A Matter of Perception

Ellemanzer Grange opened his eyes one minute before his alarm went off, his perceptive sense immediately reaching out to dig his surroundings. While it was unlikely that anything had changed since he had been the only one in his hotel room last night, it was a habit he nonetheless liked to indulge in whenever he slept anywhere unfamiliar. He sat up, dismissing his Captain America: First Avenger alarm tone with a mental finger swipe on his Galaxy S23. Stretching his arms wide over his head, he felt a staccato of pops as his spine lengthened. He hated sleeping on anything other than his finely tuned Sleep Number and his lower back twinged in agreement.

Rolling out of bed, he started on his morning exercises and Tai Chi kata to loosen up his sleep atrophied muscles. He then wandered into the bathroom to relieve his overly full bladder and splash warm handfuls of water on his face. Snatching up the monogrammed hotel towel, he patted his face dry as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

"You're getting old, Manny," he told the face staring back at him. It was still a youngish looking face for a man of nearly forty-four. The only hint of age were the light streaks of gray at the temples and the specks of white that made it look as if someone had sprinkled salt on his chin as he slept. As he reached for this triple blade Gillette to take care of the offensive stubble, he called to mind the phone call that had led him to be in a hotel room in the middle of Las Vegas.

---

"Grange Investigations?" he asked as he picked up the receiver.

"Still doing the private eye schtick, eh, Manny?" Sam Wrangler asked in his unabashedly thick New York accent.

"Sam! Hey, long time no peep. How you been? How's Sarah?"

"Wishing I had an ulcer, so I'd stay home more," came the grumbled reply. Manny chuckled.

"Yeah, I bet."

"Listen, Manny. As much as I would like to make this a social call, I got a problem."

"Oh, here we go."

"What?"

"How come I'm always the one you call when you got a problem?"

"Cuz one, you're the best agent we got, despite your retirement. B. you're the only Class IV perceptive the Agency even knows about. And Tres, you're the only one who's not on an assignment." Sam smiled as he propped his feet on his desk, "Besides, I figured you'd be interested in where the op is going down."

"Where?"

"Comicon in Las Vegas." There was a moment of silence over the line, "I knew that'd get your attention, fanboy."

"What's the op?"

"Oh, just your standard hide-and-go peep job. I'll give the full deets when you get here," Sam said as if that were a foregone conclusion, "But the gist is, the NSA picked up some threats and want our help."

"Okay, but on one condition."

"Name it."

"I want a VIP pass and autographs from all the big-name guests."

"Gee, I'll see what I can do, Manny," Sam said, a shit eating grin on his face, "I am just a humble employee of a super-secret government agency."

---

The ringing of his cellphone brought Manny's attention back to the present. He focused his ESP on the trilling device on the nightstand and with a mental flick, it sailed across the room into his open palm.

"Grange." There were a series of clicks as the encrypted call connected.

"Briefing in ten." The call cut out.

Manny hopped into the shower, turning the gain down on his ESP to relish the tactile sensations on his skin as the hot water cascaded down his body. Six minutes later, he was dressed and ready for the convention. He shouldered his backpack, tucking the VIP pass into a side pocket. One last check in the mirror and he was out the door.

---

Hannah Blake threw up her hands in frustration for what seemed like the hundredth time. Nothing she did seemed to work. No matter how much she pulled, tugged, tucked and scrunched, the costume just didn't cover near enough of her curvaceous figure. She glared at the Vampirella outfit whose red strips of latex barely covered her naughty bits.

She let out a resigned sigh as she donned the raven hair wig, covering her own auburn locks. A set of thigh high black leather boots completed the ensemble. She regarded herself in the full-length mirror, turning her rear end towards it. She let out a disgusted bleh sound. It wasn't that she particularly minded the outfit. Lord knows she'd worn similar risqué outfits during her college days. But now it was different. Now she was a special operative with the Agency, and she was about to go out into public with her ass practically hanging out.

She thought again of whose bright idea it had been to wear the costume and again she could come up with but one suspect. Sam was a good agent-in-charge to be sure, but he was also a male and males, even married ones, like to look. He would plead the fifth of course while at the same time pointing out the truth of the sentiment. She was to be one of the operatives on the ground floor and if the sight of her shapely frame was distracting enough to stay the hand of a would-be bomber, well she would just have to suffer this indignity.

But at least you'll be on the front lines where your enhanced strength may come in handy, she told herself. She checked her makeup; thankful again they hadn't insisted on the fake fangs. She picked up her blue Comicon schwag bag and placed her hand on the door handle. Taking a breath to steel herself, she stepped into the hall.

Immediately she was aware of the stranger two rooms down. He had also just exited his room and had turned his face towards her. He smiled as their eyes met. She returned the smile but eyed him with an air of suspicion. Sam had said this whole floor had been reserved for the ops team. She wondered if there had been a mix-up in booking as she assessed him for potential threat.

He was tall, perhaps a little over six foot and broad shouldered. The face was handsome, the features soft but well defined with a rugged jawline and high cheekbones. His dark brown hair was trimmed short, and he wore a pair of thick rimmed glasses behind which shone a pair of deep brown eyes. He wore a navy-blue Captain America shirt and light denim jeans. Over his left shoulder was slung a simple black backpack.

With her doubts as to the identity of the stranger, she felt it best to continue the charade that she was just another avid convention attendee. She swung away towards the elevator at the end of the hall, the stranger following a few paces behind. She became self-conscious about her exposed backside as they neared the lift, and she pressed the "up" button. It opened almost immediately, and they piled on, the man taking up a spot at the back while she turned to work the interior buttons. Pressing the "7" button, she asked his floor over her shoulder.

"Same," came the almost husky reply.

They rode in silence as the lift ascended. She noticed his reflection was shifting in the dull brass doors. Probably trying to get a better look at my ass, she thought to herself as she looked over her shoulder. Their eyes met instantly as if he had been staring straight ahead and he flashed an amused smile. She turned back almost disappointed. Must be gay, she mused, damn shame. He was still pivoting as she turned her head once again.

"Nervous?" she asked, indicating his hips with her eyes.

"Nope, just something I've always done," he answered as he finally stopped swaying, "Friends use to call me a human metronome. They'd say, 'There goes Old Ellemanzer, why you can practically set your watch by his -.'"

"Ellemanzer?" she interrupted.

"That's me, Ellemanzer B. Grange at your service," he said with a slight bow, "My friends call me Manny."

"Hannah Blake," she replied, realizing it perhaps didn't matter if she used her real name in this instance as she would probably never see the man again. She held out her hand as she said, "Pleasure to meet you."

Instead of the expected weak handshake, he raised the offered hand to his lips.

"The pleasure, Ms. Blake...," he said as he planted a whisper soft kiss on her knuckles, "...is all mine."

Hannah suddenly felt flush and for a moment wondered if her scantily clad skin was a few shades closer to the red of her costume. She withdrew her hand as the elevator dinged, and the doors opened. They both exited the lift and walked down the hall, Manny still several steps behind. The short hairs on her neck stood erect as she began to worry that he was following her when he finally spoke up.

"Heading for ops?"

She stopped dead in her tracks and whirled on him, "How did you - "

"Most convention goers don't carry regulation Sigs in their schwag bags, or at least it's frowned upon." Instinctively she clutched the bag tighter as she narrowed her eyes.

"You're a peeper," she said finally.

"We prefer the term ESPer, sounds less seedy." She relaxed her stance, at least she could do away with the pretenses.

"Come on, we're going to be late for the briefing." She turned and walked briskly down the hallway.

---

They were late anyway. The rest of the ops team were seated in a phalanx of chairs facing a small bank of computer monitors. The room had been cleared of its usual furnishings and blackout curtains installed to keep out prying eyes. Sam Wrangler stood facing the congregation and all turned as the duo entered.

"So good of you two to join us," he huffed impatiently. Hannah quickly took a seat at the back. Manny, meanwhile, strode nonchalantly to the front of the room to flip an unoccupied chair around and sit on it backwards. A slight murmur ran through the assembled agents as the agent-in-charge continued.

"As I was saying, we've been given the task of vetting out a possibly threat to the convention. NSA picked up some vague threats from a radicalist website that they think are serious enough to warrant our attention. We're to play this close to the vest, the hope being to apprehend the perps and get more info outta'em. Agent Grange here," He indicated with a nod, "Will be our peeper for this op. All possibles will be forwarded to him for a dig. Agent Blake," he said with a brief glance at her chest, "Will be on station as heavy hitter should things get dicey."

At the mention of their names, Hannah and Manny looked at one another and he gave her a sly wink in acknowledgement. She blushed and turned her attention back to the a-in-c.

"Remember people. We don't know what form this threat will take so don't be afraid to call out possibles for a dig. Now you all have your assigned stations, let's get to work."

---

The convention hall was packed to the gills and had been since they had come on station some five hours ago. The makeup of the crowd ran the full gamut of fandom: from lifelong die-hards to weekend warriors and every type in between. Costumed cavalcades roamed the floor. Master Chiefs mixed it up with Mars Attack! Martians and Walking Dead wandered around with Warios. Everyone flitted from booth to booth in a never-ending quest for that next prized autograph, handshake, photo-op or collectible.

Amongst the throngs, Hannah was enjoying herself. She had gotten over her timidity, especially after seeing the dress (or rather lack thereof) of some of the others in attendance. In fact, she had developed something of a minor celebrity status, posing for pictures and even signing a few autographs. She was getting plenty of attention, both excited and envious. It made her feel good to know that even at thirty-three, she could still turn heads. She strutted through the crowds with a lilt in her hips.

Of course, despite her outwardly congenial attitude, she still had a job to do. Everyone she encountered was scrutinized by professional eyes, both hers and those elsewhere. She looked up to the promenade where Manny was stationed and once again noted the change in his demeanor. Gone was the roguish charm, the devil-may-care swagger. What replaced it was cool and calculating. He seemed almost a different person, the change having been so palpable. She watched for a time, his dark eyes scanning the crowds like a hawk in search of prey in a dense thicket. She wondered what it was like to see the world the way he did.

What it was like was exhausting. The constant mental attention needed to sort through all the amorphous images and impressions his mind perceived was daunting. They had already had dozens of possibles, and he had dug everyone. Once a group of Colonial Marines with some nasty looking pulse rifles sent alarms through the ComWeb but a quick dig found them to be harmless 3D printed plastic.

In addition to the operatives on the floor, there were team members in ops using facial recognition software to compare the attendees with known or suspected terrorists. That angle was hampered by the fact that there were many in attendance who wore outlandish makeup, prosthetics or other coverings. Hence the reason for Manny's presence since he could see through all that.

"Possible, southeast corner. Ash Catchem with Pikachu bag," chirped a voice in his earpiece. Manny looked toward the indicated direction and spotted the subject. His mind reached out across the convention hall and began to dig the contents of the bag. He got an impression of something but couldn't tell exactly what it was.

"Stand by, I need to get a closer look -,"

"Got another one. Blue cap, grey bookbag, ground floor headed for the escalators," blurted another voice. Manny shifted focus to the nearer subject and froze. Heavy impressions of something dangerous. But the image was still too muddled, the crowds were still too thick. He had to get closer.

"Pursuing secondary target for a closer dig, somebody check the trainer," he said into his mic, his feet already moving.

"I'm on it." It was Hannah.

Manny walked along the promenade, using his eyesight to avoid those in front of him and his second sight to track the man below. At one point, he ducked under the swinging arms of a life-sized Hulkbuster. He paused at the corner and pretended to consult his brochure map as the man rode the escalator. As he came up level with Manny, the images in the latter's mind came into startling focus.

IED.

There was no mistaking it, he had dug enough of them to know the difference. Even camouflaged, he knew it for what it was. The primer, the wires, the nails and bits of metal to increase the lethality, he could sense it all. He concentrated, looking for any signs of trap-wires and there appeared to be none. That meant either a timer or remote detonator. The first was easy, the other, not so much. As long as there remained the possibility of someone else being able to trigger the detonator, that meant a confrontation with guns drawn was out of the question.

Manny focused his attention on the man as he continued to follow him at a discreet distance. Heart racing, hands trembling, pace hesitant as if unsure of where to go next. Yeah, the guy was definitely an amateur afraid to die. Most suicide bombers were as cool as cucumbers right before they chose to meet their makers. Manny threw his perception out to see what lay ahead. There was a service entrance, and a quick dig found it somewhat isolated. The suspect would pass in just a moment and a plan formed in the agent's mind. He relayed his intentions to ops and got the go ahead to proceed with caution.

Hunter and hunted continued along the left side of the high arched pavilion. As they neared the service entrance, Manny saw that it lay in deep shadow between two huge oak columns. He quickened his pace, using his ESP to judge when he would come alongside at just the right moment. He pulled out his cell to feign a conversation. Just as they came abreast, he shoved the other toward the entrance. Startled by the sudden movement, the man began to cry out only to be quickly silenced by a sharp blow to the side of the head. Manny caught the now limp body and lowered it gently to the ground. He dug the immediate area, and it appeared no one had noticed the commotion.

"Tango down. Service entrance five, second level," he said calmly into his mic as if relaying the time of day.

A minute later, agents Griffith and Walsh were approaching his location at a brisk pace. Griffith was decked out in full Klingon battle dress while Walsh wore a faded "Team Edward" t-shirt. Neither agent looked like the type to sparkle. Manny was instructing them to secure the scene when he noticed Hannah approaching, her high heels click clacking on the linoleum floor. He smiled as she stepped up to him.

"How'd it go with Poke-boy?"

"Clean. He was a little too enthusiastic to show me his light saber," she stated ruefully. Agent Griffith leaned over to whisper to Walsh:

"With a body like that, I would be too."

Suddenly something struck Griffith in the back of the head hard enough to knock his brow ridges down over his eyes. Hannah shot a wondering glance at Manny who merely smiled, winked at her and strode away whistling the Star Wars theme.

---

Hours later, after reports had been filed and everyone debriefed, the two agents sat in Sam's temporary office in the adjoining room to ops. Ostensibly the set up was to give Sam ready access but Manny knew it was really because he wanted the view. Hannah sat with her legs crossed and noted the sidelong glances from the a-in-c as he spoke.

"I just wanted to congratulate you two personally for a job well done." The former New York cop pulled out a vape and blew out a puff that smelled of cotton candy. The inconsistency of the sweet smell with his gruff appearance was slightly confusing. He turned to Manny.

"Manny, that perp you took down folded like a cheap suit as soon as we got'em into interrogation. By the way, was it your idea to have Agent Griffith sit in on the interview in that get 'up?" The younger man nodded.

"Even taught him a few Klingon curse words. Thought it would add to the whole 'bad cop' routine."

Sam chuckled. "Indeed, it did. Thought we were gonna have'ta hose out the interview room after. Thankfully it would appear this guy's not part of a larger cell. Just some lone whack job with delusions of radicalism. And since we've pretty much wrapped up everything with a bow for the Langley boys, I've decided that some little post-op privileges are in order. The rooms are paid up through the week. You kids go enjoy the convention."

---

Manny escorted Hannah back to her room and they were now standing in the hallway. The silence was growing a bit awkward when he finally spoke.

"Well, I guess I'll see you at the convention?" he asked hopefully.

"Maybe," she said noncommittedly. It really wasn't her thing.

"Well, it was nice meeting you," he said as he turned toward his room only to suddenly stop and turn back to face her, "You know what, I'm starving. Would you care to grab a bite to eat with me? I know a place just 'round the corner that I hear serves a mean burger and fries."

"I'd love to," she said, "Just let me go change into something more appropriate."

A few minutes later she was looking at the more appropriate in the mirror. The sleeveless denim dress she'd changed into was only slightly less revealing than the costume had been what with its low-cut front that showed a good bit of cleavage. She always loved the way her ass looked in denim and wondered if Manny would agree.

Then she wondered why she had wondered that. Sure, she found him ridiculously attractive but there was something else about him. It was the way he acted around her. Unlike all the others who had fallen to the temptation to look at her body, she hadn't once caught Manny checking her out. But rather than be annoyed by it, she found it made her even more curious about him.

The thought crossed her mind that maybe he wasn't interested in her like that or was the type who didn't mix business with pleasure. There weren't really any rules against such fraternization in the Agency. She herself had been on dates with guys from the office, not that any of them had hit her up for a second. Truth be told, most men were intimidated by her, especially if they happened to know about her powers. But not Manny, he seemed so comfortable around her and it left her with a pleasant feeling.