looked over the boy once more, golden brown eyes taking in the tightness of his hands clenched around the tape recorder and the stiffness in his posture. He suddenly wished that he had a spare coffee pot (Nik had the other in the infirmary) - something warm to drink, even in the summer, seemed to settle people down.

Looking back as he asked another question, Vincent nodded. "Yes - I have recently been transferred here from Eisai. It is the same work, however I prefer the quiet here. Pilot Ridge is a very tranquil place."

He smiled openly at the sudden seriousness Amos displayed as he spoke of journalistic integrity. "Good - I had feared that most of such professionalism had been lost these past decades. It is good to see a new generation passing on the practice." While he had never really appreciated the school newspaper in any institution he had attended, Vincent watched the news every night in order to understand what shape the country was in. It seemed that the news was more biased every day, and that things merely seemed to get worse and worse. Hopefully, with more honest reporters, that would change.

"Operation Patriot?" That was an interesting thing to start the conversation on. He'd heard about them in the news, but very little and the information seemed full of holes. Mostly, it sounded like opinions, and he detested making decisions based on the opinions of others. "Unfortunately, I know very little about them. They are a functionary of the United States government whose supposed goal is to find military or government work for meta-humans. Whether this is their true goal, I do not know, however it is not my place to speculate without evidence.

"If this is in fact their goal," he persisted, thinking on the subject, "I suppose I would support their attempts. Meta-humans are just like anyone else - they have the same emotions and problems as human beings without powers. This is merely another way to integrate them into society. However, without sufficient evidence, I cannot lend my opinion one way or the other."

"Eisai is very similar to Hammel," he supplied. "More students and quieter, but very similar." He did not go into detail, as that was not what the boy wished to talk about. Instead, he continued with the interview as normal.

Thinking on the issue heavily for a moment, Vincent was quiet for quite some time. Finally, he spoke, keeping his words deliberate and clear. "If that is indeed the case, there is more to worry about than the meta-human people as a whole. Such tactics usually lend themselves as preludes to war. Many previously suppressed people before have been given the promise of freedom only to have their price be their lives.

"To answer your questions fully, I will do so individually. First, as a reference to the protection we receive here, remember that the laws of this country protect better than few others in the world. Be glad you and those you care for do not live in such places as Russia or South America. There, meta-humans have been enslaved, killed outright or made into little more than weapons for personal or political gain. Here, the existence of meta-humans is too well-known to allow such blatant use of force. If this were to happen, it would need to be very subtle so not to be noticed by police and the media as a whole.

"Second, people fear that which they do not understand. It is an inherent issue with humanity as a whole, not just those without our genome. This is the most basic reason for religion in the world, the reason why dragons were drawn within the seas on old maps. We fear that which is unknown or..." Vincent paused to think on the word before continuing, "... not quantifiable. Therefore, we are feared, as xenophobia adapts to the changing times. We are feared, and so we are given shackles to hinder our process. Inevitably, these shackles will either be taken off or overthrown, and history gives evidence to the latter. I hope, personally, that history lends not to repeating itself further.

"Third, Japan, Russia, and a number of other countries have already adapted regiments of soldiers to be of meta-human majority. I was part of one of these units in Japan, and we were commonly used as police actions when human/meta-human tensions rose to violent levels. I will not speak of any other country's legalities on the issue, however if the United States were to follow a similar course, I believe it would be a... 'step in the right direction'."

Pausing to take a breath and collect his thoughts, Vincent looked the eager Amos in the eyes and began to speak again. "Either way, this 'Operation Patriot' can be a blessing or a curse for the meta-human population. It will be used to enslave us or free us, but until more is known for certain it is unwise to fight their own existence. We cannot know without experiencing, but to experience is to risk. Tell me, Freeman-san, are you willing to risk yourself and that which you hold close to your heart for the ultimate truth?"

Vincent watched Amos carefully as the boy stammered through his own views and study on the subject - his questions themselves betraying his own thoughts on the subject. He was afraid; that much was certain, and he was likely looking to philosophy and the media for comfort and power in the face of powerlessness.

It was a dangerous place for a child to be in.

"Think for a moment on the youth of our evolution," he offered softly, adjusting his sleeves so that they rolled up over his elbows. "Our species of human, despite theories from theologists of all varieties, has only been noticeably progressing for the last century, approximately. In regards to rights and civil liberties, we have made more progress in a much shorter time than the descendants of Africa, Latin America, and Asia in this country. Looking back in history, we have had a far less bloody progression of rights than any other immigrants living in this country. This is not to say that we should be happy with things as they are, merely content that they are moving forward rather than in reverse.

"Now that I have brought your mind to this, remember the prejudices towards the different races in the United States. African-Americans tend to be more populous in prisons not just because of the judgement of a jury but also due to the state of their upbringing. Hispanic-Americans are labelled almost entirely as 'illegals' due to the great numbers of them arriving every year and many are deported with or without trial. Asian-Americans are either tied in with mass gang activity or organized crime, much like Russian or European immigrants, and thus are viewed poorly in the community regardless of whether they have committed any crime at all. This country is young and foolish, yet optimistic and striving to learn from its mistakes. How we are treated is neither better nor worse than other 'outsiders' in our respective points in the history of oppression. We shall endure, and we will overcome; in the course of history, it is inevitable. The only other recourse is extinction."

He sighed, pondering the question further and realizing he missed a portion of it.

"As to the media, there has been bias in every direction since the news anchor known as Walter Cronkite retired. Unbiased news is a thing of the past, sadly, as more people are interested in thrills and horror than the truth. Pointed questions," he noted, "which leave little room for dissuasion, are as much an issue as falsifying facts. Both tell lies, but one does it deliberately while the other hides behind faceted truth."

Seeing the boy become uncomfortable, Vincent's features softened slightly. He should not be treating the young reporter so harshly and in truth he did not meant to. He meant to speak to him as an adult, and adults spoke levelly with each other. Pulling his desk drawer open, he rummaged around, remembering that he had a couple bottles of water hidden somewhere in its depths. Finding them, he took out two and cracked their seals, offering one wordlessly to Amos and taking a sip of his own.

"Never be afraid to express yourself," he stated softly. "Freedom of speech is one thing; freedom of idea is another. No one can take them from you, so nothing should make you ashamed of them. Whether you are right or wrong is up to you and no one else."

He took a minute to breathe and sip his water, thinking about the nature of this conversation. He hadn't spoken so much in a long time - he was glad he had practiced frequently each day since he arrived. Otherwise, he may not have had the vocabulary or understanding to even have this discussion.

When he was ready, he began again. "You are correct, in so far as oppression is a moral inconsistency. We oppress that which we fear, for reasons that are moral and immoral. We repress and objectify women, which is wrong for they have done nothing but exist. We take away the rights of a criminal, for he has violated laws and creed, causing harm to others. Yet, this is also oppression. It is a necessary evil, so that the safety of the whole may be gained for the price of the liberties of the few.

"We, who have weapons born into us... we stand on a line that is hard to define. Because it comes down to the morals of the individual, humans cannot process us as a whole and therefore must view the worst of us along with the best. Regardless of our views, it will be the individuals viewing us that will decide our fate. Should we, like weapons bought and sold, be regulated that our powers may not be used unwisely? Or should we be allowed free, with only our morals to guide us as they guide others?"

He smiled, seeing the determination (and surprise) in the young man before him. He had found his resolution - if he kept it, nothing could stop him.

"We can only do what we can," he assured. "Our limits can only be defined by ourselves. No one else can make that distinction of ability, only right and recourse. If you want the truth, you will find it.

"As a matter of fact," he added, thinking on the subject, "perhaps you should take those questions to Operation Patriot themselves. If you value the unaltered truth, it is best to learn from the source. I would only warn you to have caution - governments, no matter who they are, dislike people rummaging around in their business."

At Amos' words, Vincent's face finally broke into a smile. It was a sad, somewhat wistful smile, but it broke the calm facade as easily as if he had laughed (though not as abruptly). Idealism and optimism were rare things in children now - he was glad to see someone who had kept his through childhood and tempered it with realism and compassion. It was... comforting.

"I am starting to believe you, Freeman-san," he stated at last. "I no longer view myself as a weapon, and you are correct in that such a life is not our purpose. Each person decides such a purpose for themselves, just as easily if their purpose were to be that of a teacher or a journalist. It is refreshing to see someone with morals such as yours, and I would be disappointed if they were to go to waste.

"I believe," he continued as he stood, moving to the window to open it and allow the summer air inside, "that the best way for you to maximize your potential would be to continue what you are doing." He turned, leaning in the window frame with his scarred arms crossed over his chest and a secret smile on his face. "Write your stories. Someone will read them, perhaps many people. Your words will inspire action someday - I see this in your spirit. Perhaps even actions from you and your peers. There is no need to rush into this in any case; an attack without a plan is rarely more than suicide. All of us old soldiers know this."

He looked out the window for a moment, watching as the pattern of sunlight and shadows played over the grounds outside. "If you wish my honest view, Amos, as a father I believe in your truth. I believe it with every trace of compassion my heart can harbor, so that I will never lose hope that my children will be more free than myself. However, as a soldier, I will always expect the worst of such things, so that I will be ready-- not disappointed-- when it occurs. That is what my philosophy tells me."

Looking back to the boy, the secret smile became almost a smirk. "I also hope someday," he added, "that you will learn to sit still during an interview. It is the interviewee that is meant to be nervous, not the journalist, is that not true?" He was teasing Amos, and he enjoyed the moment. It was rare someone managed to guide him into speaking at length - they should at least see some of his humor as well.