Racing the Yellow Lights
Kurt adjusted his sweater as the cold metal elevator descended silently down thirty levels of high intelligence offices. The doors opened with a futuristic sigh, revealing a tunnel that led to level 35 of the Lima Intelligence Agency. What better place to put a secret government association, Kurt had thought when he was first recruited. No one would ever look in Lima, especially not under what looked like and operated as a simple gas station. The building was like a skyscraper flipped upside-down and then shoved into the ground. Almost fifty levels of secret operations, the further down you went, the more secretive they were. Kurt stood still as a conveyor belt swept him through a shower of sweeping green lights, obtaining his identity and portraying a simulation of his body on a computer screen. Kurt remembered his first trip through it, back before his life had turned into some crazy life, fitting for a teen novel series. Gay kid at a straight school gets a job with the government, held responsible for killing some of the most important con men and evil-doers of society today. He felt like Hannah Montana, but instead of singing songs, he was killing evil men in the dead of night.
Kurt was at a mixed martial arts practice one night, practicing his sai sword twirling skills for his next performance when a woman in a black trench coat and sunglasses approached him. That trench coat is awful. And why was she wearing sunglasses inside? What was this, Men in Black 4?
"Kurt Hummel," she questioned, mouth returning to a tight-lipped line like a rubber band snapping back into place.
"Yes?" How does she know my name? Should I be scared? No, wait, I have swords. She does look a little strong, though. I'm not seriously thinking about sai swording this lady am I?
"My name is Agent Bellevue, I was wondering if I could have a second of your time."
So Kurt had gone along with her, descended the thirty-five floors for the first time, and flinched as he was taken through the sensors. The whole thing was incredibly cliché, he couldn't help but think. Looks like the movies actually got most of it right.
"Welcome, Agent Hummel." A now familiar robotic voice supplied, breaking through his reverie, before another set of heavy metal doors swept open and he was welcomed to the sight of fifty or so people buzzing around, phone's ringing, the sound of keys on laptops clicking so loud it sounded like a heavy rain on a roof. Kurt breathed in the familiar smell of the clean but frenzied office, then made his way to the back, not saying a word to anyone. The actual field men – those who went out and did the deeds, like Kurt - and the desk jockeys - those who crunched numbers and sat on their asses all day- didn't often get along with each other. Each one thought they were more important than the other.
He knocked on a door in the back with a plaque that read AGENT BELLEVUE in cold, condescending letters.
"Come in, Hummel," and when he obliged and made his way into the room and found Bellevue and two gray men staring back, solemn-faced, she added "You're late, once again."
"Ah, yes, well I have this weird thing called school," he retorted nonchalantly, picking at his nails. "Some kids my age have to go to it like five days a week. It's a new thing, I think, you've probably never heard of it."
"Very funny," she returned. "Hummel, this is Agent Frost and Bogart, they have a mission for you."
"Splendid," Kurt smiled, shaking each of their hands. "What can I do for you this time, boys? Drug dealer in Malaysia, terrorist in Milan?"
The two men looked at each other and laughed. Bogart talked. "Actually, son, this is closer to home. It's a young man by the name of Blaine Anderson, he attends Dalton Academy, you heard of it?"
"First of all, do not call me son, I have killed more important men than you have ever even heard of. And secondly, you want me to kill a high schooler? Why don't you just get Hubert to do that, I'm out of this kid's league. Bellevue, this is an insult, I've got homework to do. Call me when you have a real mission." Kurt turned to leave.
"This isn't any regular high schooler," Frost spoke, Kurt paused in the door way. The agent pulled up a picture and profile. Kurt turned to read it over. The kid wasn't bad looking, bright eyes and slicked down hair, bowtie almost taking over the tiny mug shot they had of him. Interesting, Kurt thought. "This kid is top priority. He's crazy smart, we think he's been hacking into our most secure servers, but he never leaves a trace of evidence. This kid is good. We need you to find evidence, and then eliminate him."
Kurt stared at the picture, an innocence resonated from this kid. He was all big puppy eyes and bow ties. "Crazy smart, huh?" Frost nodded. "I bet I'm smarter," Kurt responded. He loved a challenge. And this dapper son of a bitch was about to go down.