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George Mason felt his muscles tense. Part of his brain screamed at him, telling him to turn around. Surely he saw this was going to get him killed? Never mind that dying was the whole goal.
Radiation poisoning made it easier to shut the logical part of his brain off. Mason stepped into the pilot’s seat and turned to look at Jack. Silent resolve and understanding lined the man’s face. They both understood this was how things needed to be.
The numbers began to dance in front of his face. As he turned the plane to the left, Mason realized he wouldn’t live long enough for the crash to kill him. He felt beads of sweat and dirt travel down his face, threatening to glue his eyelids shut.
He didn’t consider himself a religious man. It seemed like a fool’s errand, putting faith in something no one could say for certain existed. But as his eyes began to close, Mason prayed. He hoped the bomb got far enough away before going off. He hoped no one else died in the coming hours. He hoped he was right, and that people would see him as a hero instead of a sick old man.
But in those moments, Mason also asked the world a question. He asked why his change in attitude had such a high price. He asked why it took a lethal dose of radiation for him to realize just how much of an asshole he was.
Mason felt his hands go slack and the plane tip forward. All of his senses faded away, and for a moment, he faded along with them.
George.
His eyes shot open. Mason jackknifed up, inhaling loudly. His hands went to the gun he left behind with Jack.
The remains of a crater surrounded him. Bits of metal lay strewn about everywhere. A metallic scent filled the air.
George. There it was again. His name formed in Mason’s head but was not audible to his ears. Turn your head, George. Admittingly a little panicked, he obeyed.
A smattering of black dust greeted him, hovering a few feet above the ground. Mason rubbed his eyes and finally realized they didn’t hurt anymore. No more dirt on his hands, no more radiation in his bones. By all accounts…
“I’m dead, aren’t I?”
Almost. The dust slowly began to swirl. I can let go if you wish, but that’s not what you want, is it? Mason took a deep breath as more realization kicked in.
“You heard my prayers. Does that make you God?”
It’s complicated. But I can offer you a deal.
“What is it?”
My station is helping along the self-discovery of others. I am unable to do that in my current form. You can help me, and in doing so, I can help you.
“How?” Mason was on his feet by now, dusting sand off of his pants. The dust cloud wobbled.
You wish you had more time in the world as a kinder person, do I have that correct?
“Yes.”
Here is what I propose. To function, I require a vessel. This vessel has autonomy and can act as it chooses, so long as it does not conflict with my function. You, George, would be able to express your kinder side to people. Together, we could lead others down the path of self-discovery.
“Oh, yeah? What does that involve?”
Tasks, some small and some large, but all meaningful. We sit and wait for the people with the tasks to return. Our only jobs are to give and to receive.
“Receive what?”
The results are to be recorded, remembered and learned from. Mason licked his bottom lip, more out of dehydration than anything else.
“And if I agree to this, I live?”
Yes. He pondered for a moment.
“What happens if I say no?”
You pass away, and I continue searching. Should you change your mind, you will be able to reconsider.
Mason looked at the wreckage around him. He remembered the look on Jack’s face, and how final it all felt. He pictured them crossing paths again and the reaction it would have.
“I’m sorry, but for now, my answer is no.”
I understand. Your honesty is appreciated, George. The world around him faded away, the dust cloud’s silent words ringing in his ears.
Death proved surprisingly relaxing at first. Mason lounged in a void of white, letting himself float along the lazy river. He didn’t regret any of the choices he’d made.
At times he let himself fully black out, surrendering everything once again. After a while, he’d emerge back on the lazy river, a bit more restless each time.
Mason began to wonder about the outside world. Did he help? Did his death prevent anything? Were Jack and the others safe? Even here, he had no way of knowing.
His mind turned to the dust cloud. Much of it confused him, but Mason only detected honesty in the thing’s words. If there were strings attached, it was doing a hell of a good job hiding them.
Eventually, with a heavy sigh, he exited the lazy river and started walking. Even with white in all directions and no one to talk to, Mason kept walking. He wanted to find the dust cloud, even if only to be told it found another host. Even that was preferable to never trying at all.
You have come to renegotiate? It greeted him like an old friend. Mason nodded.
“What do I have to do?”
Travel the diners of the country, Mason. Accept those who ask for pastrami sandwiches. Give them their tasks and write down their results. Never explain what you are.
“But I don’t know what I will be after this.”
Perfect.
He awoke in a tiny Utah town, dressed in a suit and armed with a book and pen. Mason found the nearest diner, ordered a cup of coffee, and sat down at a booth.
The dust explained it would send out the first feelers, and draw in the first few customers. Only word of mouth would help things along after that. Mason was skeptical. The dust then told him some of the tasks would seem immoral. It was not his place to judge, but to simply give.
You are not an officer anymore, George. And besides, none of the tasks will be on the scale of the tragedy that killed you.
His first customer was a woman who wanted to be prettier. Mason thought she looked decent enough, but still, he looked to the book for her task: rob a bank. Now he understood what the dust meant about morals and scales.
A few more people came by. Mason gave them their tasks and off they went, confusion in their eyes. He didn’t expect anyone to come back but people did, providing detailed outlines of their progress. Things began to feel meaningful.
The last person from the original group, the ones selected by the dust cloud, was a nun. She walked in and Mason jumped, for this woman looked exactly like Nina Myers. Her hair was shorter and her shirt tight-collared, but her eyes sparkled just like Nina’s. Mason had to compose himself for a moment.
The nun’s task? Become pregnant and have a child. Both parties were stunned, albeit for different reasons. Mason let her leave and flashed back to Nina’s betrayal.
In the early days, he did find her pretty. Then she turned out to be a former flame of Jack and a terrorist. That tempered things a bit. And while the nun was also pretty, Mason did not find it appropriate to engage.
Once the group of originals finished, Mason began to travel. He bounced from diner to diner and eventually state to state, quietly telling people about his services. It didn’t take long for the news to spread on its own, which made things even easier.
Even as he got closer to D.C. Mason didn’t expect anyone from his past life to find him. As far as the world knew, George Mason was dead and buried in a plane crash. This new version of him, simply known as The Man, only shared a face. If Nina and the nun could look identical, why couldn’t he claim the same?
“George Mason?” Out of all the people to find him, this was not what he expected. Mason found himself staring at the face of Tony Almeida, who accurately looked like he was seeing a ghost.
“Hello, Tony.” The man sat down across from him in a harried fashion.
“How the hell are you here? Jack saw you die.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Obviously. Now spill.” Mason exhaled, letting a bubble of annoyance float up for the first time in years.
“Can I help you with something, or are you just going to sit and gawk?” Tony opened his mouth to speak, then his eyes landed on the book under Mason’s hands.
“It’s you. You’re the one who can make things happen. Now it makes sense.”
“What do you need, Tony?” The situation finally began to calm down. Tony steadied himself before looking Mason in the eye.
“Are you familiar with Christopher Henderson?” Mason’s lip curled.
“I do.”
“That son of a bitch killed my wife.” Tony saw his eyes widen and held up one hand. “There’s a lot to explain, but all you need to know is I want him dead. However, I don’t want to end up dead or in jail.”
“That’s what you want?” When Tony nodded, Mason picked the book up and opened it. He watched words slowly dance across the page.
Let him go. You shall return the favor in time.
“What is it?” Tony asked, seeing the confused expression on Mason’s face. The book slowly closed.
“It seems I owe you a favor, to be cashed in at a later date.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
It took two years for the Tony thing to pan out. The dust cloud told Mason to check behind a dumpster outside the first dinner they worked at. There, he found a glasses case and a business card with an address scribbled on it.
Get these things to the woman on the card. Do not tell her who you are. Then your deal with Tony shall be done.