Agents of the Multiverse

It was the peak of the day, and the sun burned high and hot over Camlann. The battlefield was littered with the dead and dying, but Mordred no longer saw them, his eyes searching for one person only. As he crested a hill, he saw him, resplendent in his gilded armor, dragon banner held high but unmoving in the airless afternoon. His helm was gone, lost in some skirmish or another, his greying hair plastered to his skull by sweat. Mordred tore off his own helmet, eager to look the man he called Father in the eyes at the last of it all.

But those eyes, when they turned to gaze into his, did not belong to Arthur Pendragon, High King of Logres. They belonged to no human being at all, and their unblinking stare chilled him to the bone in spite of the sweat that poured down his face. Something was wrong. So very, very wrong. He opened his mouth to call across the field to Arthur, but the words stuck in his throat, unwilling to come.

And then the darkness came.

Mordred forced his eyes open and shook his head. The memory was still there, vivid as the moment it happened; it replayed for him clear as day every time he closed his eyes. He couldn't say for sure how long it had been between then and now, but from what he could tell, it wasn't very long at all. It was just before dawn when he arrived in this place — Sanctuary, they called it — and now it appeared to be about midday. The persistent chill reminded him almost of Orkney. Living in the south, he had always missed the islands with their violent beauty and the constant whisper of the stone-grey sea. It was almost enough to calm him. From what he could gather thus far, this place was for refugees of a world-ending cataclysm of some kind. He had always known, at the back of his mind, that there were worlds beyond what one could see. After all, he had spent his own childhood in one such place. That wasn't the part that was difficult for him to grasp; instead, it was the fact that he alone had survived. And yet perhaps it was for the best, he thought, that who-or-whatever had been wearing his father's skin hadn't been able to follow him here.

His breaths came in gentle puffs, clouding in the cold. He hadn't caught the name of the person who had rescued him from the clawing dark, but he hated debts, so after a few minutes of sitting in his own uncertainty, Mordred got to his feet and started to wander. He found he had energy enough — perhaps the shock had yet to wear off. Eventually, the quiet gave way to a bustling marketplace. It was similar in many ways to the marketplace at Camelot, but also vastly different. Some wares he recognized, and others were things for which he had no frame of reference at all. Such a dizzying array of sights, sounds, and smells. It was very nearly too much for his shellshocked senses to take in, but he had to focus.

Then, just there, out of the corner of his eye — could it be? Weaving in and out of the hoi-polloi, Mordred reached out a hand to grasp what he believed to be a familiar shoulder, but when his target turned toward him...

"Oh. Forgive me. I...thought you were someone I knew."

It was about time Dexter checked out the market, he figured. He didn't even know what he wanted to buy-- maybe something might catch his eye, somewhere... He browsed the various stalls and the items that they sold-- to fruits, spices, knick-knacks... the latter in particular could be fun. Mementos from his time here...

Something about this place both reminded him of home and didn't. They had more 'advanced' technology yet some tech just wasn't as nearly as good as what he had back home (or, rather, your average 'civilian' or lower clearance agent wasn't allowed access to it-- which, to be fair, the same could probably be said for Superhighway City as well...)

Wouldn't it be a good idea to get an apartment? He thought, idly...

Haha, though, why would he need that? He commutes from his world all the time. It's like anything's going to happen to it. Nothing had happened, and it'd stay that way. He was here by coincidence-- saw something strange, followed it, ended up in a rift... the rest is history.

Honestly, Dexter found it cool as hell that there were so many other... /worlds/ beyond his own. Galaxies. Universes. People like him? Was there an alternate him? What were they like...? He guessed, if anything... he didn't care if they were 'cooler' than him or more successful or whatever (okay, admittedly, he'd care a /little/ bit, just in terms of wondering what he was doing that was lacking compared to other... hims. Or, alternatively-- he didn't know how to feel about if he was the 'best' version of him, either. Like, he was the top standard. You'd /think/ that'd be a compliment but... the idea he himself was the top potential /any/ version of him could reach was... he'd have mixed feelings on it, needless to say-- or, maybe, he shouldn't even be using that standard...).

He was here, initially out of curiosity and more to do... and grew into far, far more. It grew into him wanting to keep the same commitment he made when he decided to be a superhero... but, also, all the action was nice, too.

And he wasn't about to be added onto the list of people who had lost their homes. There was no way he'd let that happen. He'd fight against the darkness from taking his home and his parents and his friends if it--

He was knocked out of his thoughts when he felt someone grab onto his shoulder. Initially, just because he'd felt him do it before-- and turned around with a familiar grin... only to see it was someone he didn't even recognize-- and he even admitted as such.

"Hey, it's cool," Dexter said, casually turning around. "You mind if I ask how? Just curious." He looked at some of the other stalls around them. One was selling chicken on a stick-- it suddenly reminded him he was hungry, and hey, he wouldn't mind one. "Also, are you an agent or a civilian?" It'd be nice to know whether he was talking with a fellow agent or not-- albeit, in Dexter's case, he'd just gained level 1 clearance.

He'd honesty wanted to ask even more questions-- there were so many people with so many different experiences here that it was... well, it was exciting! He wanted to know all about them!

The more he looked at this stranger, the more Mordred realized that there was nothing about him that resembled Gawain in any way, shape, or form. Well, except maybe the hair, but even that was something of a stretch. He gave an awkward smile, somewhat stiff thanks to the scar that tugged his features slightly downward, and shifted his weight from foot to foot. How does one go about conversing from a person from another world? It was never a problem he'd thought to consider, since until now, the concept of "other worlds" was a reality he had forgotten about.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. Perhaps I'm exhausted or just desperate, but for a moment I thought you might have been my brother." On the word "brother", Mordred's throat closed for a moment. He was never one to reject the reality of death, but even so, acknowledging that Gawain — the last of his four half-brothers — was most likely lost along with the rest of his world was... Well, he wasn't in a hurry to say it out loud. He would have to admit it eventually, but some small part of him that hadn't yet been contorted into a hopeless cynic would continue to hope that Gawain also made it out alive. They hadn't crossed paths on the battlefield, after all, so he might also have gotten away.

"To answer your question: I'm a civilian, I suppose? I've only been here a little while. Less than a day. I don't know that reality has fully set in yet." Agents. Was the person who rescued him an "agent"? If so, perhaps that might fill the void left behind, now that he was a knight without a king or realm to serve. This stranger seemed to know how things worked around here. "How does one go about becoming an agent? I've never been particularly good at just sitting around idly, so if there's a way I could make myself useful, I would much prefer it."

He rocked back on his heels and expelled a long, cloudy breath. Perhaps he was moments away from a breakdown, but if he could continue to put it off for one moment longer, and then another and another, then maybe he could do so indefinitely. That might not be so bad.

Dexter could... tell this guy was a little awkward, but he didn't mind. It reminded Dexter a little bit of when he first got to college-- albeit, Dexter had the opposite problem-- he'd get too loud and excitable and talkative over the littlest thing... like, way worse than he was now. He was thankful to have curbed that problem by now.

... Oh. Dexter couldn't catch himself in time from the small, involuntary frown he did. He could relate-- maybe not as severely, but he could relate to a thing like that being a sore subject. "Uh, yeah, no I get it-- I'm actually a twin." He and Duncan had... a fight, before he left for college, and they hadn't really talked since. What was it about again?

"You don't know anything about the real world, Dex. You're gonna get your teeth knocked in."

Actually, he's not thinking about that right now.

"Oh! Yeah, I'm also really new here too," Dexter said, "I arrived here like... I think a few days ago?" Maybe a week? Time flew. "But, yeah... it is super surreal." From how he appeared, he probably wasn't even used to this level of tech... no wonder he appeared overwhelmed!

"So, to become an Agent of the Multiverse,," Dexter said, to try and fully explain what he was getting into, "there's... for one, a bunch of paperwork-- mostly information, getting a medical checkup... just making sure you're fit for the job. Or, I guess rather, fit for whatever role you wanna do," Dexter explained, "I've recently gotten clearance level one, but I'm still in training before I can go on any missions."

"If you go to the HQ, in Omphalos, they should get you started on what you need to do to become an agent, I can even..."

Dexter noticed his body posture-- the way he rocked back, his exhale... this... might not the best time to rush him into stuff he doesn't know anything about-- Dexter could adjust since his world wasn't... that much different, kinda. He had no idea what this guy had as his previous base of normal... or even if he could ever go back to that.

"... But, for now-- hey, how's about we spend some time here? I actually haven't had the chance to look at stuff around here, either."

Twins. That sent a spike of pain through Mordred's chest. Memories of Agravaine and Gaheris, so inseparable as to practically be a single person; the way they often spoke in perfect unison or mirrored one another's body language; Agravaine's hollow eyes after Gaheris was struck down by that traitor Lancelot. He shook his head, as if by doing so he could cause those memories to dissolve into the air. Now was not the time to get lost in the past. The displaced knight instead honed in on what the stranger was saying. Agents of the Multiverse. Such an odd phrase: what even was a "multiverse"? He supposed he would find out soon enough, so no point in making a fool of himself now. Rather, he would learn the way he always did: watching, listening, committing to memory things people said when they didn't think he was paying attention.

"I see. It sounds complicated. But I can do complicated, if it means earning my keep in this place." His mind latched onto a word: Omphalos. He recognized it as a Greek word meaning "navel", though it was most often in reference to a stone which was once thought to mark the center of the universe. When he was young, Mother had gone to great pains to ensure that he learned as much Latin and Greek as he could fit into his brain. "All the better for when you are High King," she would say as he bent over piles of classic texts, reading until the candles had burned down to useless stubs. Maybe it would finally come in handy here, in some way.

Again, he let himself get dragged into memory. Such a nuisance. What was the stranger saying now? Oh, he wished to show him around. Mordred was never one to seek out company, but in a place like this, he suspected having friends would be a boon rather than a burden.

"That might be for the best. And I apologize for my rudeness, by the way. My name's Mordred, lately of Logres." It was a surprising relief to leave off the titles and lineages. Here, it probably didn't matter who his father was, or how that had come to be. No one needed to know. "What may I call you?"

... Poor guy. Dexter was confused enough when he fell through a rift-- so like, he could only imagine this guy's distress was ten fold. Like he thought before-- this probably wasn't the best time to go into Multiverse Stuff 101.

Dexter wanted to say that he didn't necessarily have to do that-- but it was clear this was the sort of person who wanted to do things like that... Dexter could understand the sentiment. It'd be like if he just went and fucked around after getting his powers (... he kinda' did, admittedly-- but he made up for it!)-- it'd be totally irresponsible of him, and a huge waste.

"Nah, don't worry about it," Dexter waved his hand, "I didn't think you were rude at all." 'Lately of Logres' was probably... his last name, right? Dexter thought that sounded about right.

"You can call me Dexter-- Dexter Douglas. Stuff like Dex is fine, though... it's nice to meet you Mordred," Dexter offered his hand, as a show of friendliness-- hoping that was in some way standard where Mordred was from. He opened his mouth-- about to offer to show him around more of Sanctuary but... as someone who, even now, was still getting used to the place, that also seemed like a bad idea. Not he didn't want Mordred to get used to things, or that knowing his way around was some Arcane Knowledge, more that... as his Dad always tried to emphasize to him-- one step at a time.

... That, and, Dexter never really had the chance to explore the market much anyway. It's what he came for in the first place. Meeting a new (potential) friend was a neat bonus of it.

"What kinda' stuff do you usually like to buy?" Dexter asked. "... I guess... not that I have any better idea-- like, I know what I like, but everything here looks so appealing!" He did a spin while he put his hands out. "... Uh, don't worry too much about cash-- er, money. Currency." Did that come through clearly? "I have enough on me that I can buy whatever both of us would want." Even if Dexter couldn't buy what he wanted, he'd rather make Mordred's day a little better.