Jones sat on a fancy couch for the first time in his life while the voices in the other room kept discussing about him.

“I just don’t trust him,” said one of them with a deep tone, muffled by the wall between.

“Oh, why not?” Said a more average male voice. “He’s a professional! Other people have hired him. Important people.”

The black velvet which covered the seat felt smoother than the rest of the chair, however, that did not mean that the back and the armrests weren’t also comfortable. They were, but the sturdier material which they were made of was meant to give a better support to his body.

(What do they use to make this?! God!) Jones thought as he rejoiced on the luxurious and splendid chair with golden ends on the back whilst silver ones hid below his arms.

“I just… Something’s off. It seems too good to be true. Too perfect for the job.”

Jones arched his eyebrows above his circular tinted goggles.

(You know what?) He thought to himself. (Wouldn’t mind if more people didn’t trust me.)

“Come on!” Said the average male voice.

“What do you think?” Asked the deeper one, probably to someone else.

“Armament is the leader,” whispered a feminine and soothing voice. “He decides what to do.” The voice was almost impossible to hear, even for a gossip lover such as Jones. Meanwhile, the other ones… Not so much.

(Someone would make terrible parents,) Jones thought as he got up from his seat.

His legs jumped, causing the tools in his belt to tinkle as he landed on the red carpet that covered the room, too restless to stay still. That being said… Despite having a splendid chair, the general tone of the room was… Average. Mediocre

The area was bathed in a blend of lights, a white one which came from the ceiling, and a yellow one making its way through the window at the end of the room, passing by the white strips that tried to block it. Jones looked at the ceiling and was glad to find mediocrity there too. He wasn’t able to bear looking at a chandelier or some sort of lamp that rich people used to call ‘pretty’. The lights he had seen in the houses of said people might have been fancy, but pretty…

That was simply a lie.

A somewhat long white table covered the section near the windows, with normal black leather chairs at each side except for the fancy one he had been on, which was located at the head of the piece of furniture made out of hardened wood. Surrounding the table was a lack of… Anything else.

Sure, there were one or two shelves with flowers or something like that, as well as paintings which covered the black walls. But they were so boring. Where were the secret rooms? The mazes? The many heads of animals and weird things that should have decorated the room? The armors and swords? Hell, right now he would have been satisfied with some drawers to search! Weren’t these people rich?!

Jones sighed.

(Maybe I should have brought Sparky. Could have played fetch with him.)

“Can we atleast do that?” The deep voice came from the other room.

He looked in its direction and was reminded that he was in the middle of a job. And that the people behind the wall were talking about him.

(Eh,) he thought as he shrugged. He probably knew himself better than they would, so he surely hadn’t missed anything new. Jones was going to sit in the chair once again, but stopped as he heard something else.

“Fine,” the other male voice said. “Let’s tell him, then.”

(Finally!)

The door, which was the only one in the room, opened, and four figures came out of it shortly after.

“Sorry if we kept you waiting for too long,” said the first of the armored and costumed people in the group, the one with an average male voice named Armament.

Jones had already seen him, so his appearance wasn’t a surprise. Nonetheless, it was delightful to see him again, or at least, what he wore.

Armament had a brown padded armor covered in superficial indents, mostly across his chest, which had the shape of small octagons instead of the more common ones like rectangles or diamonds. It would have been fairly similar to its older relatives if it hadn’t been for the attached helmet made out of the same material, protecting his head from the exterior, also having two blue lenses on top of his eyes. Nevertheless, the silver and shining marks on its abdomen might also have had something to do with it being different.

A perfect circle, filled in its entirety with what Jones knew were incredibly small, beautiful and elegant words, none bigger or smaller than the rest, each engraved with meticulous precision and cleanliness that would have suggested they had been written with the thinnest of pens, yet an average welder was responsible for such work. The fact that silver had been attached to cloth or something similar wasn’t that surprising, since most symbologists were able to somehow engrave their mark into most, if not all materials. No, that beauty did not origin from his power, but from his genius.

What a joy it was seeing such craftsmanship again, and what memories did it bring. He could still remember the first time he had seen an item from Armada, his disbelief still fresh despite the years. He had yet to see such a quality of work in another symbologist, but he believed, no, knew that that… Wasn’t likely.

Nonetheless, the rest of Armament’s costume was as impressive as the padded garment. Each piece, sublime. But their combination…

The Staff Of The Monkey King hung from his shoulder, one of its two golden tips revealing itself as it did not fit in the sheath. Aegis was strapped to his left arm, the bottom half of its clear and pristine blue stone having a T-shape with curve lines. And Hermes Sandals’ were being stained by the mediocre carpet underneath it.

Mythological artifacts brought into our reality, objects that represented centuries of culture and history… And a vigilante-wannabe was the one using them, mashing such relics together without any respect for their cultural significance.

(What a shame.)

The figures behind Armament at least seemed to have a singular and finished theme with their costumes.

To his right, a huge green armor imposed its presence. The metal suit was composed of several thick metal plaques, all having a dim light due to the golden mark on his chest, another of Armada’s work. The gauntlets, which had chunks of metal instead of fingers, greaves, and the helmet, which lacked a neck, seemed to be slightly smaller, maybe to make it tighter around the body of whoever was using such armor. And giving it less of a human appearance, the back’s piece hunched forward, creating a steep hump. Beneath such a monster of a construction, a bigger than average sledgehammer stood straight on the carpet, one of its flat ends shining with red light.

To Armament’s left, two figures, smaller than the one at his right and closer to the door, stood near each other. By the shape of their bodies, they both seemed to be female.

The leftmost figure wore a white costume. It didn’t seem too flashy as it resembled average body armor, only white. However, it wasn’t as mediocre as the ones most heroes used nowadays. The female costumed figure had a cape that covered her body, all the way to her knees, except for the small opening at the front, as well as a curious helmet with a sharp beak and black lenses, the back of it stretching five or six inches behind her head.

Then there was the rightmost figure out of the two females.

It was fair to say that despite having what looked like the cheapest costume and materials, it was the most unique out of the entire group. A military jacket and pants covered her extremities, both of them being filled with a curious amount of pockets with buttons. And filled meant filled. There must have been like twenty-five or twenty-six pockets just in the front of her upper half, and Jones could see some peeking through her sides and behind her. Her sleeves and pants were also populated with the same type of pockets, none opened. The entirety of the pocket population had the same green color as the original uniform, and fortunately didn’t extend to the brown gloves and boots. Or the mask covering her face, which was a simple colombina mask with a black tone that hid the surrounding area around her eyes and nose. She was also the only one that revealed hair, a short and brown cut.

The costume was nothing out of this world, but its simplicity, unique and original simplicity, not like the one with hero costumes, was very refreshing in these times of mediocrity.

“Part of the job,” Jones then said. “Would you mind telling me their names?”

Armament turned his head, “Uh… Yeah. The green guy is Tank Buster, the white one with a cape is Mistical, and the one left is Eureka.”

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Jones said as he offered a handshake. None took it. “I see how it is,” he then said, cleaning the butt of his brown pants with the hand he had extended.

“Don’t take it personally, they’re… Just a bit skeptical.”

“Really? To me they just seem like a bunch of assholes.”

Tank Buster tried to move towards Jones, but Armament put a hand in front of him before he could.

“Trust me, they’re not assholes,” the leader of the costumed group said.

“If you say so.” Jones then turned around and sat in the fancy chair, putting his feet on the table with two loud bangs. “So,” he then said after a moment, “What are you offering?”

Armament gave a glance to all of the members behind him, also giving the smallest of nods to Tank Buster.

“Yes, we have a job. But we would like a demonstration.”

Jones grabbed his brown cowboy hat and put it on top of the table, scratching his black hair afterwards. He then put it once again on his head, clasped his hands together and stayed in complete silence.

“Um… I’m sorry, is that a yes?” Armament finally asked after a moment of confusion.

“That was nothing, since I don’t know what the hell you’re asking,” Jones answered in his regular tone, a calm and sexy one that would make every girl and guy woo. Of course, the people in front of him didn’t because they didn’t have the confidence necessary to.

“We want proof that you can really do what you say,” Armament said.

“I… Eh… So, you want to hire me for something else apart from what we discussed? I can give a discount if that’s it.”

“Stop playing,” Tank Buster then spat with his deep voice.

(Not bad,) Jones thought.

“Shows us how your power works,” the green and huge man continued.

“So you do want to hire for another object!”

“No,” Tank Buster growled as he got next to the table. “You show us you’re not full of shit, and then we will hire you!” He said, looking down at Jones.

“And what if I don’t?” Jones asked, not looking at him, instead interested in something that had gotten caught on his boot.

“We whoop your ass, and you don’t get any money.”

“Wow,” Jones said with fake surprise, still interested in his shooes. “Are you going to assault me for not wanting to do something for you? You seem more like villains than vigilantes, if you ask me.”

(It also seems that someone’s compensating for something…)

“We’re not going to assault you,” Armament said, prompting Tank Buster away from the table. The green monster obeyed reluctantly and walked to the rest of the group. “But you won’t get paid either.”

“You should know that money isn’t a concern for me. You yourself said behind that door that I work for important people. And not to offend, but waaaay more important than your little team here.”

Armament raised his shoulders in surprise, “You spied on our conversation?”

“Didn’t need to with your friend over there,” Jones said pointing at Little Toy Tank Soldier.

“That’s it-” Tank Buster said as he gripped his hammer with his right hand, getting three steps in as something stopped him.

“Enough!” Armament shouted as he reached for The Staff Of The Monkey King on his back. The red and golden stick then extended with great velocity as he whipped it around, smacking the helmet of the green armor.

Tank Buster dropped to one knee, the sledge hammer still beneath his right hand, which was now laying on the carpeted floor. He turned his head around to look at Armament, but the man didn’t give an explanation.

Instead, all that he said was, “Out.”

The green man stayed knelt for quite some time, challenging his leader with the cold stare that the armor’s eye cracks provided. Yet again, after some time passed, he stood up and got out of the room, his hammer grabbed with a tight grip. The door was shut, and just then Armament did retract The Staff Of The Monkey King.

(What a beauty,) Jones thought, eyeing the red artifact as it was sheathed.

“I hope this proves that we still want to work with you. Is it really that much to ask for a demonstration?”

Jones stared at Armament with a stone cold gaze as he considered whether to say what he had wanted to ask from the beginning.

“Is the object you want me to locate a work of Mythos?”

Armament froze. He then looked at his remaining teammates, but they didn’t budge under his stare. The material of his helmet rustled as his head turned once again to face Jones, his black lenses devoid of any emotion.

“Yes. But if you want more details, you’ll have to accept the job.”

(We hit the jackpot, baby!)

“Ok,” Jones said as he dropped his feet to the floor, taking out a small black box and putting it on top of the table afterwards. “What do you want me to find? Need a description, image preferably, and a past location. If it is within the past week, that would be great.”

“Sure. We’ll have you find something in the building, since checking it won’t take too much time.” Armament approached Jones, the dirty carpet scrapping Hermes’ Sandals. He then pulled out his phone and tapped an image into the screen. “The Loyal Knight, by Hernand Sansara. And a past location may as well be this room.”

Jones eyed the painting. It was a nice drawing, a knight in white armor guarding the door of a castle in ruins whilst the night sky showered him with the dim light of stars, creating a warm and comfortable feeling despite the destruction. He then opened the small black box, grabbing one of the five pencils in the small cup holder, and a folded sheet of paper. The sheet rustled as Jones extended it across the white table. It was a DIN A 2 paper, big enough to draw a good map.

“I know that you’ve been a very talkative public,” Jones said to the group. “But I would appreciate it if you could remain silent. Questions at the end, please.”

Again, no movement at all.

(I’m never doing vigilantes again.)

Jones rolled up the sleeves of his brown leather jacket as well as zipping it closed. Wouldn’t want to get his white T-shirt stained, since the pencils were very greasy.

The graphite end of the wooden pencil slowly hovered through the white sheet as he moved his right hand to the left-upper corner, sliding the phone across the table until it was just above it after. His hand then began to strike the paper with quick wrist movements, making thin lines, sketching a representation of the painting that was on the screen. It wasn’t going to be an exact replica since the people he was doing it for already had the painting, which was nice considering how many hand cramps he would dodge. After doodling the reference, Jones encased it in a square with two straight lines, and once he was done with it, he could start with the real process.

Jones looked around the room, looking at the different parts of the area. After a moment’s worth of study, he closed his eyes and began unraveling the past.

Despite his eyes being closed, his brain was still receiving images. The first one was the room he was in, though lacking any people. His point of view remained still for quite some time as Jones felt how the days passed by at a faster rate than normal. A week was the time frame he usually chose to find the starting point. After what should have been the fifth day, Jones began seeing pictures with other points of view as the painting was moved. Slowly and progressively, the images began stacking up, the old ones still there as they were ingrained in his memory. More frames passed as he traveled through the inner halls of the structure, which had the mediocre appearance of an office building but with fancier details. The change suddenly stopped, his mind now filling with the same image over and over.

That was his stop. Jones opened his left eye to begin creating a map.

His power needed concentration to retain the images as clear as day, but after years of practice, he had managed to retain it with one eye open, which had partially given him the idea of making maps since he now could see whilst using his power. The paper was being filled with straight and curved lines, slowly composing a map from an aerial perspective thanks to the fact that the pictures in his mind were as fresh as if he was there, being able to get a pretty good idea of the walls and everything that had surrounded the object he was embodying. Of course, his map wouldn’t be perfect since he couldn’t pry deeper into the rooms or spaces that the object had passed by.

With two quick lines near the right-upper corner, his map was finished, allowing himself to open his other eye. The overload of information coming now from both eyes broke his concentration, as well as the images that he had ingrained so deeply, which were now diluted fragments of what they had once been.

Jones put a hand on the paper and slid it to the edge of the table at his right. Armament leaned over it, and for the first time, his two other teammates moved as well. The three of them studied in silence the map he had fabricated in front of their eyes, and after a moment of silence, Armament and Mistical raised their heads, waiting for Eureka’s answer. She nodded shortly after, which pleased both vigilantes.

“I’m still skeptical about it, but your power seems trustworthy,” Mistical said. Her voice laid on the deeper spectrum.

“So, are you gonna tell me now or what?”

“Very well,” Armament said. “It seems that you're interested in Mythos’ work, so I believe you must also know about The Sword In The Stone.”