It was 4 in the morning in Paris when the helicopters landed.
Scott was awake of course. Sleep to an insomniac, is like one of those triple decker subs. Nice to think about when you're hungry, but hard to eat when it's right there on your plate.
The steady whir of the metal blades cut through the contented air of the quiet little cul-de-sac, and the effect was nearly immediate, as drowsy students voiced their disapproval of the early wakeup call to varying degrees of volume.
He got up from the well worn desk chair to check his uniform for potential wrinkles and stains he might have missed, all the while scanning his dorm room for any remnants of his stay here. None. The posters and pictures had been taken down, everything scrubbed down to the point of sterility, ready for the next student to enter. His eyes scanned around the room for the last time, strangely nostalgic for the place he'd sketched, sewed, lived for the last four years. Then started the pangs at the back of his mind. What if he wasn't good enough? What if he doesn't adjust well? What if?.
It had been this way since childhood, always quietly doubting himself, hated being insecure like this, but there was no sign he'd ever stop. after calming himself down by quietly by counting from a hundred to one in Mandarin, Scott took a deep breath. He was ready for opened his door door and was hit in the face by a suitcase.
A suitcase, for crying out loud. What kind of nitwit throws a giant-ass suitcase?
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I was aiming for the wall, I swear!" someone shrieked. Apparently this person did, lucky me.
Scott's head ached after finally got up off the floor, how long had he been there? He stared into the mirror in denial. There was a faint bruise already blooming on his jaw, and the dress uniform that he'd so carefully ironed the past night was now mussed up and covered in specks of dust and dirt. Someone is going to pay dearly for this. He turned around to see someone running away for dear life with a brightly colored suitcase in their hand.
And that kids, is how a hit and run works.
After sighing and giving up the chase, his eyes glanced over to the clock and saw the time. 4:27. Three minutes until he was expected in the dining hall
Crap. He grabbed the shoes neatly stacked against the wall and started tugging them on. The uniform was definitely ruined, but I wouldn't have the time to change. perhaps they wouldn't notice and think I'm some grubby toddler that couldn't take care of himself. Yep, they totally wouldn't.
Besides, I had already passed the interview.
The portfolio I had carefully sketched out and sifted through for so many months was a product of mind-burning work, confections of satin and silk with stripes of cashmere and lace passing intermittently through many pages. The interviewer had scanned over each creation I had worked nights through for, a flicker of a smile passing through every time she had paused for an extra second or so on a page. After she had reached the end, she had looked up given me a handshake, and said "Welcome to SHIELD, Mr. Shen. I believe it will be quite a long time until we can say goodbye."
I hadn't understood what she had meant about that for a very long time. I understand now.
The dining hall was loud to the point of irritation. Not only was the graduating class there, but also everyone else that had woken from the din and demanded to eat breakfast and say farewell. Weaving carefully through the crowd, (remember this bit of advice: never trip over a sleep deprived agents, they're practically piranhas at this state,) Scott slipped an apple and a breakfast bar into his pocket for later.
It was supposedly good timing, since the second after he'd had turned around, the huge oaken doors that were only used rarely in the front of the hall opened.
In came a rather portly man wearing a rather itchy looking tweed suit and an expression that was both weary and disgruntled - kind of like the ones worn by substitute teachers in reform school classrooms. Stopping in the middle of the hall, he cleared his throat and looked up expectantly. As if by magic, everyone including Scott fell into line, and the floaters decided to float on by out the doors.
"All right, now here's how it's going to go." The man said "At the moment, we've added many new bases and locations to accommodate for the... erm, a future project we've been considering, so you lot'll be spread out pretty thin across the globe, split into groups of two or three. Now, let's hurry up and get started." He started to rattle on a list of names and places, most of which he had zoned out for because he was too busy wondering. Would I be placed with complete strangers? Would we get along? Would they have Netflix wherever I'm going? Yes sirree,all the important, hard hitting questions were being asked.
"-and Scott Shen, heading to Design Building No. 005, located in Greenwich Village, Manhattan." He snapped back into focus at the sound of his name.
New York? I've actually been to the States only for short field trips. The people living there were brutally honest, fast-paced people with places to be and things to see, a far cry from what I've been around all my life. It'll be a welcome change, and change is supposed to be good, Right?
Right?...