Editing Shadowwalkers: Cortex Prime by Night - Grey:Background

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=Shades of Grey=

'''1979'''
The boy looked curiously at the man sitting on the park bench. Middle-aged, broad brow, statuesque features, and a dusty complexion. Definitely not a local...and he stood out in his finely-tailored suit and tie. As the child drew closer, curious about why an obviously rich outsider would be sitting on a bench just waiting to be mugged, the man turned to look at him.

"Hello, little one." The man had an obvious accent, but it was unfamiliar to the child. "Can I help you?"

The boy, in the direct way of children, replied, "You're not from around here. Wearing a suit and tie at night is just asking to get mugged."

The man appeared to consider the words for a moment. "Well, it would not be the first time. Shouldn't you be home with your parents?"

"It's just my Mom - Dad doesn't get custody until the weekend. Mom's at work right now, the TV's busted, and I've read everything in the house. So, I go out."

"Ah. Well, I appreciate the warning. Few speak with me, these days - it's as if I am invisible to most eyes."

The boy shrugs. "Yeah, that happens. Around here, if you're not part of a, um...group, you're just a target. I don't fit in, so I stay out of the way. Dad thinks I should live with him - he has money, and thinks I should be in a better neighborhood. Mom's the one who got custody, and thinks Dad is an as...er, bigot, so I just visit him every other weekend."

"I am no stranger to bigotry. Many are discriminated against, and many choose to discriminate against others in turn. It does get better...but it is a long, slow journey with many setbacks."

The boy glances at his watch. "Damn, I gotta go. Well, good luck, mister."

The man smiles. "Call me...Imon. And what is your name, should our paths cross again?"

"Eye-mon, okay. Um, I'm not supposed to give out my name to strangers. Everyone calls me Grey, though, so that's not a secret."

"Grey. Good to meet you, Grey."

The boy headed back to his apartment in the run-down section of town, while Imon watched him go. A quiet incantation in a language not spoken in centuries passed his lips, and then he stood and walked away.

'''1986'''
The teenager glances over at the man in jeans and a polo shirt...and a briefcase. He looked familiar, but Grey couldn't remember from where. The man appeared to be a bit out of his depth, looking around the mall at the neon signs and varied storefronts.

Grey approached the man. "Hey, um...you need help?"

The man turned, and smiled as he saw Grey. "Yes, actually. I was told I needed a...pager, but I am not skilled with such things. Can you help me?"

"Sure. My dad uses a pager for work. There's a Radio Shack right over here - my Dad tried to get me a Trash-80 from there, but I held out for the Commodore."

"Radio...Shack. Well, if that is where the pager is, that is where I shall go."

"I'll come along. You look like you might need some help choosing a good one, and they're going to rip you off if you don't know what you're talking about."

The man smiled at Grey. "Thank you, Grey. You may not remember, but we met some time ago. I am Imon."

"Um...okay. Yeah, I think I remember you. Took my advice about not wearing a suit on the South side after dark?"

"Yes. This is more comfortable...though I still require suits on occasion."

"Well, let's go, and get you your pager."

Sometime later, the two sat in the food court, an open box between them as Grey showed Imon how to use the pager. It took a while, as Imon was what Grey's dad would call a "Luddite". Finally, Imon clipped the pager to his side. "You have done me a great service."

Grey shrugged. "Hey, you paid for lunch. We're good."

Imon reached into his briefcase, and pulled out a rolled sheet of yellowed paper. "This is for you. It is a...tradition, when one does a great service for me. Should you have need, write what you require on this sheet, crumple it up, and toss it away - in the garbage, or on the street. Legend says that if the need is true, the message will eventually find me."

Grey glanced at the paper. "Like a spell scroll - cool." Imon's eyes widened slightly. "Where did you hear of such things?"

Grey looked at Imon. "It's a...um, game. Er, story. Sorry, there's this whole Satanic Panic thing going on, and people get weird when I talk about that stuff."

Imon nods. "Well, people will panic over things they don't understand. Fare well, Grey."

1995
Grey sat in the college library, staring at a book, when he heard footsteps approach. Imon took a seat next to him. "You appear to have a need, Grey."

Grey recalled that he had wrote about his Dad's accident a few weeks ago, crumpling up the paper and tossing it out the window onto the street. He had questions...but the emotional trauma had left him numb. "My dad drove off the road after a night of 'social drinking'. He died last week. My stepmom and I never got along, and she took everything he had. The rest of the semester is paid for, but my Mom can't afford to help - she's barely making ends meet with my half-brother. I have no job, and I won't be able to finish my degree. So...I took your advice, and used the paper. Wasn't expecting you to show up."

"I keep my promises. Know that you have helped me in the past, and so I shall help you. However, I will not be able to give you another...scroll. I vowed long enough that I would only do so once per person, to avoid entanglements. I have a woman who handles my financial arrangements, who will ensure you can finish your schooling. Knowledge is a worthy pursuit...learn while you are young, for it gets harder the older you are."

Grey was speechless for a moment. "R...really? Um...who ARE you?"

"I am Imon. Let's not complicate things, since you won't be able to contact me in the future. Live well, Grey."

'''1997'''
Imon stalked towards Grey, who was adjusting his hat and gown for the ceremony. Without preamble, he looked into Grey's eyes and said, '''"HOW?"'''

Grey smiled at Imon. "I worked in the computer lab a few years ago. Scanned the scroll and kept a digital copy." As Imon tried to process this information, Grey added, "It took a lot of experimentation, and it's hard to find authentic papyrus. That didn't work either, until I realized the discoloration on the corner was blood. I pricked my finger, put a drop of blood on the papyrus...and the runes lit up. If you have some more papyrus, I can print you a hundred copies or so."

"A hundred...it takes hours to prepare each scroll for use."

"Welcome to technology. I think I understand now what you meant about learning while you are young. Maybe we can work out a trade? I help you modernize some of your techniques, and you teach me a few things. Like how you look younger than you did the first time we met."

"I...will consider your proposal. You have upended things I believed to be true, and that is a rare feat."

"Good. Well, here's your ticket - you paid for my education, so you should get to watch me graduate."

'''2016'''
Grey looked at Imon. "Okay, I get the theory, and I'm willing to take the risk - most people would, for what it offers. But you're saying you haven't done this in thousands of years. Are you sure it will work?"

"No. However, you aren't getting any younger. I have already spent too long in this place, and I wish to return to my homeland. It is good to have someone to talk to, and I would like you to be around when I return in a few decades."

"So, do you, um...have a brain? It gets pulled out, right?"

"The body is a shell. You will regenerate any damage to that shell, returning even from death. I have recovered from having my body cut into pieces and scattered...though that was an ordeal, and took significant time for me to return. Decades. I may have gone insane for a while, though fortunately I was only partially aware. So long as the soul remains strong, the body will recover."

Grey cringed at the thought. "So, if this works the way it worked for you, I'll be...immortal. Sounds like a good thing, but fiction has a bunch of cautionary tales about the downsides."

"Everything has downsides, but I prefer to be alive. I am not so strong in my faith that I would be comfortable moving on to what lies beyond. Life can be many things...but it is always interesting. The hardest part is deciding what to keep - you cannot remember everything that occurs over thousands of years. I regularly have to purge memories to avoid a decline. I have left writings of what was purged...though not all have survived through the ages."

"I can put the writings on your tablet. It can store more information than you will ever be able to write, and there are ways to easily move those writings to new devices so they will never degrade. I think I explained to you about 'the cloud' - I'll make the backup automatic so you don't have to worry about the specifics."
"Interesting. I will make the arrangements to bring my writings to you for duplication...assuming you survive, of course."

'''2020'''
''I'm used to being able to call, or text, or email...but those aren't secure forms of communication, and there are people in power who want to find people like us. I suppose someone could magicially 'hack' (sorry, 'decrypt') the scroll...but while slow, it's specifically designed to escape notice. You said you could determine how the paper travels to you after you receive it - let me know how this gets there. I picture a piece of wadded paper being pushed by the wind down a street, flying into a cab, sticking on someone's shoe as they get on a plane to Egypt...I think you get the idea.

Things are going well...for now. I haven't died (since you killed me, that is), so we still don't know how well this will work. However, cuts and bruises heal supernaturally fast, and I'm no longer a 98 pound weakling (that's a figure of speech). I have to wonder what things will be like in a hundred years, when everyone I grew up with is dead and I'm using phrases no one understands. I've kept up with technology so far, but even now I'm starting to fall behind. There's something called 'Tik Tok' that...nevermind. I barely understand it, and you certainly won't. It's harder and harder to keep things secret in a world where few things are truly private anymore. Next time we meet, we should see about trying to manipulate digital documents with one of your rituals. Changing the writing on a physical document is useful, but doesn't help if everyone is checking computerized records.

I've moved again - I now live in New Trinadad, near the Canadian border.  The city's magical environment is friendly to the rituals I've been working on, and I've established a business creating new identities for members of the supernatural community.  That plus some day trading has been sufficient to pay for everything - it can be expensive to create a ritual circle out of pure silver.

Anyway, I have to go. I think a vampire is stalking me, and she doesn't need to taste what's in my veins. I'll redirect her to the drug pusher on 114th - she may be out of it for a while, but it will give her what she needs to survive another night. In the end, that's what most people want.

Your friend,

Grey''

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