The office went silent as Shannon pushed her way through the transparent doors into the spacious, yet packed, glass-walled section of the Fifth floor. It was eerie; not even the phones rang. She rushed to the Director's office, head down, to get out from under her office mates' desperate gazes. However, it did no good; the Director's office was another glass cage inside the space not-so-affectionately called "the fishbowl" that made up the Immortal Search Division... ISD to those in the know.

The Director gestured to the chair in front of his desk and Shannon sat, or rather perched, on the edge. "So...?" he prompted.

"He's Immortal. A full deity. It is my professional opinion that he is most certainly War."

The Director leaned back in his chair, elbows on the armrests and fingers steepled. All he needed was to laugh to fully embody the classic evil villain look, given his nice suit and bald head. God, he's so creepy!

"How likely?" he demanded.

"Extremely," she assured him with a curt nod.

"But, not one hundred percent?"

"It won't be one hundred percent, Sir, until he admits, then proves, it," Shannon said, shifting her weight. The chair was stylish, which meant it was also exceedingly uncomfortable. Over the year of weekly meetings with the Director, she'd learned that her current seated position was actually the most enjoyable it had to offer. This thing is a torture device!

"Hmm. True." The Director stared at her until she wanted to squirm even more.

"I—I'm going to lunch with him tomorrow," she offered to distract him.

"Yes. So your colleagues reported. What's your purpose?" he asked, frowning.

Shannon was confused. Why would he ask about the mission which he assigned me? "To gather more information about him, Sir. Get to know him... garner his trust."

"To what end?"

"I don't understand, Director. The ultimate result, we hope, is to recruit the Four Horsemen. That is my goal... to have War on our side." Shannon scowled. "Are you doubting my loyalty, Sir?"

The Director gave her a smile... one that she could easily swear belonged to a mad scientist. "No, of course not, Agent Bigsby. Of course not."

The lines in Shannon's forehead deepened, and she struggled to hold in her retort. With a tight jaw, she asked, "May I be dismissed, Director? I have a report to file and then tomorrow to prepare for."

"Yes. You may go," the Director said with a wave of a manicured hand, turning his focus to a stack of paperwork and ignoring her as if she no longer existed.

Bastard, she almost muttered aloud as she suppressed the urge to slam his office door open with as much force as possible. Instead, she showed nothing but a calm exterior; she even relaxed her face and put on a bit of a smile.

The fishbowl was buzzing once more; phones rang, people typed, and conversations flew—all the usual things were in play as she made her way across the fishbowl to her desk.

"So? Who wins the pool?" Tonya demanded as Shannon settled into her much more cozy chair. Needing to get started on the report, she reached for the computer tower and turned the ancient-looking machine on. In reality, it was state-of-the-art inside, a fact for which Shannon was grateful. She'd had jobs with inferior tools before. Not so with the Agency and certainly not with the ISD.

"I think he's really War. None of them have explicitly stated such, but their conversations definitely lean that way, and..." she took a breath and leaned toward her friend to whisper, "he's absolutely a deity. Full-blooded, without a doubt." She rubbed her arms and shivered at the memory of her Talent fully engaged.

Tonya gasped, her hands covering her lips and eyes watering. "Do you think...?"

"He'll join our side? I don't know. I mean, he's a monk now. Who's to say he'll get involved at all? Surely he'll see reason. Why would a deity of humans choose their side?" Shannon finished settling in, opened a blank report file, and began typing in its required information.

"If he's War, surely he must commit. Right?"

"One would think so," Shannon agreed.

The office mail came around, interrupting their conversation, and Shannon took the opportunity to begin to concentrate on her report. She worked on it until late in the afternoon, at which point her stomach growled, loud enough for Tonya and other cubicle neighbors to hear.

Tonya stretched, pushed away from her desk, and leaned back in her chair, fingers laced behind her head to stare at her hungry friend. "When was the last time you ate? You always forget to eat!"

"Umm..." Shannon paused to think. "I had breakfast. I forgot to have lunch," she admitted.

"Okay, close out your report, and let's go get some food. I could go for a beer."

Tonya leaned with her elbows on the table and picked at the label of her recently guzzled pale ale. Shannon watched her for a moment before realizing her friend wasn't really there but was somewhere else in her head.

"Hey," she said, knocking her still half-full beer against Tonya's empty one, "you got quiet. Want to talk about it?"

Tonya sighed before catching the server's eye and signaling she wanted another cold one. As she gently set the amber bottle on the table, she said, "I just worry about my grandparents, you know? I mean, the first thing They'll do is cull the old and weak. They're close to a hundred, both of them."

Shannon squeezed her friend's arm. "Don't go down that road. They haven't even gotten here yet, much less won the war. How about not being so fatalistic? It's bad for morale."

Tonya gripped Shannon's hand gently in return. "Yeah, you're right. One thing at a time." She swallowed hard and sniffled before giving Shannon a watery smile. "Thanks."

"Any time, Tonya. You know that," Shannon reminded her.

Tonya squirmed and futzed with her hair, sweeping it to the side and pulling it forward over her shoulder. Shannon thought she looked great with it long, but Tonya was forever complaining about all the work it took to make her straight chestnut-colored hair do the things it did. Still, she managed to look fabulous every day. Her taste in clothes was very stylish, too; each outfit seemed to compliment her suntanned skin and hazel eyes.

Clearing her throat, Tonya began again. "I hear the research division is having a lot of success with the new weapons, especially the biological ones. Seems we just contracted with Melrose Labs, Incorporated."

Shannon cocked an eyebrow. "Melrose Labs? Really?"

"Yeah. Why?" Tonya leaned forward, intent on Shannon's answer. "What do you know?"

Shannon looked around. While what the ISD did wasn't precisely top-secret, it wasn't a good idea for just anyone to know the ins and outs of recent developments. Assured within reason no one was listening, she leaned toward her friend. "That's the lab Leonard Wright just took over!"

"Leonard Wright?" Tonya asked in a hushed tone. "Should I know that name?"

A wry grin crossed Shannon's face. "We think he's Pestilence."

Tonya gasped and sat back. "You are shitting me!" she exclaimed a little too loudly, catching the attention of the tables and booths around them.

Shannon shushed her and motioned her to come closer again. "If what you say is true, my job might have just gotten easier. Leonard could have already decided to be on our side!"

The server breezed by, setting another beer on the table for Tonya as he made his way to take the family's order in the booth next to them. Shannon's stomach rumbled again. Maybe I should have ordered the appetizer after all.

Tonya took a long swig of her second bottle of brew before asking, "So, what are you going to wear for lunch tomorrow?"

"Wear?" Shannon sat back and cocked an eyebrow. "I hadn't really thought about it. Clothes, I guess."

Tonya rolled her eyes. "Are you kidding me? You want to interest the man, right?"

Shannon shrugged. "Well, yeah, but... I don't know. What do you wear on a 'date' with a monk? I assumed I'd just grab something from my closet, honestly."

Tonya tsked. "We should have gone to your place and ordered Indian so we could go through your crap. How does a woman as drop-dead gorgeous as you not have any fashion sense?"

Heat spread up Shannon's face. "Hey, I do just fine, okay?"

Tonya eyed her friend. "Sure. If all you have to do is pick out functional clothes, you do 'just fine.' I mean, how many pairs of dark pants and white shirts do you own? That's all you ever wear to work."

"Hey, I have more clothes than work stuff!" Shannon protested.

"Pfft." Tonya scoffed, "I've seen you on the weekends. Jeans and a t-shirt aren't going to cut it, Shannon!"

"I know, Tonya!" Shannon sighed. "I have some nice cashmere sweaters. I'll pick one of those."

"Well, I guess he would expect you to be dressed for work," Tonya agreed, tipping her bottle up again before turning the conversation. "Speaking of work, what are you going to tell him you do?"

They were interrupted by their dinner being delivered, and it was several minutes before they were settled enough to talk more.

"You know I'm a terrible liar," Shannon said, dipping a french fry in ketchup. "Honestly, I don't think the ISD would have hired me except I have my Talent and scored really high on the written test."

Tonya nodded, "Truth. You are a terrible liar. Honesty might, indeed, be the best policy."

"But, that doesn't mean he has to know exactly what I do. I think I'll be an Admin Assistant."

Her friend snorted. "You mean like Lindy the Airhead?"

Shannon giggled. Lindy was the Director's administrative assistant. Everyone loved him, but no one could explain how he got and held the job he did. He was adorable as hell... and dumb as a post.

"I hear men like airheads," Shannon snickered, swirling another fry in the pool of red condiment on her plate.

Tonya popped a piece of steak into her mouth. "I bet you pasta and wine this weekend this one doesn't."

Shannon downed the last of her beer. "I'm not taking that bet; I happen to agree with you. Besides, I'll do better being myself."

Tonya brandished her fork to punctuate her words. "Sounds like you have a plan."

"No, actually, I don't. This is uncharted territory for me. That's why I want to be myself. I'm totally clueless as to how to get this mission accomplished. I'm going to be nervous as it is without having to keep up an elaborate cover story."

"Welp," her friend said, pointing with her utensil again, "sounds like you better pick out a tight sweater."