Disclaimer: If I were gay, and Ryan Murphy were single, we'd be…making real life inspiration for all future Klaine scenes, he he! So, in case you're dumb as sticks and still can't tell, I DON'T FUCKING OWN!
Warnings: slash (you should just expect if by now, biatches!), probably some language from Puck, violence, gore, lemons & limes (maybe a little fluff?), and pretty much general weirdness
It was the middle of the night, and goodness knows I need my eight hours of sleep, but something kept bothering me. Somehow, I felt something was slightly off, and something was going to happen. I slid out of bed, contemplating whether putting on a robe was necessary, as I headed towards the stairs. Both my dad and I knew that my feelings were never wrong.
I had gotten out of bed and turned towards my door, about to put my foot on the first stair when everything blurred nauseatingly and suddenly, I just knew, even with my eyes clenched tightly shut, that I was in a different place.
This place, wherever it was, was colder, but from the flickering light I saw when I opened my eyes, I guessed it was lit and warmed by a fireplace. Tall book shelves made of some sort of metal and crowded with thousands of books towered in front of me and flanked a pair of heavy wooden double doors.
The carpet under my feet was thick and plush, a dark wine color. Moving my eyes liberally but my head marginally, I saw that I was probably in New York City, for the walls were actually glass that showed a magnificent view of the midnight skyline.
"Well, Mr. Hummel, since you seem to have finished examining my office, perhaps we should start discussing the actual purpose of this meeting?" a cold cultured voice with a slight Australian accent queried in a somewhat mocking manner. I blushed slightly before realizing that I should be angry, not embarrassed. I swirled around, ready to give whoever this dick was a piece of my mind. I stopped short.
The man was…hard to describe. He wasn't classically handsome like Finn or Sam, or geek chic like Artie, or even bad boy hot like Puck. No, his attractiveness came from…perhaps his bearing? His raven black hair started high of his forehead, and his too sharp ice blue eyes were sunken into his too pale face. His face was long, his cheeks sunken in, and his brow and chin jutted out. His nose would have made Snape feel better about himself, and his lips…well; let's just say that if he were the type, and he didn't seem to be, he'd be jealous of Voldemort. In short, the man was pretty darn ugly. But, somehow, he seemed rather…dashing, perhaps? Whatever it was, he also seemed very dangerous, and I decided not to spout off in his much too patronizingly amused face.
"Ah, so it seems I was right, as always. Mr. Hummel knows how to assess the situation and hold his tongue. Seems to me we've got a winner, eh, Karl?" His lips, or…what he would call lips, pulled back to reveal his teeth. Thankfully, they weren't rotted and crooked. Then, I realized he had mentioned someone named Karl. A swish of mechanical doors opening heralded strange footsteps, as if whoever they belonged to was staggering drunkenly. A slight intake of air sounded right behind my head and I had the uncomfortable hair-raising feeling of someone standing right, and I mean right, behind me.
"Yes, Mr. Diablos," the person, I was assuming they were Karl, had a quiet, drawling voice, as if he had first forgotten then remembered every word before they passed his lips. The newly dubbed Mr. Diablos nodded briskly and opened a folder, the only thing on his desk, and started to read from a page in it.
"Hmmm, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, valedictorian, top of the class, French honor student, so-called 'gleek', future fashion designer/Broadway star, everyday fashionista, son of Burt Hummel, step-son and step-brother of Carol and Finn Hudson, respectively…you are many things, Mr. Hummel. And who knows, perhaps one day we can add 'agent of the Facility' to the list. Of course, that's all up to you, Kurt, can I call you Kurt? Good," Mr. Diablos went on without a pause for me to contribute.
"Now, right at this moment, you are probably wondering what is going on. You probably wish to know what exactly this 'Facility' is. That is perfectly fine, in fact, it's wonderful. Now then, allow me to fill in some gaps, yes?" the way he said that last bit made it sound vaguely dirty. I shrugged off the disturbing connotation and followed his move from his swivel chair to one of the bookshelves to my right. Karl sniffed loudly, as if afflicted with cold, and I had to firmly resist the urge to spin around and confront this unknown person with no respect for personal space.
"The Facility is a group of people dedicated to one thing, and one thing only…aliens. Whether it's checking out possible sightings, clearing areas, finding proof, stopping news from getting out, or disposing of any threat posed by them, 'keeping watch', so to speak, of any and all types of human interaction with extra-terrestrials is our specialty. Now, I know what you're thinking, Kurt…'Aliens, really?' Well, yes, Kurt, the answer is…Aliens, really," all this Mr. Diablos said as he idly perused books on the shelves. I kept my eyes on him, feeling like he should be joking, but finding it incredibly hard to imagine he was.
"Hundreds of men, women, and, in your case, teenagers, all over the world risk their lives unquestioningly all day, every day to make sure that the civilians can live their little apple pie lives. Of course, 'the Facility' can't be completely populated by brainless peons, can it? No, that is why we have people like you, Kurt. People like you, people smart, brilliant even, with many skills, talents, and ideas are the backbone of our agency," the dark haired man continued as he idly perused a thick book. I opened my mouth to ask what exactly he wanted me for, but he began speaking again before I could.
"Now, Kurt, I suppose you're wondering why, quite frankly, you should give a damn, am I right? Well, the answer is simple. Why else do people do dangerous, reckless, and foolhardy things? Money. Every agent of 'the Facility', from the janitor to I myself are very well paid, Kurt. And, seeing as, if you accept this job offer, you'll be one of our top agents and you'll be paid very handsomely. So, Kurt, what do you think," Mr. Diablos still sounded annoying patronizing, but with a truly questioning gleam in his sharp eyes.
I truly wanted to say no. I mean, really, who knew what all this entailed? I imagined I'd have to go through grueling training, in all probability, I'd have to kill these so-called 'aliens', and there were a million other things that could go horribly wrong, not the least being: what if they had a uniform that totally clashed with my complexion! But still, I had one of my "feelings", and since my feelings had an impressive resume, joining Glee being one of their accomplishments, I decided to go along for this ride. Who knows, maybe it's all just a weird dream brought on by too much sugar and too many video games with Finn right before bedtime. I looked Mr. Diablos straight in the eyes for the first time.
"I'm in."
TBC…
AN: OKAY! I know, I know! I really should be working on the stories I already have, but this was another cudgel-wielding plot bunny that refused to leave me alone! So tell me what you think, you little blighters! Man, it's such a relief to write in first person POV! MS is killing me slowly! Now, Imma shut the fuck up and get outta your face, 'kay? Just one more thing, READ & REVIEW, CHICKIES!
Oh yeah, and, I have a little challenge. The first one to win MIGHT get a oneshot of their choice sometime in the far future when I'm not already swamped in fics of my own! Anywho, without further ado (hey, that rhymed!), here is your challenge!
Can anyone tell me why they think I chose this title?
