“Haaah!” The familiar sweet rush of air-filled Kalden’s lungs and he bolted right up, his eyes readjusting to the surroundings. He’s still in Redgrave’s office, Kalden concluded, nothing of note had changed, besides the appearance of a cold glass of coke with large cubes of ice still inside

Redgrave was still sitting on the armchair, reading a thick hardcover book, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose, giving him a rather handsome, and nerdish look.

‘The Journey of love.” the title of the book, written in flowing cursive golden letters.

What a cheesy name for a serious-looking book.

“How long was I out?” Kalden groaned, pushing himself back up to a sitting position on the couch, rubbing his aching neck. His body still felt out of whack, but the feeling was milder now, disappearing with every passing second.

“Hmm…” Redgrave hummed, glancing down at his watch, “10 minutes, give or take, rather impressive; I must say, you woke up faster than anyone else who had their entire body changed.”

“No thanks to you,” Kalden grumbled, stretching out his limbs, lifting the glass of coke, testing his motor skills.

“It was a necessary measure,” Redgrave explained.

“Haven’t we all heard that before,” Kalden muttered, taking a sip of coke.

“So, what now?”

‘Well… normally, this would be the time for you to come up with or choose an ability you would like to have. There are limitations to the scope of the power I am allowed to grant you, however, but do tell me what you want, and I’ll do my best to accommodate.”

“… I’m going to need to think about this.”

“Take all the time you need; I’ll be right here,” Redgrave answered, holding up his book.

“Right.” Kalden breathed, his hands reaching into his suit pocket, searching for the familiar rectangular object, only to find, nothing, his pockets were empty. Panic began to set in within Kalden.

Fuck. The family heirloom was in my pocket. Don’t tell me I lost it!

“Ah. Yes, I suddenly remembered something.” Redgrave suddenly spoke, looking up from his book. “Normally, after one dies, they don’t bring their possessions with them.”

Oh. Wait, yeah. Shit forgot about that.

“But, in this case, I couldn’t help myself. I believe these belong to you.”

Redgrave placed three objects on the table, one, a slim silver cigarette case where the seal of the United States was proudly emblazoned, -E Pluribus Unum- Latin for "Out of many, one", the traditional motto of the United States. The black letter still shone slightly despite the red hue lights of the room, against its yellow banner.

The second was a zippo lighter, its dents and discolouration showing off its years of age and use. A red logo was printed on its frame. Comprising of a skull wearing a beret, above the American shield sprouting two silver wings, below the skull an anchor, just above it was the black banner with the words,

-MACV SOG- the V joining the anchor to connect to the skull.

Kalden picked up the lighter, rubbing the logo almost religiously, this always happens when he picks up this particular lighter. He took a moment to look at the black, slightly faded blocky letters printed on the lid of the lighter just above the logo,

“James, Anderson, Ruth. MSG. Laos. 1970.” on the other side wrote a different set of letters

“Honor. Tolerance. Dignity.”

The family creed.

He then turned his attention to the last item on the table; it was a second silver Zippo lighter, this one was much newer than the previous one, its frame slightly smudged by fingerprints and the edges of its lid slightly chipped by constant use.

Like the previous lighter, this one had a logo printed on it. This time two silver arrows criss crossing each other, in the middle, a fighting knife, and a black banner below it with the words in flowing cursive, de oppresso liber, the actual translation being

“from (being) an oppressed man, (to being) a free one”

But the army prefered the translation “To liberate the oppressed.”

It was the motto of his old unit, the United States Army Special Forces, colloquially known as the Green Berets.

He picked up the lighter, fiddling it around his hand for a few moments, feeling the familiar cold steel in his palm. He picked up the cigarette case with his other, retrieving a stick of brown cigarette from the row, placing it in between his lips.

*Clink.

A bright orange flame danced around the mouth of the lighter, and he placed the flame under the tip of the cigarette. But just as it could start burning, Kalden quickly removed it, and he looked up at Redgrave.

“Ah, sorry, I am allowed to smoke here?” he asked.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” Redgrave huffed with a thin smile, as a crystal ashtray materializing itself on the table. “Not that the other patrons of this room ever bothered asking.”

“Right.” Kalden nodded, returning to his mission of having a smoke.

Redgrave waited for Kalden to finish taking his first puff, letting him deposit some of the ash onto the ashtray before speaking again.

“I am curious,” Redgrave asked, “What’s the story behind these objects, and why so many logos and engravings?”

“Do not underestimate the power of symbols Mr Redgrave. They give a man purpose, meaning. It shapes their values and beliefs far more effectively than most people give it credit for.”

“Is that your belief? Or the general consensus?”

“...” Kalden took a second drawn-out puff, letting out a huge cloud of arid grey smoke before he spoke again. “There are those who will disagree. But,” Kalden shrugged, “that’s what bonds us together. Disagreements.”

“I see… so, what’s the story behind them?”

“There’s nothing much to them really.” Kalden huffed, letting a third puff of smoke. “The case was a parting gift from my colleagues in SAD when I became station chief.” he opened the case for Redgrave to see, inside was the seal of the CIA, with the motto of the Special Activities Division/Centre, “Tertia Optio, Third Option, that’s what we were, the third option.”

“Then what about this one?” Redgrave asked, holding up the lighter with the skull, “Seems rather morbid.”

“Oh, that?” Kalden chuckled, “it’s the Ruth family heirloom.”

Redgrave crocked an eyebrow in curiosity, beckoning Kalden to explain.

“This is the unofficial patch of my grandfather’s unit. MACVSOG. Military Assistance Command, Vietnam – Studies and Observations Group.

The highly classified, multi-service United States special operations unit which conducted covert unconventional warfare operations prior to and during the Vietnam War.

I’ve never met my grandfather, outside of the grainy old photographs my father used to show me. He’s still out there, in the depths of the Laos jungles with the rest of his squad. My old man used to tell me stories about him.

Before he disappeared though, the lighter was sent via mail to my father, a present for his son’s 10th birthday, along with a promise he would return. A promise which he would never keep. But my father still believes he will return, walk up the steps of the old family home, pop open a bottle of beer and sit down on the old worn-out armchair reserved only for him before lighting up a pipe.” Kalden choked out a small laugh, “That old fool.”

“Anyway, that lighter once served the greatest man I ever knew, passed down to the second greatest and now mine. I intended to pass it down to the next generation.” A laugh, “But, that’s clearly impossible now.”

“The last one?”

“Not much story with that one, I needed a lighter, and did not want to use the family heirloom, so I had one made, engraved it just for kicks, also to remind me of my history, and what I’m fighting for, hence the mottos.”

“Ah. I see. Well, enjoy your smoke, and tell me when you finally decided on an ability you want.”

Kalden looked down at his zippo lighter, still twirling around in his hands, the logo of his old army unit shining in the light, this was the life he chose before he died for the first time, what’s stopping him from doing it all over again?

“Actually… I think I might have an idea.”