How do you do it, Ames? How do you go to work everyday and not feel disgusted with yourself? This isn't where you belong; the Conclave could have given you a higher position. They should have, at least. But yet you don't complain. You continue everyday, in and out, just as obediently monotonous as the first.
Ames White rolled off the stiff bed, staring as the rude glowing digital numbers blinked in time with the incessant blaring noise ringing through his ears. Ames flinched at the obnoxious sound. He rubbed his weary eyes, trying to focus.
You could have turned that off, you know. It's not like you've been sleeping, anyways, with all those rambling thoughts of yours…
The man, complete with large bags under his eyes, ran a lightly calloused hand over his tired face. He stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror, the windows letting in just enough light for his appearance to be visible. The muscled brunette took in his own image, noting how soft his features seemed in the wee hours of the morning. Gently, he considered if that was why his got up so early, to conceal his drowsy, lamb-like state.
Glancing over to his wife, he gazed, emotionless, at how the starched white covers complimented her small, graceful curves. The serene look on her delicate features left her seeming vulnerable, but endearing.
Delicate? Endearing? Ames, those words aren't even supposed to be in your vocabulary.
The grey eyes in the mirror gleamed with more sadness than expected for his thirty seven years. Perhaps there was a heart under those harsh layers? At the thought of a heart, Ames' face began to harden, accurately displaying a look of seriousness and hatred, making himself recognizable to the rest of the world.
That's better.
The angry gentleman fingered the ribbed v-neck of his thin cotton t-shirt, yawning in the process of shuffling across the tan rug to reach his destination. Finding the closet, he fleetingly thought how life could be if he had no association with the Familiars. Would he be the same dangerous man, or would his morning softness continue through the rest of the day? Ames dismissed the treacherous thoughts quickly, stern mask still intact. Mechanically, he dressed for the day in his usual suit, kissed his wife lightly on the cheek and grabbed his purposeless briefcase. On the way out, Ames snagged his charcoal coat and stopped to glance at his son's school picture. His expressionless expression stayed put. Exiting the house, the unapproachable man confidently strode over to his navy blue Lincoln and turned the shiny key.
Remind me again why you put up with this life, this cult, this job? There's so much else out there…
Special Agent Ames White approached the seemingly deserted building, disregarding anything his clingy assistant had to say. Ames' cold eyes landed on a six foot steel cage complete with a gorgeous, pissed off brunette inside, fire raging in her chocolate orbs. A small smirk -- no, a grin – finally escaped the power of Ames' glaring, evil façade.
Oh, yeah. That's why.