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Description
The Titan
Chapter Six: Seeds of Doubt

"Return to me!" the Professor shouted.
The seventh and final titan was sucked back into its amulet inside DeFoe and DeFoe fell flat onto the floor, greedily gasping for air. He had transformed into all of the titans now and felt like he had run a marathon without water or performed a spell that used every last bit of energy clinging to him. He lay on the floor, coughing, his whole body warm and numb.
"Go ahead and put him in his cell." The Professor said. "He won't be of any more use to me tonight."
Rassimov called the guards in and they approached DeFoe quickly. They lifted his limp form off the floor and tied a gag around his mouth as they dragged him to the door.
"Tell Dr. Reese that I want him back here first thing in the morning," the Professor instructed.
"It shall be done," Rassimov replied, following them out.
The suits were practically carrying DeFoe, since his legs were too overworked to walk the stairs by themselves. They were going down into the basement again, but then turned down a different hallway, towards the part used as a dungeon where they kept people for special purposes, though DeFoe could not imagine what type of people the Professor would need to keep. Information could be retrieved with his mind reading spell and everyone else would be disposed off.
Maybe they are people like me. He thought. As they passed each door, however, he noticed that it wasn't really a dungeon; it was more like barracks, probably for the newest suits.
They stopped at the door at the end of the hall and opened it. Inside were a sagging bed and a writing desk with a few books. Other than that, the small dimly lit room wasn't furbished. The suits pushed him inside and removed the gag.
"Don't bother trying to escape," Rassimov said. "These walls are protected by magic. The only way out is the door, and you'll never get through the guards." With that farewell, the door was shut and DeFoe was left to his thoughts.
He shuffled about the room for a moment before absently sitting on the edge of his bed, full of conflicting emotions and unsure how to organize them into thoughts. Had he been demoted or promoted? In the silence of his room, he heard the new recruits in the neighboring rooms, talking and occasionally laughing.
"So immature," he said. Being the head, he did not see the new recruits very often; lesser officers took care of their training and then gave the best ones to him for missions. Grier had been an exception; he had so much obvious potential that he had been placed right at DeFoe's elbow since he first joined the organization – until he betrayed him and stole his position.
"Mark my words, Grier," DeFoe growled, "Dante Vale will fall and then I'll have my revenge on you. In fact, I already have. My position is even higher than the one you stole and again I am your superior. But this time you can't remove me."
He had just barely finished speaking when the doorknob turned and the door opened to Dr. Reese and Austin. The surgeon seemed pleasant enough, but Austin scowled and his body was rigid.
What bit him? DeFoe wondered humorously.
"How did your meeting with the Professor go?" asked Dr. Reese.
DeFoe pushed his misgivings aside as he pushed up from the bed. "Perfectly," he replied. "All seven amulets work."
Dr. Reese seemed surprised by his answer. "You certainly seem optimistic," he noted.
"Why shouldn't I be?" DeFoe asked as Dr. Reese approached him.
"Well, last time we were together, you were determined to escape and said-" Dr. Reese glanced out of the corner of his eye at Austin, standing sternly over by the door. "Uh… some… very depressing things." He concluded.
DeFoe waved him away and faced the wall, gripping his arms behind his back. "I was not thinking of the advantages," he said. "After all, who would not relish such an opportunity?"
"I can name a few," Dr. Reese said under his breath.
"Only a fool would say such things."
"You'd better hope I'm no fool, since I'm the one who performed such an irregular and tender operation on you." He replied. "Ever Fight should take care of your healing from now on, as far as rejuvenation, but I ought to Deep Heal that final gash in your back. Come lie down."
DeFoe obeyed and the surgeon lay one hand on DeFoe's chest, the other on his stomach and spoke "Deep Heal." The last remaining pain in DeFoe's back disappeared in a flush of comforting heat. He sat up once it was over.
"Remove your shirt and coat, please," Dr. Reese directed.
DeFoe shed his coat and pulled is shirt off and lay it folded on the bed. Dr. Reese opened the black leather bag he had brought with him and removed an armband and pump. He strapped it around DeFoe's bicep and watched the pressure gauge as he pumped it up.
"Blood pressure's good…" he said, almost to himself as he let it deflate. Dr. Reese loosened the edge of the bandage and began to unwrap DeFoe's torso.
"You shouldn't be bleeding anymore," he said as he pulled it away. "Austin, would you take this dirty bandage off of our hands?"
"Yes, sir," Austin replied gruffly and took the bandage. He left the room to throw it away in the proper place.
Dr. Reese sighed as he inspected the wound in DeFoe's back. "Every time I see Austin, he's more hostile. I think something is troubling him."
"Your guess is as good as mine," DeFoe replied as Dr. Reese handed him his cotton half-sleeve shirt. DeFoe pulled it on and when he had, the surgeon pressed his fingers to DeFoe's wrist and looked at his watch.
What was the matter with this doctor? He had been all for the Professor's new project yesterday, but now he almost sounded like he was trying to persuade DeFoe to be discontent. And that suit was only stranger; though he hardly spoke except for the occasion and harsh "Yes, sir," Dr. Reese was right in noting how angry Austin seemed to be becoming. Maybe they were both crazy; any surgeon willing to perform such a dark experiment must be, though DeFoe felt that if he had been the surgeon and Reese the victim, he would have done the same. Who knew what was wrong with Austin, and who cared? If the boy truly were out of his mind, the Professor would eventually wipe it or dispose of him. Only one thing was certain: neither the suit nor surgeon had qualms carrying out their duties; DeFoe was determined not to either.
"DeFoe," Dr. Reese said in a hushed tone as he concentrated on his wristwatch. "Suppose you needed to get out. …Not wanted to, but say it was a lethal matter."
"Anyone willing to try must be a fool," DeFoe answered. "The Organization owns its servants."
"So, you would be willing to die if the Professor assigned you to do so?"
DeFoe hesitated, and then scowled at the surgeon. "You're trying to get me to say something against the Professor, aren't you? You're trying to get me to condemn myself; it will never happen."
"I wasn't; I was simply making conversation," Dr. Reese muttered.
"Dangerous conversation."
Dr. Reese chuckled quietly. "Look how the tables have turned, DeFoe. Yesterday, you were the one spouting treasonous talk."
"I was not in my right mind," DeFoe protested. "I've reacted terribly to anesthetic since I was a boy."
"Or perhaps it simply caused you to say what you really thought instead of nonsense," Dr. Reese muttered under his breath.
Suddenly, Austin, as sour as ever, entered the room.
"I'll be back in an hour with dinner," Dr. Reese said as he wrapped up the blood pressure reader and put it into his bag. "I'd ask what you'd like to eat, but I think the Organization will feed you what they feed you regardless."
"See you then," DeFoe said as he pushed his coat off the bed and stretched out upon it. Dr. Reese and Austin walked to the door, but before they had reached it, the surgeon looked over his shoulder at the tired figure of DeFoe lying still on the bed.
"One more thing, DeFoe."
DeFoe picked up his head to look at Dr. Reese, expecting to hear about some exercise he was to do every night to keep the amulets in shape or something.
"A friend is a good thing." Dr. Reese opened the door and left, Austin following him out and closing the door.
DeFoe let his head fall back onto the pillow and he rubbed his eyes under his glasses with one hand still trembling slightly from exhaustion. What was that supposed to mean?
"Sir," he heard Austin say outside. "What is his purpose?"
"Defense probably," he heard Dr. Reese answer. Either Austin left it at that or they had walked out of the range of DeFoe's hearing.
"Ever Fight," DeFoe whispered with authority. His body glowed orange and the exhaustion left him.

```

The dinner brought for DeFoe wasn't the best, but it wasn't spoiled. DeFoe didn't feel like eating anyway. Once his body had calmed down and he was able to listen to it he noticed pressure inside himself that he could only attribute to the powerful presence of the amulets inside him. It wasn't a pressure like that of a balloon in danger of explosion, but more like the strain of standing on one's hands for a length of time, or traveling at a swift pace in a low gear. As uncomfortable as it was, DeFoe was thankful they were reasonably tame. Some of the more powerful titans were destructive even in their amulets. The Professor must have taken that into account when choosing the seven.
Dr. Reese and Austin hadn't stayed very long, DeFoe recollected as he lay in the dark on his bed staring at the ceiling. Austin's malice had shifted a little, a tinge of sadness brushing the edges of his expressions.
"What does it feel like?" he had asked DeFoe. It was then that he discovered the pressure. Thanks a lot, Austin.
DeFoe didn't know how he would be able to get to sleep. Tomorrow, he would see the Professor again, and he wondered what he would be required to do. The idea of the Professor being able to dictate when he morphed and what he did once changed disturbed him. But what was there to be done about it?
"Suppose you needed to get out. ...Say it were a lethal matter." Dr. Reese had said.
DeFoe was losing his nerve; the mask of confidence he had carefully glued into place was cracking and falling away, piece by piece, bearing his fears to the air.
"So, you would be willing to die if the Professor assigned you to do so?" Would it eventually come to that?
No, DeFoe thought. I would not die for him; I would escape first. By the time he realized he was going to die, however, it would be too late, wouldn't it? The Professor was no simpleton; he would handle it tactfully. However, it would have to be a dire situation for DeFoe to be done in since he was so valuable to the Professor now. He would wipe his mind before he killed him.
But I will not let that happen either, DeFoe promised himself.
"A friend is a good thing." What had Dr. Reese meant by that? DeFoe knew what it meant, but why did he say it?
DeFoe sighed heavily. All these thoughts would never let him get to sleep and it sounded like he had a tough day starting early the next morning.
"I don't make friends of my colleagues." He heard himself say.
"You don't have friends at all, DeFoe." Dante had replied.
It had always been a good thing, when he hadn't needed any. Though, what was the advantage of being alone when he was in a dark, guarded cell in the bowels of Prague awaiting a future out of his hands? He couldn't muster an answer and stared blankly at the ceiling as memories battled in his mind through most of the night.

Description
The Titan
Chapter Six: Seeds of Doubt

"Return to me!" the Professor shouted.
The seventh and final titan was sucked back into its amulet inside DeFoe and DeFoe fell flat onto the floor, greedily gasping for air. He had transformed into all of the titans now and felt like he had run a marathon without water or performed a spell that used every last bit of energy clinging to him. He lay on the floor, coughing, his whole body warm and numb.
"Go ahead and put him in his cell." The Professor said. "He won't be of any more use to me tonight."
Rassimov called the guards in and they approached DeFoe quickly. They lifted his limp form off the floor and tied a gag around his mouth as they dragged him to the door.
"Tell Dr. Reese that I want him back here first thing in the morning," the Professor instructed.
"It shall be done," Rassimov replied, following them out.
The suits were practically carrying DeFoe, since his legs were too overworked to walk the stairs by themselves. They were going down into the basement again, but then turned down a different hallway, towards the part used as a dungeon where they kept people for special purposes, though DeFoe could not imagine what type of people the Professor would need to keep. Information could be retrieved with his mind reading spell and everyone else would be disposed off.
Maybe they are people like me. He thought. As they passed each door, however, he noticed that it wasn't really a dungeon; it was more like barracks, probably for the newest suits.
They stopped at the door at the end of the hall and opened it. Inside were a sagging bed and a writing desk with a few books. Other than that, the small dimly lit room wasn't furbished. The suits pushed him inside and removed the gag.
"Don't bother trying to escape," Rassimov said. "These walls are protected by magic. The only way out is the door, and you'll never get through the guards." With that farewell, the door was shut and DeFoe was left to his thoughts.
He shuffled about the room for a moment before absently sitting on the edge of his bed, full of conflicting emotions and unsure how to organize them into thoughts. Had he been demoted or promoted? In the silence of his room, he heard the new recruits in the neighboring rooms, talking and occasionally laughing.
"So immature," he said. Being the head, he did not see the new recruits very often; lesser officers took care of their training and then gave the best ones to him for missions. Grier had been an exception; he had so much obvious potential that he had been placed right at DeFoe's elbow since he first joined the organization – until he betrayed him and stole his position.
"Mark my words, Grier," DeFoe growled, "Dante Vale will fall and then I'll have my revenge on you. In fact, I already have. My position is even higher than the one you stole and again I am your superior. But this time you can't remove me."
He had just barely finished speaking when the doorknob turned and the door opened to Dr. Reese and Austin. The surgeon seemed pleasant enough, but Austin scowled and his body was rigid.
What bit him? DeFoe wondered humorously.
"How did your meeting with the Professor go?" asked Dr. Reese.
DeFoe pushed his misgivings aside as he pushed up from the bed. "Perfectly," he replied. "All seven amulets work."
Dr. Reese seemed surprised by his answer. "You certainly seem optimistic," he noted.
"Why shouldn't I be?" DeFoe asked as Dr. Reese approached him.
"Well, last time we were together, you were determined to escape and said-" Dr. Reese glanced out of the corner of his eye at Austin, standing sternly over by the door. "Uh… some… very depressing things." He concluded.
DeFoe waved him away and faced the wall, gripping his arms behind his back. "I was not thinking of the advantages," he said. "After all, who would not relish such an opportunity?"
"I can name a few," Dr. Reese said under his breath.
"Only a fool would say such things."
"You'd better hope I'm no fool, since I'm the one who performed such an irregular and tender operation on you." He replied. "Ever Fight should take care of your healing from now on, as far as rejuvenation, but I ought to Deep Heal that final gash in your back. Come lie down."
DeFoe obeyed and the surgeon lay one hand on DeFoe's chest, the other on his stomach and spoke "Deep Heal." The last remaining pain in DeFoe's back disappeared in a flush of comforting heat. He sat up once it was over.
"Remove your shirt and coat, please," Dr. Reese directed.
DeFoe shed his coat and pulled is shirt off and lay it folded on the bed. Dr. Reese opened the black leather bag he had brought with him and removed an armband and pump. He strapped it around DeFoe's bicep and watched the pressure gauge as he pumped it up.
"Blood pressure's good…" he said, almost to himself as he let it deflate. Dr. Reese loosened the edge of the bandage and began to unwrap DeFoe's torso.
"You shouldn't be bleeding anymore," he said as he pulled it away. "Austin, would you take this dirty bandage off of our hands?"
"Yes, sir," Austin replied gruffly and took the bandage. He left the room to throw it away in the proper place.
Dr. Reese sighed as he inspected the wound in DeFoe's back. "Every time I see Austin, he's more hostile. I think something is troubling him."
"Your guess is as good as mine," DeFoe replied as Dr. Reese handed him his cotton half-sleeve shirt. DeFoe pulled it on and when he had, the surgeon pressed his fingers to DeFoe's wrist and looked at his watch.
What was the matter with this doctor? He had been all for the Professor's new project yesterday, but now he almost sounded like he was trying to persuade DeFoe to be discontent. And that suit was only stranger; though he hardly spoke except for the occasion and harsh "Yes, sir," Dr. Reese was right in noting how angry Austin seemed to be becoming. Maybe they were both crazy; any surgeon willing to perform such a dark experiment must be, though DeFoe felt that if he had been the surgeon and Reese the victim, he would have done the same. Who knew what was wrong with Austin, and who cared? If the boy truly were out of his mind, the Professor would eventually wipe it or dispose of him. Only one thing was certain: neither the suit nor surgeon had qualms carrying out their duties; DeFoe was determined not to either.
"DeFoe," Dr. Reese said in a hushed tone as he concentrated on his wristwatch. "Suppose you needed to get out. …Not wanted to, but say it was a lethal matter."
"Anyone willing to try must be a fool," DeFoe answered. "The Organization owns its servants."
"So, you would be willing to die if the Professor assigned you to do so?"
DeFoe hesitated, and then scowled at the surgeon. "You're trying to get me to say something against the Professor, aren't you? You're trying to get me to condemn myself; it will never happen."
"I wasn't; I was simply making conversation," Dr. Reese muttered.
"Dangerous conversation."
Dr. Reese chuckled quietly. "Look how the tables have turned, DeFoe. Yesterday, you were the one spouting treasonous talk."
"I was not in my right mind," DeFoe protested. "I've reacted terribly to anesthetic since I was a boy."
"Or perhaps it simply caused you to say what you really thought instead of nonsense," Dr. Reese muttered under his breath.
Suddenly, Austin, as sour as ever, entered the room.
"I'll be back in an hour with dinner," Dr. Reese said as he wrapped up the blood pressure reader and put it into his bag. "I'd ask what you'd like to eat, but I think the Organization will feed you what they feed you regardless."
"See you then," DeFoe said as he pushed his coat off the bed and stretched out upon it. Dr. Reese and Austin walked to the door, but before they had reached it, the surgeon looked over his shoulder at the tired figure of DeFoe lying still on the bed.
"One more thing, DeFoe."
DeFoe picked up his head to look at Dr. Reese, expecting to hear about some exercise he was to do every night to keep the amulets in shape or something.
"A friend is a good thing." Dr. Reese opened the door and left, Austin following him out and closing the door.
DeFoe let his head fall back onto the pillow and he rubbed his eyes under his glasses with one hand still trembling slightly from exhaustion. What was that supposed to mean?
"Sir," he heard Austin say outside. "What is his purpose?"
"Defense probably," he heard Dr. Reese answer. Either Austin left it at that or they had walked out of the range of DeFoe's hearing.
"Ever Fight," DeFoe whispered with authority. His body glowed orange and the exhaustion left him.

```

The dinner brought for DeFoe wasn't the best, but it wasn't spoiled. DeFoe didn't feel like eating anyway. Once his body had calmed down and he was able to listen to it he noticed pressure inside himself that he could only attribute to the powerful presence of the amulets inside him. It wasn't a pressure like that of a balloon in danger of explosion, but more like the strain of standing on one's hands for a length of time, or traveling at a swift pace in a low gear. As uncomfortable as it was, DeFoe was thankful they were reasonably tame. Some of the more powerful titans were destructive even in their amulets. The Professor must have taken that into account when choosing the seven.
Dr. Reese and Austin hadn't stayed very long, DeFoe recollected as he lay in the dark on his bed staring at the ceiling. Austin's malice had shifted a little, a tinge of sadness brushing the edges of his expressions.
"What does it feel like?" he had asked DeFoe. It was then that he discovered the pressure. Thanks a lot, Austin.
DeFoe didn't know how he would be able to get to sleep. Tomorrow, he would see the Professor again, and he wondered what he would be required to do. The idea of the Professor being able to dictate when he morphed and what he did once changed disturbed him. But what was there to be done about it?
"Suppose you needed to get out. ...Say it were a lethal matter." Dr. Reese had said.
DeFoe was losing his nerve; the mask of confidence he had carefully glued into place was cracking and falling away, piece by piece, bearing his fears to the air.
"So, you would be willing to die if the Professor assigned you to do so?" Would it eventually come to that?
No, DeFoe thought. I would not die for him; I would escape first. By the time he realized he was going to die, however, it would be too late, wouldn't it? The Professor was no simpleton; he would handle it tactfully. However, it would have to be a dire situation for DeFoe to be done in since he was so valuable to the Professor now. He would wipe his mind before he killed him.
But I will not let that happen either, DeFoe promised himself.
"A friend is a good thing." What had Dr. Reese meant by that? DeFoe knew what it meant, but why did he say it?
DeFoe sighed heavily. All these thoughts would never let him get to sleep and it sounded like he had a tough day starting early the next morning.
"I don't make friends of my colleagues." He heard himself say.
"You don't have friends at all, DeFoe." Dante had replied.
It had always been a good thing, when he hadn't needed any. Though, what was the advantage of being alone when he was in a dark, guarded cell in the bowels of Prague awaiting a future out of his hands? He couldn't muster an answer and stared blankly at the ceiling as memories battled in his mind through most of the night.