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The only proof that there had ever been a man named “Oversight” were a few friends he had once had, who were now long gone, and a string of bodies left in his wake.

Once upon a time, a few people had been able to see him when he really concentrated on it.

But those people were now all either dead or were crazy as hell, so it didn’t matter much.

Occasionally, someone in the Consortium would remember that they knew someone named Oversight or get the strange feeling that they were forgetting about someone who was on their team. But that was about it.

And the people he actually wanted to see him were the most blind to his existence, it seemed.

He was utterly alone in the world. Even when he was in a crowd.

At the moment he was sitting in a break room connected to the Agletarian base’s large interior hanger area.

Elsewhere in the open space, Traitor was dressed as a pilot and was regaling his newfound countrymen with his no doubt fabricated exploits, while Adam Eden, AKA “Apathy,” casually sat in the nearby security office.

The guards next to him were listlessly spinning in their office chairs, utterly controlled by Adam’s power over apathy, and paying no attention to their duties or to the intruder who was calmly sitting next to them.

Together, the men, Multifarious, and Flannery, were the mainstays of the Consortium’s Undercover Department. The best at getting into places and being utterly ignored or overlooked once they were there, until it came time for them to be seen. Real Mission: Impossible kind of shit.

They were the men you didn’t know. The men you didn’t want to know.

And they were about to kill everyone in this base.

There were a lot of different groups and departments in the Consortium. But no one fucked with the Undercover Department and got away with it. The Agletarians had almost killed Multifarious. So…

“John” pulled back the bolt on his assault rifle and stood up, getting ready to do his job. A job he was rarely paid to perform and never thanked for, but a job he still performed just more out of habit than anything else.

He continued to do his job because there was quite simply nothing else to do and nowhere else to go.

Besides, he would perform this particular mission because these people had killed his friends. His family. And just because his friends didn’t remember him , didn’t mean that he didn’t remember them.

The people in the room ignored him, paying no attention to the man in the grey hoodie standing next to them or the heavily-modified M-16 clutched in his hands.

Invisible men didn’t kill people, they murdered them .

It was really the only word for it. It was equivalent to shooting sleeping fish in a barrel.

They had no hope of even knowing “John” was in the room, let alone trying to defend themselves against him.

And even if by some miracle they did somehow recognize what was happening, his powers meant that they’d almost instantly forget it anyway.

“John” liked to think that at some point in his life, he had felt bad about doing what he was about to do, and that his powers had just wiped that memory clean like all of the others.

He didn’t think that was the case though.

Right on schedule, the Agletarians fleeing Poacher and the army of Irregulars burst through the doors, trying desperately to get to the exit or a weapons locker.

Unfortunately for them, the security guards were now too bored and apathetic—thanks to Adam Eden– to sound any sort of alarm or open up any of the other doors.

Thus, everyone in the facility was being funneled into this room, where “John” and his friends waited.

To make matters worse, as they raced forward in blind panic, they didn’t see Draugr and Ceann appearing from the facility’s Morgue, having recovered from their apparent deaths in the truck explosion earlier.

Nor did the Agletarians pay any attention as a man dressed as one of their pilots casually hit the switch to open the exterior hanger doors.

They did however recognize the men standing silhouetted in the morning sun, as Hazard and Tyrant effectively blocked their only exit.

“So you’re here to kill our wives, huh?” Hazard asked the room at large, his voice calm but dead cold.

Tyrant simply pulled his guan dao, spinning the weapon around several times in anticipation.

The mob of Agletarians skidded to a stop, suddenly comprehending that they were now boxed in. Invulnerable people to their front and flanks. Attackers they couldn’t even recognize as a threat to their rear. And an army of pissed-off Irregulars barreling down on them, eager to pick up any slack.

The exterior hanger doors shut behind Tyrant and Hazard, and Adam promptly disabled the controls from the security room.

It was a killbox.

There was now no escape for the soldiers in this base. None of them would ever see the sky again.

“John” wanted to think that he had once been the type of person who would feel pity for them. He hoped that deep down, he had been a good man at one point in his life, and that he would have felt sorry for these poor bastards who were about to be murdered.

But he didn’t really believe that about himself.

That was just a dream.

Because… deep down… he knew murder came easy to him.

Too easy.

He leveled the rifle at the unsuspecting soldiers assembled around him and moved to stand in the doorway they had just raced through, cutting off their retreat.

The men stared straight through him, not comprehending that there was a weapon pointed inches from their faces or that a heartless monster was looking into their frightened eyes and feeling nothing.

The invisible man was preparing for the slaughter.

And they had no idea. No one ever had any idea who “John” was.

He didn’t exist. No one knew him and no one would want to. He wasn’t worth remembering. People should be glad they couldn’t remember him.

“John” was certainly glad that he couldn’t remember himself.

It was perhaps the only thing about his life which he hoped never changed; the only grace granted to him by a God who had obviously also forgotten that “John” existed.

Because if these were the kinds of things “John” currently did…

he certainly didn’t want to remember the things he had already done.

Oversight came into your life like a ghost and left it after making you one .

And no matter what he did… no matter how hard he tried…

no matter how deeply he might love you …

you wouldn’t remember him. You wouldn’t see him.

You wouldn’t hear him. You wouldn’t love him back.

You just… wouldn’t. And that was a pain that not even his powers could ever erase from his own mind, no matter how hard he wanted to block it out.

How hard he prayed. How much he cried.. .

He was The Unforgettable What’s-His-Name.

The duck that wasn’t supposed to be.

And he was essentially already dead .

If there was a Hell, John Cuttleston-Pie had lived there his entire life. Alone. Screaming. And no one realized it but him.

The trap closed on the Agletarians and an invisible man opened fire on his latest victims, leaving his only recognizable mark on the world.