1
The sound of an alarm brought Dale into consciousness. Blinking open his eyes, he looked blearily at the clock. 6:15. As he turned it off and sat up, stretching his arms back with a yawn, he felt a flutter of excitement for the day to come. It was the first day of training at the FBI Academy; he had flown into Quantico two days ago.
He got up out of bed to get dressed. He'd set his clothes out the night before, and had finally decided on a simple, yet mature black suit with a blue striped tie. Eagerly locking his hotel door, Dale hurried downstairs to grab a cup of coffee to go.
"...and this is where you'll be doing ballistics and firearm training," the instructor continued, gesturing towards a series of doors along the main hallway. Dale caught a glimpse of someone firing a gun at a target behind the glass of one such door before the group moved along. Turning a corner, the instructor continued with his tour, Dale lagging behind and wishing he had a chance to peek behind all the doors.
"Don't worry, you'll get to see behind them all soon enough," a voice said behind him, almost as if it had read his mind. Dale turned to see a friendly-looking young man standing there. "Gordon Cole," he said, offering his hand.
Dale took it and shook. "Dale Cooper," he said, smiling.
"I assume you're a new recruit here?" Gordon asked. Dale nodded.
"Yes, today's my first day, actually."
"Yeah; I just graduated last spring," Gordon said. "I'm currently in charge of helping the new trainees adjust to their surroundings. So, I guess that means I'll see you around then," he added, "since it seems your group is in the process of deserting you." The group was several doors down the hallway, walking away from them.
"Bye," Gordon waved as Dale went to catch up.
"It was nice meeting you," Dale replied, making his way back to the group.
A couple doors later, they came out into a large room, set up with tables at one end and buffet tables and a countertop at the other. "This is the cafeteria you all will be eating in for your time here," the instructor said. "During lunch breaks, you can purchase whatever you like from the hot lunch tables or deli cafe." He paused to look at his watch. "We'll be taking a break from the tour now for a half hour, during which you can eat and get to know your fellow trainees. The tour will be resuming at half past noon."
After looking at the numerous options, Dale settled on a ham sandwich, a slice of blueberry pie, and a cup of coffee. Setting his tray down at a vacant table, he started eating.
A thunk made him look up. A young man, who had been a part of the group, had set his tray down opposite Dale. He was well-dressed, in a suit as well, with a sort of petulant look on his face.
"I'm Albert, Albert Rosenfield," he said before Dale could swallow his mouthful of food, and stuck out his hand.
Dale hurriedly stood up and shook it, swallowing. "Nice to meet you, Albert. I'm Dale Cooper."
The expression on Albert's face did not change. Either something is wrong, Dale thought, or he looks irritated all the time. He guessed it was likely the latter.
"So, what are you interested in going into specifically?" Dale asked Albert, who was focused on cutting his steak. He didn't look up as he replied. "Medical examination of some sort. Possibly forensics."
There was a moment of silence in which Dale wondered if Albert would say something more, or if he should say something else. He had just opened his mouth when another young man walked up to the table and sat down near Albert. He had unruly auburn hair and a tentative smile.
"Hi, I'm Dennis Bryson," he said, looking at Albert and then Dale.
"Very nice to meet you," Dale said. "I'm Dale Cooper." Albert looked up from his steak.
"I'm Albert Rosenfield," he said.
"Nice to meet you all," said Dennis. "How did you both find the tour so far? I mean, this place is kinda big, isn't it?"
"It does seem pretty complicated, but I'm sure we'll get used to it after a month," Dale said.
Albert snorted. "Big? If you think this place is big, you should have seen where I come from. It's a concrete jungle. 50,000 people pass by your window every day and chances are you'll never see a single one of them again."
"Where did you come from?" asked Dennis, unfazed by his rough tone.
"New York City - Manhattan, specifically. And you?" he added.
"Just about as far from that as you can get - Oklahoma." Dennis turned to Dale. "How about you?"
"Oh - I'm from Philadelphia," Dale said.
"Well, I guess we'll all have to adjust to our new surroundings," Dennis noted, "considering we'll be staying here 17 weeks."
"My observations so far," Albert remarked dryly, "are that whoever is in charge of making food around here needs some serious lessons on what's edible or not. My steak tastes like the bottom of a shoe."
"That's too bad; my sandwich's fine," said Dale diplomatically.
"An ape could make a sandwich and have it turn out fine," Albert groused. "But that doesn't mean you ought to be a professional chef." There was an awkward silence, then Dennis laughed.
"Lighten up, man. What's one meal in the grand scheme of things, anyway?" Dennis patted Albert on the back - Albert looking as if he had more to say about the matter - but he stayed quiet.
"So, what do you think of the campus so far?" Dale asked, shifting the conversation away from food.
"It's fine," Albert said.
"Pretty cool. Did you see the ballistics testing lab?" asked Dennis.
They chatted until it was time to begin the tour again. Dale found Dennis to be a bright young man, with an interest in drug regulation. Albert was interested in more of a medical pursuit, and it seemed his sourness was simply a part of his personality, with no specific reason behind it.
That night, after climbing into bed, Dale felt a rush of excitement for the days to come. His new life seemed promising; the facilities were very in-depth, he had already made two friends with his peers, and he was on the path to becoming an FBI agent. He closed his eyes, smiling as he spiraled into sleep.