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Shiloh was normally a pretty trusting person. He listened to his leaders, and did as he was told. He was also normally very curious, which he was normally able to keep in check. Unfortunately, however, when the matter of dead bodies cropping up arose, he was neither able to trust the answers he was given nor keep his curiosity at bay.

What he had pieced together so far, thanks to some filling in from Twitter and Pandora, was that there had been a body in a wall and that the whole stuffing a body in a wall had something to do with someone or something called ‘O’. Admittedly, Pandora had been more helpful than Twitter; the messaging system was prone to having the subject changed towards certain womanly endowments, or fictional galactic conquests by a particular character named Mark. He was sure if he had met the man under different circumstances, things might have been different, but as it were, measurements of cleavage weren’t the droids answers Shiloh had been looking for.

Mark’s evasion, and the general apathetic attitude from everyone else about the dead, had put Shiloh on alert and on some level, pissed him off. The dead deserved respect, not ignorance and space jokes. William had said not to be nosy, but doing so was like dangling a treat in front of his nose, and telling him he couldn’t have it. Shiloh wasn't about to abandon his morals just because someone told him to and he was sure that if he was quiet about finding his answers, and no one noticed, he wouldn’t end up in a wall.

At least, he hoped he wasn’t destined for insulation.

He’d decided to tail Mark, figuring that if the Assistant wouldn’t give him the answers, maybe he’d inadvertently lead him to them. He felt a little guilty at the fact that he was even beginning to doubt a superior, but as long as Mark never found out, it would be no harm, no foul. Besides, he was totally doing this in the best interests of his fellow hunters, or so he kept telling himself as he followed Mark outside, careful to keep a safe distance.

Shiloh had no idea of Mark’s daily itinerary, assuming that as a division assistant that he probably had a lot of important duties and responsibilities to fulfill. He realized he didn’t actually know much about the man, but Shiloh assumed that if Mark had managed to work his way that far up in the ranks, he must have some redeeming qualities.

As it turns out, Shiloh didn’t actually know much about the way Deus worked either.

Following Mark proved easier than Shiloh had anticipated, it was mid-afternoon and the assistant seemed too groggy to take much notice of anything, probably from hours spent poring over paperwork, Shiloh assumed. Unfortunately, he also didn’t really do much of anything, not until night had fallen and Shiloh was beginning to yawn.

Venturing outside in the island at night was definitely not ideal for surveillance, or survival, but as he carefully followed Mark onto the training fields, he was glad for the cover of darkness, making it much easier for him to duck behind one of the training dummies, and watch Mark… Head back into the main building. Shiloh echoed his curse, and doubled back after him. Retracing Mark’s footsteps, he tripped over the same thing Mark had, but Shiloh, lacking superb Jedi reflexes, fell instead of continuing on, landing next to whatever it was with a thump.

The building doors opened again before Shiloh could get to his feet, and he rolled away silently, pressing himself as low down to the grass as he could, and praying the beam of Mark’s flashlight-helmet wouldn’t shine his way.

Mark it seemed, was occupied with much more important things, like the precariously stacked items in his arms, and Shiloh strained to see what the man was carrying. It was difficult in the dark, however, and Mark was already heading through the gates, towards the beach. Quietly, Shiloh got to his feet, giving whatever he'd tripped over a quick glance before sneaking after Mark, the Assistant easy to locate by the bobbing of his headlight.

Optional Theme Music

The game of cat and mouse continued, Shiloh following Mark as he travelled along the beach until they made it to the lighthouse. In reality, it was more a mouse tailing a cat, as Shiloh was sure he was totally dead if Mark happened to turn around and spot him. Luckily, he didn’t, having disappeared from view and into, Shiloh assumed, the lighthouse. There was a strange blue light emanating from its doorway, but Shiloh wasn’t brave, or idiotic enough to try peeking inside, moving anywhere near the entrance would be game over for sure. It did pique his curiosity, however, as he was fairly certain portals were supposed to be down, and the noises coming from the building were even stranger still.

But voices floated over to him, amidst the churn of machinery, and Shiloh strained to pick up what they were saying from his hiding place. Two voices it seemed like, but he couldn’t be sure. He needed to get closer, and there had to be a way of doing it without being seen.



Taking a chance that whoever inside the lighthouse was busy conversing, and hoping that if he did get caught, they’d take pity on him because he was new, stupid and cute, he darted quickly from the bush he was hiding behind, trying his best to sneak closer to the lighthouse walls while staying off of the main path.

Shiloh couldn’t believe how close he’d been able to sneak; the voices inside the lighthouse clear as a bell. Emboldened by his success, he peeked around the edge of the door frame, eager to get a look inside. He couldn’t help it: he was so close, and they were obviously busy talking, he had to take the chance.

The sight that stood before him confirmed that there was, indeed, a working portal at the lighthouse. Shiloh covered his mouth to contain his excitement. He’d discovered something big! There was even a blood spatter on the wall… Super authentic. He felt like a Hardy Boy or maybe even, if he dared to be so forward, Sherlock Holmes.

His grin lasted about five seconds, however, until he realized just whom exactly he was observing. There were three of them, instead of merely two, and one of the three was the infamous Death lead. Shiloh had never met him, but he had heard stories, stories enough to make him pale. If the lead was here, whatever they were doing had to be important. Torn between a mix of terror and undeniable curiosity, Shiloh leaned as far as he dared, hanging off of their every word.

The girl, the other Death assistant, looked nervous, and Shiloh wondered where she could possibly be going. Who was she going to see? It had to be someone crucial, for them to waste time and energy on opening a portal.

Shiloh grinned again at Mark’s protests; the man sure talked big on twitter for someone afraid of action. No wonder he kept to forums.

There was a pause, and Shiloh fully expected Caelius to reprimand Mark, and tell him he had to go. After all, Caelius was there, he could deactivate the portal. Unfortunately, what Shiloh absolutely had not expected, were the next five words out of the Death lead’s mouth.

He stood there, blinking stupidly as the three of them turned to stare at him.

“Uhhh…”

“Sorry, sorry! I was, uh, you know, the beach, and uh, it’s the darnedest thing, I got lost and well, I really didn’t mean to intrude – Wait, did you say you needed help?”

Maybe if he was good, the glare Caelius was giving him wouldn’t turn him to dust.

The only answer Shiloh got to his question was the curling of fingers into the fabric of his coat, and then those fingers were pitching him forward without so much as a second thought.

It was an excellent way to begin his first trip through the portals.

---

Shiloh landed on the other side, sprawling out onto the sidewalk, sliding against the slick cement until he was very nearly underneath the bench that constituted a bus stop. He was alive at least, he figured, even though his head was pounding and the rain was quickly soaking through his clothes. Moments later, the other assistant arrived, though Shiloh couldn’t recall her name.

She had arrived on her feet, and immediately began her search.

“You mean like this one here?” he asked, staring up at the bottom of the bench, and the engraved sigil staring back at him from between wads of gum.

Shiloh was thankful for the voice; the voice saved him from having to touch disgusting, wet bits of gum that had definitely already been chewed.

The voice had also brought them refuge from the rain, and at Sam’s not so gentle urging, pulled himself from beneath the bench, brushing off as much water as he could, mimicking her ponytail wringing before accompanying her into the limousine. The limousine was big and spacious, and he tried to tap his boots of best he could, though their host didn't seem to mind. Sam’s look didn’t go unnoticed by Shiloh, however, and as he preferred his rubber duckies on his feet, he hurried into the vehicle, having no intention other than being on his best behavior.

It wasn’t as if there were much for him to mess up anyway, the conversation kept mostly between Sam and the hooded stranger. He had a feeling interrupting would net him another Glare of Death™ so he accepted a mint with a soft, “Thank-you,” before popping it into his mouth and falling silent.

He sucked on it thoughtfully, trying to deduce anything that made sense from their conversation. Cameras? Invitations? How did that fit in with dead bodies and circles? The stranger strangely still had his hood over his face and Shiloh stared at him, vaguely wondering if Mark had somehow managed to get into contact with Darth Vader in a raincoat. Either way, Shiloh was as lost as he would be watching Star Wars, and he didn’t understand exactly what Sam meant by interested but she kicked him, and he bit back a grunt, and his protest, nodding along with her words instead with a pained sort of smile.

“S-story?”

The car stopped, and the story began.

The hooded stranger immediately dove into the heart of things, sparing no sympathy for Deus, and calling it a cult, a group of fanatics. Shiloh stared, trying to process the new information, and the opinion that Deus was anything but great. It was true, Deus had promised him a way out when he had no where to turn, had promised him a way to get back at the shadows that went bump in the night, in a world where no one had previously believed him. His sister had recently passed, the only bright spot in a family where abuse was centered on him, and his inability to measure up. He went, because he had nothing to leave behind except insults and bruises, and he had done his best to behave in his new home, to follow the rules and fall in line and to do it all with a smile, as he always did.

Where had it landed him?

It had landed him right into the belly of the beast. Amid zombie attacks and lost memories, he’d been literally eaten by one of the titans, only saved by the creature’s indigestion rather than any human intervention. His fellow trainees seemed to have that sense of camaraderie, even though it had gotten a few of them eaten, but the a lot older hunters seemed only to care for their personal safety, for keeping the island in tact. In battle, he understood that feelings were foolish, and better left behind, but he had to wonder if he hadn’t made it, if any of them hadn’t made it, would there be any remorse? Or were they just disposable, easily replaced when a new batch of humans arrived, their fates already sealed. How could Deus possibly hope to function as a well-oiled machine, when instead of taking precautions to keep all parts in place, it simply let them fall where they may, and hoped for the best? How could they be expected to work together, if the people who they were working with didn’t care if they wound up dead? The attitudes on Deus were jaded, and cynical, and as the island deteriorated further and further the longer his stay continued, Shiloh wasn’t at all surprised. Everywhere he looked there was disorganization, and apathy, and Shiloh quickly found that his smile and can-do attitude wasn’t nearly enough to change anything. In fact, it only seemed to get him into trouble.

The figure held out his phone, and Shiloh looked over, immediately gagging. Perhaps it spoke of his naivety, his precious innocence, but he had never seen something so awful in his entire life. He wanted to look away but the figure kept going, picture after picture of mutilated bodies, and the bile rose in Shiloh’s throat. He clapped a hand over his mouth, shaking his head. The figure was suggesting that Deus was responsible for these bodies, for bodies that Shiloh knew at once were human. He hated the shadows, he hated fear, he hated Halloween, and he had no sympathy for those who sought to hurt humankind. Animals were different, they didn’t know better. Monsters, on the other hand, were sentient, and their actions inexcusable. Just like the actions of whoever had done this, to these people, if it had been Deus or otherwise, it was unforgiveable. The stranger’s questions poked the little cogs of his mind into action, and he wondered if what he hinted at could even be possible. Had Deus turned to hunting humans, instead of monsters, for power?

It was a long pause before Shiloh spoke. He glanced briefly at the Death assistant, but she held no answers, offered him no assistance. When he finally pulled together his thoughts, he had no idea whether if he was in line with her agenda anymore or not. The seeds of doubt had been sown, and at this point, Shiloh wasn’t sure he particularly cared. They were the ones who had thrown him headfirst and unknowing into this charade, what else could they expect? He didn't know how to play their game.

“I have noticed a certain lack of respect for the deceased, or for human life in general, from a place I thought would hold it at the utmost value. After all, isn’t that what hunters are for, protecting humanity? And humanity means every life counts, whether its civilian or soldier. Just because a body is found in a wall, is evidence, it doesn’t mean that that body wasn’t a person once. There was another one too, a hunter on the beach after we all returned from that other world, who was hurt. I heard his screams from quarantine, but he never came back.”

He gave Sam a hard, searching look. Pandora had only given him brief details on the Death division meeting, but Shiloh had quickly surmised that no one cared that there was someone dead in the walls, Sam included. On twitter he had been told he was nosy, and mocked for having morals, and on the Island, there was simply no mention of it, not even whispers that hinted at anyone showing any semblance of giving a s**t. No one had ever mentioned the hunter on the beach either, no one had mentioned the screaming or showed any sort of concern. Questions that probed too deep were always shrugged off, and given no answer. He understood protocol, but he couldn't understand the indifference.

“What would you have me do, sir? I mean no disrespect, but I intend answer you honestly. This ‘knowledge’ raises some… Important questions, but you ask me what I plan to do, when you are throwing me right back into this supposed snake pit? I don’t have a hope in hell of knowing what to do. If what you say is true, if… If those pictures are true, then they have to be stopped. Whoever is responsible has to be stopped, it’s not right. We can’t let more innocent people suffer, if we have the knowledge and power to stop it."

The sigh of the disfigured bodies still fresh in his mind, Shiloh swallowed, looking queasy.

“But I can’t help if I end up silenced behind the drywall, and you’ve only given me more questions, and not a whole lot of answers.”

His head was swimming. Shiloh was used to not thinking at all, he was used to being told what to do. Now he had a chance to make his own decisions, and all he could think about was the foul taste in his mouth.

“By the way, do you think I could I trouble you for another mint?”

Shiloh picked out another mint with another thank-you, placing it into his mouth in hopes of settling his nerves, and his stomach. He wasn’t quite following what the figure was saying. If he was dead, he would be powerless, if they locked him away, he was powerless. Action was one thing, but he didn’t think the power of knowledge was going to help him triumph over any enemies, his or otherwise.

The figure shifted, and Shiloh couldn’t help but try and discern any features he could from beneath the hood without rudely staring. Luckily, there was plenty of distraction as the figure produced a box marked neatly with a wide O in charcoal. Assuredly, it was okay to stare at it, and he focused on it, curiously studying it’s details, only half listening as the figure slid back the box’s opening to the tune of smooth jazz, revealing a large medallion inside.

He looked up when the figured spoke again, the word smite catching particularly in his ear. Any pretense of not staring was abandoned, Shiloh’s mouth hanging open so wide that the mint nearly tumbled out of it. Surely they didn’t mean what he thought they meant, did they? With a sinking feeling, he finally understood what the figure had meant by power, and by knowledge. It was knowing that gave him the ability to strike first, to set things in motion, to triumph over their enemies. This understanding put Shiloh at a total loss. He was all for revolution, and for truth and justice, but not at the expense of extinguishing the very lives he was trying to save. It would make him no better than the cold and heartless surroundings he had already found himself in. There was no need to resort to such underhanded tactics, that wasn't justice. Justice was fair and if someone deserved their end, to end the suffering of others, he supposed that was different, but he would never harm an innocent human being. He shot a quick glance at Sam, he didn’t know how to answer the figure and he was floundering, knowing that the minute he opened his mouth, only protests would find their way out.

But the figure hadn’t posed to him a question, merely delegated a task. They didn’t wait for an answer, merely handed him the box and opened the door, they didn't offer him any other option. Shiloh held the box gingerly in his hands, and made no move to move, shaking his head as he gathered his wits back.

“I can’t… No, I won’t…” He began quietly, his voice hardly audible, and it was difficult to make out what he was saying over the car's music.

It would probably be in everyone’s best interests to drag him from the car quickly.