Images, in order:

1 - Summer

2 - Angel

3 - Chris

4 -Setting

Chapter 4

On a grand fine day, on a grand fine street, in a grand fine house, there was a grand fine room.

A few youngsters sat around the lavishly furnished area. One was a girl. Her silver-grey hair turned vibrant pink halfway down until it ended at her shoulders. She wore a pink rose-topped hairband, with a white top under denim knee-length dungarees, and opaque white tights. Her smirk could have reached ear to ear.

"So what did you get us together here for, Chris?" Her smile turned to a sharp frown as she eyed someone at the other end of the room. A boy.

In his late teens, the first thing you noted when you saw him was his honey-toned hair, his ear-grazing bangs browney-blonde in colour (or golden brown, as his mother like to say). The young attender wore street clothes, a red satin puffer jacket with appliqué wings on the back, and high top trainers.

"And what's he doing here? Please don't say I have to work with Angel!"

Angel smiled sharply back. "There's only so long I can put up with you for. So shut up, Summer."

"Sarah! I told you I'm Sarah!"

"Sarah, Bing-Bong, whatever."

Summer was bored of being Summer. And whenever she was bored of something, she liked to reinvent it completely. The name she'd been given as a baby was just tiresome now; so outlandish and soppily dreamy, it made everyone annoyingly 'Ooh!' and 'Aah' when they heard it first, as if she was a baby! No, she needed something grown-up like herself. Sleek, but normal. Slipped off the tongue, but nothing that'd make your head turn just because of the name (she was enough for that).

Sarah was perfect. The runner-up was Selene, but she knew the boys would laugh, plus Sarah was... cooler.

Before Summer could snap a retort back, she was interrupted by Chris. "That's enough, Summer and Angel."

The 5"5 middling-height , glasses-wearing, duck blue suit-sporting teen looked at them both intently. "I didn't call us her to argue. We must work together. Right Dex?"

He looked pointedly at a boy sat on a chair in a corner of the room, with short dark brown hair and eyes to match, wearing a nondescript shirt and jeans, arms folded, watching them all quietly.

"Dexter-Suleman." He responded quietly, and nodded.

"Dexter-Suleman." Chris responded, and grinned encouragingly. Ever since he had recruited Summer and Dexter-Suleman together (they were friends or acquaintances of sort he knew, though they barely spoke to each other), Dex-S - as he nicknamed him in his head – never spoke. Unless to correct his name, of course.

He wasn't sure how useful he'd be, but if he was really the main person one who had helped Summer with her unsavoury... ventures, then he'd certainly be valuable.

"As you all know, we are all here at the behest of my father. He is beta-testing a new initiative; creating a youth-movement to ensure that the BFA (Brynnland For All, as we know) government is popular with as many as we can encourage. My father has given me a list of certain schools and sects of the public in which we are to heighten the public opinion of us, in preparation for the King's next Prime Ministerial election."

"Why doesn't the King just choose? I thought he could do that now, hey?" Angel responded surlily. "I also thought you called us here to do something important."

Chris sighed, and gathered himself together to reply. Meanwhile, a waiter entered to stand in the corner, and Summer eagerly ordered a martini; she had never had a martini before.

Chris was ready with a retort. Angel had been like this since school; always the second-guesser, the devil's advocate. Managing him would be tough. But doing things you found hard taught you the most.

"That's still being negotiated as part of His Majesty's new terms of ascension." he replied.

King Gilead. Their new sovereign. After the old Queen had died suddenly, while still being healthy and fit, the public had had their doubts about whether the childless Queen's shady nephew had orchestrated some foul play to become King. But nevertheless, the inquest had proved the Queen had died of natural causes, and it was now treachery to say otherwise.

The new King had done a lot, and suddenly. Created a new military faction called the 'King's Guard', his own nationwide security service that reported to the Sovereign instead of the military. Wearing newer, futuristic and elegant silver uniforms, each Guard equipped with never-heard-before state-of-the-art weapons called Astrapies (apparently meaning 'lightning' in old Brynnish), they'd brought alarm to the Department of Defence.

But what could commoners say to a King? Especially one who had pulled strings to renew the Sovereign's judiciary powers, who claimed this general election would be the last, before he thereafter selected his own Prime Minister, and his own Members of Parliament who supported his cause.

'His, his, his." It sounded like to Chris, but who was he to complain? He was just a lowly aristocratic underling; for all that he was an Earl, a Baron and a Marquess, he really had no political game. Until just now.

The BFA promised they would never let that happen. The King promised he would. 'It is a bit of a nightmare.' Chris thought, biting his lip. No wonder father was so withdrawn these days.

His father had never been the most compassionate of family members, and sure, 'idiot' and 'useless' may be his favourite nicknames for his only child ('Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Chris.' he reprimanded himself), but nowadays when he reached home, he spoke to no one, and headed straight to his study, where he ate, slept, and lived, it seemed, ever since the BFA's new election campaign had launched. Father was the Minister of Health (ironically), and him being re-elected and staying in the Prime Minister's Cabinet was terribly important. That's what Chris's mother repeatedly told him (and herself) to explain her husband's actions.

Mother.

Shouting. "You're useless!" His father yelled.

Running. Escaping.

Crying. Dark. It was his room. He could think more clearly now.

Mother.

"Don't stir him up, Christopher." Her tear-filled eyes pleaded. "You know how he is. Don't provoke him. Always do as you're told, dearest, as best as you can." She said, and she hugged him tight. He couldn't remember when she let go.

She was always there.

Comfort.

Chris shook his head. Now was not memory-lane time. His team were waiting. Summer had spat out her martini after the first sip ("It's horrendous!" She shrieked, and dropped the drink on the floor. "It's strongly alcoholic, miss." The long-suffering waiter patiently replied.)

"So. We will all need tools to carry out the plans my father, a forefront BFA Minister ('So you keep mentioning.' Angel thought annoyedly) has set out for us. "

"And your amazing dad isn't here to tell us himself, hey?" Angel leaned against the wall and looked bored.

"Fair question." Summer concurred.

He hoped this wouldn't come up. "We follow his direct instructions, but he himself is incredibly busy with the election campaign, though I will ask him to brief us all when he is next available."

"Which is...?" Summer this time.

"When he is next available." Chris's smile hadn't changed, and he pushed up his glasses.

"You have all passed your strength and endurance tests my father commissioned, which prove you are physically ready -"

"Even you, Chris?" Summer teased merrily. Chris grinned and played along.

"Even me."

The tools. He hoped they would be useful.

There were curious rumours about the King's Guard. About the strange Astrapy weapons they wielded. In direct challenge to the police, who wielded their characteristic Nyves. 

The rumours about both made him nervous.

Some said they...

Spoke.

Not smartphone-assistant-robotic type of speaking. But of their own will.

'It's just a rumour the King's soldiers are spreading to prevent political uprisings. To fear the King's Guard, and the Sovereign.' Chris thought, chewing his lip with worry as two strong servants brought a hefty large box into the room, and dropped it, with a resounding 'thump', onto the floor.

The wait was over.

Summer and Angel watched the box with a sudden interest, both wide-eyed. Dexter-Suleman was still expressionless, though had leaned a little forward to watch better.

'If that's what I think it is...' Angel thought, reluctantly but completely astounded.

Summer did a double take between Chris and Angel's knowing expressions, even Dexter-Suleman's (which of course told her nothing) .

Something was going on that she didn't understand, and she loathed it. She hadn't grown up in fairly high societies like these boys; she was never taught much about politics or tech in her background. It wasn't her fault she didn't know what was going on. Her face contorted in a confused frown.

Chris leant over, and, opening the box, which looked like a very long treasure chest ('These new tech things and their retro-middle-ages packaging.', Chris nearly grumbled), he removed an item.

Angel let out a gasp. Summer looked confused. Dexter-Suleman was impassive.

"These are ours, lady and gentlemen. One for each of us."

He held up a silvery white, delicately carved silver ball. It was engraved all over with what appeared to be runes, symbols, and silvery-white vines.

"An Nyfe coccoon." Angel let out, awe not completely gone.

Chris handed one to each of them, and they each gingerly accepted. Each was covered in a thin film that had to be peeled off.

Chris removed his film, and held the item in his hand for the first time.

He knew now was the moment the little silver ball would analyse his blood pressure and the oils naturally on his hand's surface, and then customise itself to best suit his physiology.

Immediately a bright light flashed, and the ball turned a dark, midnight blue with pale blue swirls running through it.

Ever since the King's Guard had emerged with Nyves, of course the BFA government's own security forces had secured a deal with the manufacturers for Nyves themselves.

These ones were some of the first to be ordered. He knew if he needed, his Nyfe coccoon could become a deadly weapon. 

Though tailored as a weapon, it operated much like a sophisticated computer, with GPS plus communications, and could project multiple screens like any tech device. An example of its powerful software (Chris had read last night on its e-brochure) was how it could 'imprint' people and communicate with other Nyves, helping hunt down criminals etc. It was an all-in-one comprehensive offence, defence and detection system. It could also mysteriously morph into different items useful to the bearer.

Chris still wasn't too keen on them; they seemed a bit too good to be true, but hopefully once they'd done their business with them they could just give them back.

'Don't mind if I do!' thought Angel, looking at his Nyfe coccoon almost gleefully and peeling off the film with a 'sssst!' sound, and placing his hand tightly on it. 

Chris looked over at the others. Summer's coccoon had turned a mix of dark and light pink interspersed with black while she stared at it with wonder, and Angel's had now turned shades of gold and pale yellow.

Dexter-Suleman hadn't touched his. "I do not need one, Chris." He said quietly. "My own skills are superior enough." Then he sat back in his chair resolutely, and watched them all, mildly interested.

Chris was perplexed, but nodded, resolving to talk to him properly later.

"So everyone, now that our Division, Division 1.0, has been significantly invested in," he narrowed his eyes at the others and grinned his signature grin, "Let's start delivering results."