John Barrowman as #Kaloswww.thecruxseries.com
From The Crux
Chapter 2: The Unusual Suspects
“This Pan, whose real name is Kalos, was the last of the Shadow Masters,” she explains while floating across the room to her virtual terminals...
“His father was Talos,” she continues reviewing the inconceivable amount of data she has just displayed, “a very dangerous entity who was the first Crux Citizen to be destroyed by the Controller. This gives his son, Kalos, more than ample motive to seek vengeance against the Repository and attempt to cause significant damage to the Construct.”
“Well, any motive he had must be long gone,” I reply, standing and then approaching the first step. “I mean at one time, he presented himself as the big, bad, wolf using what little power he had left to make everyone believe his bite was far worse than his bark. He was always trying to convince the hapless masses that he was still a nefarious monster possessing the ability to control his shadow to do his evil bidding.”
She is unimpressed with my dissertation continuing to frantically search the countless files. A woman obsessed, able to flip through an unimaginable multitude of information with tireless fluidity. If I didn’t recognize the science, it would seem a grand unexplainable illusion or magical phenomenon. This place blurs those lines so effectively and thoroughly it is miraculous that we all haven’t gone unconditionally insane.
“Then he hops over to the Fleshworld,” I continue undaunted by her cold shoulder, “trying to pull a “Penance.” Show the mortal world who he was in an effort to expose the Crux and bring total fear into the hearts of men. The only problem is that numb nuts revealed himself to an overtly ambitious aspiring author. Who, after his brief vision of such a self-important ass, filled in the blanks with his own imagination. It gave him the unmistakable muse to create a child’s fairy tale that made him stupid rich. To add insult to injury, when the rest of the Crux denizens found out about his epic fail and the resulting consequence. He quickly became the laughing stock of the entire cosmos, hence his nickname, The Pan.”
“None the less, he successfully broadcasted himself to the Fleshworld!” She decisively affirms, detaching herself from her research for the moment and glaring intently at me. “It is simply a happy circumstance that the man he exposed himself to used his horrific encounter as a literary device as opposed to becoming obsessed with investigating the bizarre confrontation, possibly discovering the truth.”
“Even if he had, it would have been an impossibility,” I rapidly assure. “Who the hell would have believed him? What philosopher, theologian, or scientist would risk their credibility to investigate such a claim?”
“Enough evidence could open the doorway for discovery,” she cautions returning to her investigation.
I vigorously shake my head in disbelief, turning to Sasha, who returns a blank stare.
“Well, I visit the idiot once a week, or at least as the Crux defines a week, to check up on him,” I confidently answer. “Each time, without variance, I find him in a newer state of shame and debauchery. The guy has no juice left. His Mojo is all but spent.”
“He is still a concern,” she nervously replies still utterly captivated by her ceaseless fact finding.
“You not being worried about something, now that would truly be a concern,” I quip walking back towards my chair.
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