A conversation

Jared’s stomach lurched, and it had nothing to do with the train’s movement. Memories flashed through his mind: fighting the doctor’s henchmen in cities, chasing artifacts across the street, and the mad scientist’s laughter.

How many times had he stopped Dr. Glasseye’s schemes? Three? Four? But each time, the inventor had escaped, leaving behind only a promise: “Next time, my friend. Next time.”

But here? On his morning commute? Jared’s grip tightened on the pole as questions raced through his mind. His cover as a data analyst had held for years, had it finally cracked? Were other agents compromised? The faces of his fellow passengers suddenly seemed suspect, each one a potential plant or victim.

No. He **** out a long breath, steadying himself. Panic was how John Anderson would react if a civilian was in his position. Right now, he needed to be Jared, the spy who was always on top of his game.

Standing taller, he cast another careful glance at Dr. Glasseye. The old man appeared absorbed in his magazine, but Jared knew better than to trust appearances. If the scientist thought he could catch him off guard, he'd soon learn otherwise.

“Next stop, Hardings Lane,” the announcer chimed as the train slowed. “Please stand clear of the doors.”

The timing couldn’t be more perfect. One stop. One chance to figure out if he was walking into a trap or if fate had simply dealt him a very strange hand.

When the train stopped, Jared moved with practiced casualness toward Dr. Glasseye. His training screamed at him to check for escape routes, hidden weapons, or potential henchmen. But instead, he simply sat down beside his nemesis before anyone else could claim the seat. Better to spring whatever trap was waiting than let the doctor choose his moment.

“John?” Dr. Glasseye’s voice carried none of its usual menace. The old man looked up from his magazine, crow’s feet crinkling around eyes that should have held malice but showed only friendly recognition. His signature mechanical monocle was nowhere to be seen. “I didn’t know you took the Red Line for work. It beats taking the bus, doesn’t it?”

Jared’s mind raced to process what he was seeing. The same silver hair, the same angular features, but everything else was wrong. Where was the cruel smile? The calculated stare? If this was an act, Dr. Glasseye deserved an Oscar, not just a nomination.

“Yeah,” Jared said slowly, eyes scanning for any sign of the doctor’s usual arsenal of gadgets. The other passengers swayed with the train’s movement, oblivious to anything amiss. “What are you doing here?”

Dr. Glasseye chuckled. It was a warm, genuine sound, a far cry from his usual sinister laugh. “Heading to work like you.” He tilted his head, concern replacing his smile. “Are you feeling alright, John? Don’t tell me Jennings is on your case again.”

“No, me and Katheryn are fine,” Jared answered automatically, then froze. How would the doctor know that? It seemed like a very small and random thing to know about his civilian cover. Maybe it was part of his plan to confuse him. “Whatever this is, I’ll stop it.”

“Stop what?” Dr. Glasseye asked, closing his magazine as the train slowed. “Oh, that's our stop, John.”

The words died in Jared’s throat as he noticed the impossible changes happening before him. Dr. Glasseye’s hands were changing. The liver spots fading, wrinkles smoothing out, skin taking on a healthier hue. Above, his thinning silver hair was darkening and thickening. Yet the man himself seemed completely unaware, and the other passengers remained absorbed in their world as if nothing extraordinary was happening.

“Next stop, Minstowe Holt,” the announcer chimed as the train entered the station. “Please stand clear of the doors.”

Jared blinked hard, his training warring with what his eyes were telling him. Whether he believed it or not, Dr. Glasseye was aging backward like a film in reverse.

And no one seemed to notice or care.

“Aren’t you coming?” Dr. Glasseye asked as the doors opened. His voice had lost its elderly quaver, replaced by something stronger, younger.

And feminine.

“Yeah,” Jared **** himself to nod, struggling to maintain his composure. Following the regressing doctor off the train, one thought kept repeating.

Did Dr. Glasseye’s appearance had something to do with that vision he saw.