"…I would very much appreciate any assistance you could provide. Here is an opportunity for you to save perhaps many lives. It's no different than what you're used to."
"No, what I'm used to is eliminating threats on a personal level. I truly am sorry, but my answer remains the same. I am not your guy."
Johnathan Chuck sighed heavily and proceeded to the door.
"Oh, just one more thing," he said, starting back towards the table. "Here's my number in case you ever change your mind." Chuck drew from his coat pocket a business card trimmed with gold. The Man got up and stepped forward. John handed him his card, and The Man pinched the creamy white rectangle between his middle and index fingers.
"Don't expect me to use this," he said and stuffed it into his back pocket. "But you take care, I hope you find someone who has the courage to take him out." John opened the front door, stepped outside onto the sidewalk, and looked up. The word "Eddie's" was on the outside of the restaurant just above the main door. It was illuminated with orange and yellow neon lights that shone in the dark of the night. He continued right down the sidewalk until he came to a crosswalk, where he waited for a cab to take him back to his office.
The Man admired John's card and its simplistic, professional design. Ivory in color, the thick paper provided a solid foundation for the golden ink that was indented and lined a border around the card on both sides. His name, Johnathan Chuck, was a matte onyx printing on the front of the card. And on the other side, his phone number and office address, with slightly raised text featuring a silver metallic sheen.
He got up from his table and went to pay for his coffee. The Man tipped, but before leaving Eddie's, he noticed something off. Or more accurately, in that moment recalled a strange sensation while talking with that man, Johnathan. He brushed it off for the time being, but made a mental note to come back to it if something else connected to that feeling. The Man got into his pearl blue Nissan GT-R and headed home. He glanced at the cyan LEDs on his dash. It was 3:00 AM.
The murderer that Chuck had asked for help to put an end to was a specific individual with extraordinary capabilities far beyond any human being. His victims were always found headless with their hands and feet missing. And because the cuts were so clean and precise, the media had named him Conan. The world at large always assumed that he had some sort of mind control ability. This belief came from several accounts in which a victim would sometimes be found doing odd things in areas often restricted to the public mere hours, or sometimes minutes, before their very demise.
According to The Man, all of it seemed over the top and way too far-fetched to be grounded. The most viable explanation would be that, well, because The Man knows very little about Conan, there isn't one, not yet.
Returning home, The Man went to bed, but as he slept, he dreamt of Conan and the people that he killed. Maybe John was right; he was probably most qualified for the task, only he had thought to have put that life far behind him. It's always ironic when the past never seems to let go. When The Man awoke, the sun had already sunk below the horizon, and having slept on the proposal, he made up his mind and called John.
"You are right, I shouldn't pass up an opportunity to save lives. May I come by your office in the next hour?"
"You couldn't have called at an earlier time?" asked John. "I am grateful that you came around. Also, there is something that you really should see. Talk to you soon." The Man hung up and went on his way to Chuck's office. When he arrived, John was waiting. "We finally got a scrap of evidence. Surveillance footage of the killer in action, take a look. Oh, and he's not a telepath as we thought." John turned to switch on a small TV screen that played a recording of the so-called "evidence." The Man leaned in to watch.
The clip showed Conan, and in his hand, he brandished a sword. It had a long blade that curved slightly two-thirds of the way down. They watched as Conan did his work, and to the shock of both men, the killer turned towards the camera and looked straight at it before slicing it from where it was mounted. But John and The Man saw all they needed to. He bore the face of the man that he had just killed.
"That's more than just a scrap," said The Man. "We finally know what we are up against."
"Indeed," said John, "he appears to be some sort of shapeshifter."
"So how am I going to stop him?" asked The Man. "He can blend in anywhere without raising the slightest suspicion."
"Well, that's not all." John produced a weapon. "Maybe this will help you." It was the same sword that Conan had.
"Where did you get this?" The Man was astounded.
"We think he may not be the only one. Perhaps there are multiple shapeshifters who use this very weapon. As for the likes of this one in particular," said John, "I found it leaning against a tree in the park concealed by tall ferns." John handed the sword to The Man and said, "I wish you good luck. This won't be easy." The Man thanked him and began his search for Conan, the killer of men. The Man was determined to exact justice and end Conan's life.
It wasn't easy. Conan was a genius, evident by the fact that he left nothing to be traced. The way he desecrated the bodies showed that he wanted people to find them, to really see them.
The Man started to finally analyze his pattern. A typical serial killer usually wouldn't have one. On one occasion, The Man witnessed firsthand as the killer actually took on the form of another person. It was near dusk and at a place where very few people occupied. He wasn't going to get away this time. The Man followed the killer's victim to ensure their safety. After all, if it came to it, he could probably take him with the sword that John had given him.
The Man rounded a corner, but the stranger was nowhere to be seen. He dashed around frantically, but came up empty. He decided to retrace his steps, and after coming to a familiar place, he found the body of the man that the killer was after. On alert that he could still be around, The Man reached for his weapon, but it wasn't there. After searching for a while, he found it or another one of its kind. He examined it closer, and in the dying light, he noticed that there was blood stained across the larger portion of the blade.
"Conan must have ditched this, but why? Maybe while I was running, perhaps I lost my sword. Then, when I was far enough away, he must have killed that man and retrieved my own weapon. And then, as I made my way back and discovered that body, he circled around and dropped off his sword and made off with mine. But why not kill me? This is probably just one big game. Maybe he wants me to find him. Or maybe he's leading me into a trap much further down the line." The Man's reasoning was sound, and perhaps he was one step closer to catching Conan. At least he still had a weapon capable of doing so.
As time went on, The Man observed the murderer so closely that he could pretty much predict exactly what his next move would be. There were many instances where The Man thought that he had killed Conan, but, to his utter horror, the killer had duped him into killing the original clones, instead of actually killing the copied versions, which was the murderer.
Growing more frustrated, the man knew that what he was currently doing simply wasn't enough. His only hope of catching him would be to somehow get inside his head, to literally think like him, do what he does, to act like him. The Man needed to be him. The best way to defeat his enemy was to become the enemy.
After practicing this method for some time, The Man discovered he too could shapeshift. He remembered John's words about how there very well could be more like Conan. He would use this newfound ability to his advantage and hopefully stop Conan. But time after time, The Man failed. The line between reality and practice became extremely blurred. It was increasingly difficult to keep track of who was doing the killing and who the victims were.
Was he the victim of his own actions? Or was Conan using him to further accomplish his own work? The Man didn't know anything anymore; everything he did seemed to yield nothing of what he desired.
Eventually, The Man came face to face with the man whom he truly believed to be Conan.
"It's over!" The Man said. "You can't hurt anyone anymore."
"Don't you mean, you can't hurt anyone anymore?" This deeply confused The Man, and he questioned his own reality, which he should've done a long time ago.
"What do you mean?" The Man was cautious.
"Wouldn't you like to see my true form, who I am under all of this deception?"
"I still don't follow." The Man drew his sword. "Enough games. I will end this." But to his surprise, Conan too had his sword already drawn. They fought, their weapons clanging together, both of the swords perfectly matched to the other. With every move, Conan seemed to know The Man's very strategy. But he too saw every action of Conan's. It was a stalemate.
"Don't you see?" Conan drew back. "We are the same." He uncloaked himself from his disguise, and The Man stared face-to-face with himself.
"You are me," he said.
"It's like looking in a mirror. Well, not quite." Conan stroked his beard, which had gray hairs, as did his lady killer hair style. He was an older version of The Man. "I should have killed you sooner. At least then, no more innocent people would have died. But your life isn't mine to take, I'm sure John will know what to do."
"I still don't have all the information. Please tell me the whole story." The Man's spirit was defeated.
"Very well," said Conan. He went on to explain how The Man was indeed himself. How John had really hired Conan to track down a killer who happened to have the same blade as the person hunting him. That there was only ever one sword, and that no one on the planet existed with the same abilities as Conan. The Man had been tracking himself; that's why he could never catch him. "I am not your Conan. I came from the future to stop this, but it would appear that I am too late. I know you didn't know as I didn't, but at least justice can still be served." The Man was hesitant.
"What do you mean?"
"I will go to John and tell him everything that has happened, and he will ensure that the right thing is done with you." Conan left and went on his way to visit Chuck. But when he was gone, The Man fled for he knew that he would be terminated by the law.
Years passed as people looked for The Man, but because of his ability, it was nearly impossible. The Man further learned to control his power and shortly mastered it. He felt increasingly guilty. And as time went on, he couldn't seem to escape what he had done. So, The Man formulated a plan to undo his actions.
Using his shape-shifting ability, The Man made his way into secret places of technology and science, gathering information and material to build a time machine. After it was complete, he went back hoping to inform his previous self of what he was. But unfortunately, he had forgotten the exact date. With an educated guess, he activated the time machine and made his way to the past.
Arriving in a somewhat familiar time, he put the pieces together, and to his dismay, he was too late. Conan found him and wanted to kill him. The Man dueled with his past self, but after neither could overcome the other, The Man thought it best to at least give Conan the closure that he sought. The Man left him to find John and tell him everything. But when he arrived at John's office, he was dead, and just like all of Conan's victims.
Determined to set things right, The Man decided to take on the form of John, and he went back even further, hoping to find Conan even before he killed anyone. But the time machine malfunctioned, and he was put in an unfamiliar time. Even worse, he could barely remember anything; it was as if most of his memory had been erased. He didn't remember his own name. So, with not a ton of creativity, he decided to call himself Johnathan.
Some time later, however, he saw on the news a killer named Conan, notorious for brutal murder. He had possesed a strange sword in his possession for a long time, but he had no idea of what it really was. When he had seen that this Conan could very much have the same exact sword as he, Johnathan wanted to find him. But with very little luck and a fast deteriorating memory, Johnathan resorted to hiring someone to find Conan for him. He interviewed many people, but none had the expertise that he was looking for.
Finally, he had come across a certain ex-assassin. The Man followed him for a little while, then eventually met him at a restaurant.
"Excuse me," said Johnathan, "didn't you use to kill for higher?"
"Are you accusing me of killing people?" The Man motioned to a screen that was broadcasting the daily news. "I ain't him."
"I know, I know. It's just that I need someone with your skill set, someone who is a very capable individual, such as yourself." Jonathan hoped to get his help, but suspected that The Man wouldn't want to give it.
"I've since put those days behind me. I won't do it." The man refused.
"Conan is a ruthless killer and a practiced hand at what he does. I would very much appreciate any assistance you could provide. Here is an opportunity for you to save perhaps many lives. It's no different than what you're used to."
"No, what I'm used to is eliminating threats on a personal level. I truly am sorry, but my answer remains the same. I am not your guy."