The Code

Alone

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Amon paced his office, his hands folded behind his back out of habit. His quarters were a Spartan affair; simple gray carpet, blank white walls, a desk in the corner, and a small leather couch for visitors. A large window stretched across the far wall, a couple meters in diameter, presenting a stunning vista of the city below. Tonight, the city lights glowed with soft brilliance, thousands of tiny pricks of lights moving in slow patterns as satomobiles carried civilians home from work. A few horns blasted out in the darkness, distant cries and peals of laughter echoing out from the various bars and restaurants lining the main street.

To a casual observer, Amon's headquarters would look like any other Republic City office building. Paneled with dark, gleaming metal walls and rising several stories from the ground, it nestled against the rows of other buildings at the edge of the great city, near the bay. Amon glanced out over the dark water, painted blue in the light of the full moon. A few ships blinked their flashing lights just off shore. Amon breathed in deeply through his nose, closing his eyes. The sound of someone singing, somewhere far below, carried up through the open screen. It was probably just some homeless woman, down in the alley, entertaining herself, but the tone quality was full, the melody sweet. He closed his eyes, letting the memories take him.

He remembered the sound of his mother singing him to sleep. Her voice was soft and smooth, gently caressing every note in perfect pitch, never missing a beat. She'd kiss his little brother on the forehead, then touch her nose to his in a traditional Water Tribe kiss. Then she'd rise, blowing out the candle on the little bedside table. He remembered how he would lie awake, listening to the sound of her moving to the other side of the house, gently saying goodnight to his father, who'd reply with his customary dispassionate grunt.

His mother's sweet voice. He closed his eyes against the burn, cursing himself under his breath for his weakness. Sometimes he wasn't sure if he could still remember it. The sweet, husky cadence, so central to his boyhood. His throat clenched. The pain shocked him. He'd thought he'd beaten it down long ago. Recent events must have unearthed something deep inside him. Speaking about his past...

"You think I don't know what it's like to hurt?" The Avatar's voice slipped back into his consciousness. "To feel like your heart's getting squeezed out of your chest in a merciless fist?"

A knock at the door roused him from his reminiscence. Shaking himself free of the melancholy, he turned away from the window, clearing his throat.

"Enter."

The doorknob twisted, and his lieutenant stepped into the room, tipping his fist against his brow in a customary salute.

"Evening, Gioshi," Amon greeted. "What do you have to report?"

"Evening, sir. Our inner city sources have returned with a full report. The police have spread themselves in full force looking for the Avatar. They still think she's in the hands of Councilman Tarrlok."

Amon dipped his head in acknowledgement of the information. "How is the councilman?"

Gioshi hesitated. "He's not eating, sir. Won't talk to anybody, either. Unlike the Avatar. She's all spilling threats and yelling at whoever will come near. I don't envy anyone on guard duty outside her door. But Tarrlok hasn't said a word since we brought him in. Just sits there staring at the wall, all still and quiet like."

"Not eating?" Amon frowned, though Gioshi couldn't see it behind his mask. "Hm. That's a bit disconcerting. I'd like to have a word with him before we lock up for the night."