A National Affair

Chapter 1: Simply Put, A Simple Assignment


"Can you understand where I'm failing to see the logic here?"

There would be a few people who would assume that this was directed at air. Those people would be considered fools. For through the magnificent technology of "cell phones", one man found himself communicating over a large distance on speakerphone. Such was the state of the world's technological state. Mostly.

Said man was uncomfortably sitting in a bus that could be described as absolutely desolate. Other than the driver, he was the only person on it. He was a bit thankful for that, particularly because it was quiet, but it felt like a waste of public resources for this route to even exist. Then again, he was technically traveling into what was largely considered one of the most backwards states in the U.S.. He assumed that these largely unnecessary displays of "public transportation" were the result of over-funding by the legislator. Considering every state has a standard baseline for funding they received, whoever called the shots in Delmarva clearly had trouble finding ways to waste money in a generally under-populated region.

That was all beside the point however.

"That's all beside the point."

"Uh huh," came the man. "Logic was never the strong-suit of this administration, was it?"

The man, in attempt to not draw any attention to himself, was thoroughly disguised as a tourist. Not that it would help, all things considered. After all, who willingly went this far out into the middle of nowhere?

"As much as I want to comment, you know I can't. But the President-"

"Who," he bluntly cut off with, "Still owes me ten bucks and a cigar, I might add."

"Right. I'll put a requisition in for those. Eventually. But as I was saying, you were specifically requested to investigate this region."

Taking out a badly made turkey sandwich, the tourist started eating away at his lunch, occasionally taking sips of some of his iced-tea. It was a meal for winners, to be sure.

"From what we can tell, a research outpost has gone silent. As in, completely silent. No contact, no reports, absolutely nothing."

He swallowed, wiping away some bread residue from his mouth before speaking, "Any satellite imagery? What information are we working with exactly?"

"This is a grey area."

"So no actual satellite help, then? Meaning I have to rely on actual maps to get around?"

There was a short pause on the other end of the conversation, "… Looks like it. As for info, we've basically got nothing. We know the outpost wasn't looking into anything amazing, but we're still a bit concerned over here. You'll have to figure everything out on your own for now."

The man was half-tempted to click his tongue while eating, but that would be counter-productive. Instead, he settled for a shake of the head. Once he had finished the sandwich, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and sat back in the surprisingly well-maintained seat.

"I see. How long do you think I'm going to be stuck in this backwater for? Once I've figured out what's going on, of course."

"It all depends on how fast you work. Get some intel, sort out the problem, make sure everything is going smooth, then you're done. Could take you a week, could take you a month."

He slouched slightly, "That wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear."

"Oh boy, then you're definitely not going to like what I have to say next."

The man didn't bother saying anything in response, already knowing that whatever came next was very likely to just exasperate him.

"Now, humor me for a second… You have a secondary objective. The President has, for some ungodly reason, stuck to the idea that there's some sort of extraterrestrial influence going on around this region. We need you to give us some peace of mind and determine if that 'theory' holds water. The President is… adamant that something's going on."

He very much wanted to run a hand down his face at this point. While this was a far cry from any other favor he had done for someone, he was mostly on-board with scoping out a research facility and getting things back in order. That would be easy and at the very least somewhat productive. It wasn't as if government cover-ups didn't end up somewhere on his résumé. One thing he didn't like very much was occasionally working for an overly paranoid President that wanted to waste his time looking for ghosts and aliens, amongst other things. Quite frankly, it was unprofessional to ask him to do those sort of things.

The man cleared his throat, "Well… Alright, I suppose. I'll look into that." He was thoughtful for a moment, but his voice fell into a clearly irritated tone, "The President realizes I'm an ambassador, right?"

"To Antarctica!"

He rubbed at the stubble on his chin, eyes slightly narrowed, "Which is definitely not a country. I'm thinking that 'ambassador' is just a title for someone who goes to different places and solves problems."

"Seeing as though you attended that trade mission that you and, like, only five other people survived, are you really that surprised the administration would want you on call?" It sounded genuinely curious, but the man's focus drifted slightly.

"Five? I remember six people other than me."

"One committed suicide last summer. We thought she was overcoming the trauma from all that, but… Clearly, that wasn't the case. A real shame too."

He knew the identity of the person in question, and while he did feel a shred of regret at the loss of such a bright mind, there wasn't much he could do to change what happened. That wasn't going to derail their conversation even further.

The seemingly endless of fields of some plant he didn't bother recognizing gave way to a much sandier, if flatter surrounding. "Yeah, a shame. I still think that giving a misleading title to someone isn't particularly nice."

"Would you prefer 'Ambadassador' instead?"

"Not really. I suppose I'll just have to try and get through all of this as fast as possible. How hard could it be to find this place?"

"Saying things like that will probably make it harder. Anyway, you're near the closest town to the outpost. 'Beach City'. Last census says the population is definitely under a hundred heads. Quaint little place, it looks like."

The so-called ambassador didn't like small towns. Beyond the clichés of places such as these harboring who-knows-what and being hotbeds for intriguing activity, they tended to be lack liveliness. The hustle and bustle of cities made sure to remind you that you were never lonely and opportunities existed everywhere. Or that's how he felt, at least.

"Thrilling," he replied with a lackluster tone. "I'll stick out like a festering thumb."

"Excellent imagery. I'll fill you in as you go along, but for now, there's someone else I need to help." There was a short pause on the other end. "… Right. Err… You can handle it from here, probably. Good luck, 'Mr. Ambassador.'"

The man snorted in response. The call ended, with its source stowed away.

If he was actually an ambassador, then he definitely wasn't the right man for the job. His time on that "trade mission" resulted in quite a bit of bloodshed, and foreign relations weren't exactly his thing. National security was more of his forte. That was the general area he honestly perceived as the best place for his skill set to be used. The fact it paid well didn't hurt much either.

He pushed that all to the back of his mind though. What point was there on focusing his thoughts on something he already knew? Instead, he directed his attention to the scenery.

There wasn't much to be said about the area. He leaned slightly toward the window and tried to spot any noteworthy landmarks.

Absolutely nothing was in sight.

The man sighed. While he wouldn't necessarily use the word "missions" to describe what he did for an occupation, but a proper word never really came to mind. Perhaps excursions? But somehow, it all tended to lead to some remote place that he definitely wouldn't think favorably of. A small village in northern Mexico, a logging community in Alberta, a mining town in the middle of Appalachia; now he could chalk "Beach City" onto the list of places he'd been that he knew he would be uncomfortable in before even arriving there.

He had to admit, it was a nice looking area though. Not much to see, but it felt as if it were the type of place that was perpetually in summer. Of course, it was summer, so he could only guess how it would be any other time of the year. But as the approach narrowed, a sense of ease washed over him. What could possibly go wrong in such a remote place such as this?

Experience told him that assuming that was almost always directly responsible for unwanted irritation on his part. There was always something going on in a place like this. The true question was, what on Earth could the President know that made this town the target of his suspicions? Hordes of undead? Alien incursions? Extra-dimensional hyper-worms tunneling into our planet to swipe our resources beneath our noses? It was all (somewhat) plausible, each in their own way. But the lack of information left him blind. Anything could be waiting in Beach City, ready to gut his stomach, slice off his head, and lay eggs in his stomach lining.

He couldn't help but guffaw at such an absurd notion. The stomach was a terrible place to lay eggs, after all.

The bus driver overheard the laugh and called over, "Hey, vacationin'? You'll enjoy Beach City. Bit strange, but nice."

He didn't expect conversation, but maybe he could glean some important information from the uniformed fellow. The man in question looked friendly enough to ask questions to, so hopefully he could get an understanding of the locale before he ended up wasting a day ambling around. Plus, it was only courteous to acknowledge a fellow civil servant.

The man got up, brushing a few bread crumbs off of his khaki shorts. Taking his two tote bags with him, he headed over towards the front of the bus and took a seat just right of the driver. The bags were carefully put down.

"Not vacationing, per se," he responded amicably. "Someone asked me to check up on a few mutual friends."

"Oh? You from nearby?"

"No. I'm from Manhattan, actually."

The bus driver was taken aback, "Really? You must be a real friend if you're willin' to come all the way to Delmarva." He seemed to settle back into the observant slouch he maintained earlier. "Can't blame ya. Everyone loves the Sunray State."

The man quirked an eyebrow at that, "I think you mean Florida."

"Nope." The driver broke out into a friendly grin, "Florida's 'Sunshine'. We're 'Sunray'. Nice and quiet here too. No shootings or drug addicts. Just sun and fun."

He chuckled, "You sound like a spokesman for Delmarva with that sort of talk."

"Oh, I am! Well, I moonlight as one. It was my idea to make that our state slogan."

"No shootings or drug addicts?"

The driver laughed, giving a light punch to the other man's shoulder. "Hah! I like you, man. Definitely not what I thought a New Yorker would be like. But seriously, doesn't 'Just sun and fun' sound appealing?"

The ambassador affirmed with a nod, "It does. Hopefully I'll change my opinion of the beach after some time here."

"Good, good! You'll like this town. Hey, what did you say your name was?"

He considered giving a false name, but only briefly. After all, what would it matter? It wasn't as if he ever operated under any sort of secrecy. One might expect a certain level of discretion regarding matters of national security, but that tended to be woefully absent for the most part.

"Morgan. Pleased to meet you." Said man was tempted to offer a handshake. Of course, he was already pulling enough of his new acquaintance's attention away already. Multi-tasking beyond chit-chat might not end well.

The driver smiled, "Right back atcha, buddy! Name's Phil, by the way."

"Well Phil, I was wondering if I could ask a few questions about the area. Would you mind?"

"Of course not! Ask away!"

Morgan couldn't help but appreciate the other man's eagerness to assist him. It was refreshing.

"I'm probably going to be in town for a while. Is there a hotel nearby?"

Phil drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, humming lightly, "Hmm… I don't think so. Beach City's size and tourism doesn't really warrant that kinda investment."

It was a surprisingly concise answer, but it still left the ambassador without any place to stay. The bus crested over a hill just as he considered what to ask next, and the next sight made him pause entirely.

There was no doubt in his mind that the town was comparatively small. And yet, it was gorgeous. The early morning sun was casting all sorts of warm colors over the town, painting it as a picturesque haven away from the congestion of the rest of the world. The town itself was nestled in a dip between another hill and a large cliff, which seemed to have some strange formations, from the very little he could see of that side. But beside the abnormal geography, what he saw pleased him. It was shocking how quickly he found himself warming up to the idea of being there.

Still, he had to keep himself wary. Just for caution's sake.

"Wow," he muttered quietly.

"Yep." Morgan couldn't blame Phil for the look of pride he was wearing. It was deserved. "If you're looking for a place to stay, there's probably an apartment building somewhere. I'd tell you where if I knew, but…"

"I understand." Morgan shrugged halfheartedly, "I figured I would need to ask around to get around for the first few days. It shouldn't be too bad."

"That's the spirit. Who knows, maybe you'll like it enough here to stay." Phil followed up that statement with an ever-so-subtle smirk.

Morgan noticed, of course, but decided to not pursue that avenue of discussion. "We'll just have to wait and see for that. So," he took a sip of his iced tea, "What can you tell me about…"

Thus, the conversation continued. And absolutely nothing out of the ordinary took place.

Nothing at all.


While he wouldn't exactly refer that ten minutes or so with Phil the bus driver illuminating, it was at the very least enough to work with. After saying his goodbye's and watching the bus speed off to who-knows-where, Morgan found himself at a sidewalk with his two tote-bags and no sense of direction whatsoever. Phil's sense of the town seemed to be off somewhat, considering the street he was dropped off on wasn't even a bus stop, let alone large enough to accommodate a bus very effectively. The locals didn't seem to mind much, however. In fact, they seemed to just be enjoying their day.

"Hm."

It was a "hm" that was particularly neutral. One might even assume it was made without any given reason. But a good "hm" seemed to cut the errant thoughts off where they were and get him to focus on the task at hand. Which was finding somewhere to stay. Looking around, Morgan didn't see anything looked much like an apartment, but then realized that apartments obviously had no specific look to them that would convey they were in fact solely apartments.

That was another bogging thought.

Morgan lifted the tote-bags and began walking down the street, occasionally glancing one way or another to see if was anything worth his time. One such thing happened to be a large pastry casting down a watchful eye over the cement sidewalk, a true testament to the workmanship and dreams of collective humanity.

It was a big donut.

Coincidentally, the name of the store happened to be Big Donut.

Not so coincidentally, it looked like a start. There weren't many customers, so he could probably just sit for a few minutes, order some coffee, and then ask whoever was working where he could find lodging. That was a good plan. A sound one. One he was already doing at the moment, in fact.

As he entered, he tried to reassure himself that things would go fine and dandy for his hopefully short time staying in town. Pessimistic thoughts aside, it already left something of a good impression on him, as far as looks were considered important. The population, however, was a different story entirely…

Morgan, the impromptu ambassador and functionary, would get to see that first hand during his first day in Beach City. Stoicism and loyalty to one's position only went so far to prepare a person's assumptions for what they would soon be experiencing.

But really, how hard could this small town in the middle of absolutely nowhere be to handle? Morgan had single-handedly made himself a legend amongst his colleagues for what he had done in the past. This would be a cakewalk. A stroll in the park. Busy work at best.

And yet, he felt as though there was something wrong with that. His definition of "easy" was remarkably different from what others might think, but something at the back of his mind just kept nagging him. Was he simply setting himself up for a presumptuous upheaval at the hands or appendages of something massive that belied Beach City?

Quite frankly, he wasn't sure. He willingly went into this blind. Whatever he would have to face, if there was anything, was his responsibility to deal with, as he saw fit. If there were some inhuman abominations lurking around, he would exterminate them. If there were citizens in desperate need of his help, he would assist them. But first and foremost, he needed to fulfill his obligation and find that research outpost.

Strict regulations meant that any sort of silence basically amounted to a distress signal, and then investigation. He wasn't exactly worried, but it was strange. More often than not, getting no reports whatsoever implied there was some sort of disaster.

He would get on top of that as soon as he was settled in. A base of operations was typically necessary before conducting any sort of real reconnaissance. Then it was just a matter of hunting down the location of the outpost, making sure the staff was safe and everything working smoothly again, and then sit back and relax with an ice-cold beer.

Simple. It would all be so very simple. And if it wasn't, he would make it simple. It was as simple as that. Simply put, he wouldn't play the simpleton's game and simply go about this as simply as possible.

Morgan shook his head. He was overthinking things, enough to create that mess of mental notes. He pulled out his phone and went straight to the "Notes" app. As the sun edged its way higher over the horizon, he typed away, making a quick list of things to do, so he wouldn't get too sidetracked by the surprisingly distracting atmosphere of the town.


Objectives:

1. Get a temporary place to stay.

1a. Find a pipe wrench.

2. Keep metabolism in check.

3. Locate outpost.

4. Fix everything.

5. Investigate possible 'extraterrestrial activity'.

6. Report findings.

7. Go home.

8. Enjoy some alcohol.

Notes: Pipe wrench has precedence over liquor.

Cigars are helpful.

Is it possible aliens have found Earth? Possible revenge plot?

Need a car to get around. Public transportation is okay, but not preferable.

I feel something very strange in the pit of my stomach… Why do I feel homesick right now?

Nostalgia..? I've never been here before. So, why?

I need to figure that out and get it out of the way so it doesn't interfere.

A wrench can decapitate a physical goddess, apparently. Worth noting in case I run into any trouble. Definitely something to keep in mind.


Morgan simply put his thoughts down as they came. He didn't expect introspection or the unknown emotion that cropped up because of it. It was pushed to the back of his mind. There would be time for that later.

For now, he needed two things: information and coffee. And as he stood in front of Big Donut, it became obvious that he could at least get one of those at that moment.

So he got to it, as he always did. It was a mentality that was needed of him in this fantastically peculiar world. A world most certainly worth the effort to defend against threats. That was an indisputable truth. A fact that, even if he didn't know yet, was shared by some in Beach City.

In reality, Morgan had an incorrect assumption of what he was getting into. And it would cost him dearly.


A/N:

Hmm, I don't have anything to say right now. I'll admit I probably should have taken the time to proofread and edit the hell out of this, but it's late and I'd rather sit down and kill things in Dark Souls 2 right about now. Maybe I'll have something better to say next chapter.