**Secret Alliance**

By the time Alec backed out of the conversation, it was already night. He was perturbed, angry and confused, but most importantly, drained, so he did what everyone would do in his situation – drove back to his shelter. The meta was a nomad, meaning he had no permanent place to call home. His hideouts mostly involved a ring of low quality motels around barely populated areas of L.A, the kinds of motels you’d be lucky to have a working shower. Although his appearance raised suspicion in the eyes of the receptionists and the tenants, they never caused him problems, and he was very much fine with that. 

A couple of minutes later, the MRAP pulled over down a parking lot belonging to a small motel. Alec shoved the door open, placing his right foot on the ground before his left. After he got out, he pushed the heavy door closed then took hold of his transponder car keys, pressing onto the lock button with his thumb, causing the car to do it’s typical beep. In his right hand, he was holding a glass bottle of whiskey he’d bought in a liquor store earlier, in his left he had his grip on the black briefcase, while there was a small, mucky flask concealed in his jacket’s right pocket. Alec himself moved with a rather slow and unenergetic pace, signifying he was exhausted from all the shenanigans he got himself through. All in a day’s work.

The meta made his way through the motel’s lobby, stopping for a little bit at the receptionist’ counter. Through the grids that were separating the counter with the rest of the place, he could make out a face, a masculine, round shaped, weary face, and then a couple of curves around the chin, exhibiting a duplicitous smile. He, the receptionist, was reading a magazine, a Playboy issue to be more exact, before he would shift his attention at the strange man on the other side. Alec slipped his hand under the square opening, wiggling it at the confused receptionist. He looked at the hand, then threw his look at the stranger. It was then that he finally noticed the glow in his eyes, letting a nearly inaudible “Oh shit!” in the process. Shortly after that, the meta felt a small metallic object touch his hand. His ascent up the stairs leading to his room was accompanied by a load of spewing, as the man downstairs was trying to justify his higgledy-piggledy behavior, statements which Miller ignored with ease. 

The door to his room opened, and a worn out Alec barged in. He made sure to carefully lock the door before diving into his bed, releasing the glass bottle on top of the bed sheets while dropping his briefcase next to the bed, staring straight into the ceiling fan. The strange odor and the disorganized surroundings didn't bother him at all. What occupied a special spot in his overloaded brain was Elijah - possibly one of the few whom Alec had developed an interest in. There was also Roze, but besides having a close resemblance to his estranged sister, she wasn't that captivating. Elijah, in the other hand - there was something about the guy, about his manner of speech and his actions, something that didn't quite correspond. Alec was trained his whole life to be able to read people, and he employed that particular skill of his during his encounter with the fire fugitive, but he couldn't achieve anything. The man was like an open book, if that open book would look different every time you read it. Taking those qualities of him into consideration, the former soldier wanted him in his team, by his side, but his crooked sense of honor stopped him, the same sense of honor that made his trust issues more severe, indirectly influencing in his lone wolf style. The thought that Elijah distracted Alec, a man renowned for his professionalism, from his ulterior motive made the latter cringe, in fear that he was losing his sharpness.

Following his contemplation, Alec slowly boosted himself up, now sitting on top of the bed. He grabbed the alcohol bottle with his right hand, pulled the flask with his left hand then poured the alcohol from the bottle into the flask. He always could have simply drank the booze straight from the bottle, but he enjoyed it more that way. It was something that brought him nostalgia, that reminded him of the times when his conception of booze was a method of celebration, not something he could find solace in. Either way, it's not like he could really get drunk, taking into account he was always known for handling his liquor well, even before his powers surfaced. As the liquid gushed down his throat, Miller's left hand slid around the cluttered bed, looking for the TV remote. After finally finding it, he turns the TV on while simultaneously taking his jacket off, throwing it into the floor. He was in his civil outfit, finding an opportunity to change from his work suit at the liquor store, same store he bought his beverage in. The TV news channel reported about a massacre in a small pub in Fresno, while the other channel, the second out of two working channels in that shithole, was broadcasting Stanley Kubrick's 'A Clockwork Orange'. Alec went with Kubrick, already tired of all the bad news he got throughout the day. A whiskey bottle later, and he fell asleep, down on the pile of disarranged sheets he called a bed.

**The other day**

The phone's buzzing was what woke Alec the other day. He instinctively gasped, like he was being forced on a chokehold, right before looking around observantly in an attempt to determine the origin of the sound. He noticed the jacket vibrating on the ground, a faint light noticeable in the front pocket. The TV was still on since last night, this time playing a stream of different advertisements. Miller stretched his hand, barely grabbing the phone who had ceased buzzing by now. He rubbed his eyes, adjusting them to the the scenery, before throwing a look at the message. It was from his MHRC contact. It wrote: 

"Hey, you're probably asleep now, so apologize in advance in case I just woke you up. I sifted around the government files, but we from the registry have very limited access, so I couldn't find anything related to a corporation or anything. I did, however, gather information on this guy, a meta called Constantine. He is the adoptive brother of Gary Stuart, the CEO of StuCorp, some corporate who manufacture weapons and defense systems. I couldn't find any contract to prove that StuCorp is affiliated with the government, but I've noticed that the FBI's inventory possesses some of their trademark technology - therefore, it's safe to assume that the two are linked.

I've sent you Constantine's profile below, along with the address of the woman currently in charge of FBI, Elena Reyes. I am told that she and Constantine are pretty close, so don't be surprised if you find out they're having a sleepover. You can thank me later."

Seconds after finishing his reading, Alec stumbled out of the motel in a hurry, haphazardly wearing his jacket while he made his way to the MRAP. He fired up the engine, taking off from the site.

**Rushed joint with Letter Bee**

*"This must be the place"*, Alec thought to himself, viewing a message containing specific directions to the location of the top-ranking FBI official. He let out an inaudible groan before moving in, somewhat anxious about the meeting. He was told that he'd want to look out for a woman called Elena if he wanted to make demands, or file a complaint, but he knew better than to listen at people. It was actually the FBI meta, Constantine, or so he was called, that piqued his interest. If there was anyone who'd have influence over the FBI, it would probably be a metahuman, taking into account they're far more evolved than your average joe. Upon scaling a flight of stairs, he found himself before an apartment door, what he assumed to be the FBI meta's hideout. He pulled his hand out of his jacket's pocket, tapping into the door twice.

The door opened, but instead of Constantine or Elena, the door was instead opened by a child, a fifteen-year old boy with brown hair and blue eyes, and looking all the while like one of those 'Adorably Precocious Children' you see in Anime. The child gazed at the stranger's face, and then spoke:

"Alec Miller, aka Lighthouse. Recently Registered. Let me guess, you're here for either Elena or Constantine? Well, the former's asleep, sadly, while the latter's watching TV."

Alec was slightly taken aback when a boy, most likely about twelve year old, unlocked the door, but what really caught him off guard was his manner of speech. For a kid who had yet to reach puberty, he sure had a rich vocabulary. The fact that he was aware of his real identity didn't surprise him as much, considering the kid did hang out with government schmucks.

"Tell Constantine to cut off whatever he's doing. I have a business proposal", Alec spoke in his unique and fairly distinct tone.

Cedric nodded, then, in order to avoid waking Elena, texted Constantine to come to the door. Moments later, a young-looking man, clad in a T-Shirt, Jeans, and slippers, and carrying a glowing spear approached Alec's position, before saying, archly:

"Lighthouse, formerly Metakiller. What do you want?" 

Alec slipped his right hand under his jacket immediately after he framed a young man, armed with a glowing spear, onto his peripheral vision. He was taking measures, reaching for his FN Five-Seven, should shit hit the fan. "Heel", he sneered at the man's stern disposition. Constantine took things way too seriously. Miller's mocking attitude, however, was halted after the FBI meta made a mention of his old alias, a cruel reminder of his pointlessly violent past. He expected that kind of scrutiny from a clandestine organization like CIA or NSA, but never from a FBI executive. He, nonetheless, decided to remain professional and act like nothing's happened.

"As you might know, your affiliates, StuCorp, sent a spiky-haired kid to recruit me. As you also might know, I refused.", Alec paused, making a couple of steps towards the room, just a few inches past the teenage boy, before proceeding "I'll be blunt here. I don't like the way how StuCorp works. They sent a kid to pick me up, and they just employed two fugitives, one of them who's responsible for single-handedly setting fire to the police station. That, and the fact that your 'heroes' have made quite a habit of switching sides, is surely a cause of concern." The former-soldier took a seat from a table nearby, before finally concluding his proposal. "I want to work with you. From what I've read, you seem like a fairly dedicated man, one who takes pride on being a meta, hence why I'm standing before your doorstep. If you do accept, I'd like this partnership to be secret, so as to avert the possibility of a leak."

"Gary. Did. What." spoke Constantine in cold fury. "I mean, I know about him recruiting Alto, but bringing Elijah into the ranks? Sigh, my adoptive brother sometimes takes his belief in second chances too far...one of the few reasons he's still afloat is because his products are just that good. Nevertheless, I'd be glad to accept a secret partnership with you; okay, not glad, per se, but I'm satisfied. And, thanks."

"Anyway, you'd want information, right?"

Alec nodded the moment his partnership proposal was settled, before opening his mouth to answer the man's question.

"Kind of. Information is my department, but I'd be glad if you cleared some things up for me. As for what I want, for starters, I'd like a new opsuit, something a lot like my old one but in a different color, fit for daytime missions. I'm sure the FBI must have a few spare prototypes. And make no mistake; when I said that I want to form a partnership, I meant I'll only answer to you and you only. Not your superiors, or any of your", the meta darted his gaze at Cedric before finishing his sentence "family members. Do you understand?"

"Sigh," spoke Constantine, "done, and done."

"Oh, and just to clear something up. I'm not working for you. I'm working WITH you", the meta proceeded setting the boundaries "meaning every decision we take should provide both of us leverage."

Constantine smiled.

"So, a partnership of equals? All right, we can have that." 

Alec eyed the room around him with his glowing eyes, inspecting every corner of it. It appeared that there was nothing to suggest his life was at stake, but still, it was a habit he developed since a young age, and old habits do die hard. After a brief moment, he eventually threw his sight at his new found partner, nodding in agreement at his last remark. He was rather impressed at how fast the deal was settled.

"Alright then", he responded, lifting himself up from his seat, making his way towards the door. He lingered for a second at the doorstep, throwing one last passing glance at Constantine. "I'd give you my number, but I'm sure you already have it."

"I do, Lighthouse," spoke Constantine. "Anyway, bye, then."

Alec left the site, mounting his MRAP, starting the engine and then heading back to the motel.

((Tl;dr Alec goes back to the hotel, drowns in booze. The next day, he visits Constantine and they make a pact))