He said hello to me this morning...
I'm sure he was talking to me this time. There was no one else around us. I timed it perfectly, waiting for just the right moment to catch him just as he came from Transport. He was dressed smartly in his long black coat, black tailored suit, and smelling oh so wonderful. I could dream for days with just the hint of his scent. It always sends me into a whirlwind of fantasies, most of which I prefer to be alone to enjoy.
He smiled when he saw me. At least, I think he smiled. I can never really tell sometimes. Each year it seems like he smiles less and less. If I were back on his team again, I know that I could bring that sunshine back for him. When we were together, I used to make him laugh, like, all the time.
"You're quite charming, Vizcano," he had said in his ultra-quiet tone.
I think that was by far, the highlight of my year. He touched my shoulder when he said it.
That meant he meant it.
I loved the way his eyes held me then, and the feeling of his hand resting on my shoulder...touching me...He hardly ever touched anyone, so for him to reach out and tell me that I was charming and add to it his lovely hand...Oh my word! I could have died happy right then and there.
Michael Samuelle started out as the first real face that I remember seeing at Section when I first began there. I was just seventeen when I was sent to prison. I got charged with second degree manslaughter when me, and a group of my ex-friends all got pulled for a robbery that went bad. I still think it was the store clerk's fault for going for the gun.
Stupid prick.
It wasn't me that pulled the trigger, but the clerk went down anyway, and so did I. The cops said that one of us snitched, but they didn't say which one. I know it wasn't me.
I didn't do it.
I couldn't do it.
My hands were in the register pulling out all the cash from the till when it happened. I didn't even know the clerk had been shot until the blood sprayed on my face. It was hot and sticky and tasted like nails. I should have shot the kid that shot the clerk. We could have all gotten out clean if that didn't happen. We had plenty of time to run after that, but somebody looked directly into the fucking camera.
What idiots.
Of course, I guess I could be called an idiot, too. I was running around with these bozos trying to act like I was cooler than all of them.
I wasn't.
I was just as messed up as they were. I was high off base and jonesing bad when we did the robbery. I didn't care about anything but the money. That's probably why we all got caught. None of us were thinking straight. I know I wasn't. I got sentenced to thirty-five years. I had just made it to the cut off line for a juvie sentence. Because I was seventeen, I got charged with an adult crime. My counterparts all got juvie because they were younger than me.
Lucky me, huh.
The oldest out of all of them which made me the dumbest. The judge said I should have been a better role model. I should have been setting the example. I wanted to tell the old bag that I *was* setting the example. I was letting all the other bozo kids know what *not* to do during a robbery.
There wasn't much of a trial. The evidence was undeniable. We didn't even have a good defense plea deal. No matter what we plead to, we were still all going to be serving some major time. For the others, I guess, once they did their bid, they could still have a life, but for me, with thirty-five years? I might as well eat a bullet. That's why, when Section came calling, I was quick to pick up the phone and answer. I would trade anything to get out of the hell hole I was put in. It wasn't long before I was taken in the middle of the night and my bunk was replaced with some dead girl's corpse already pre-strangled. I thought that was pretty cool, that they already had a body ready to fake my death even though the poor bitch they killed didn't look a thing like me. I guess I couldn't complain. I mean, it could very well be me lying there all stiff and bug eyed and blue in the face.
Come to think of it now, that shit was kinda creepy.
I was part of a few other kids they grabbed along the way. They sent us all to a place called The Farm, where I first met Madeline. She was a frightening woman. Kind of reminded me of my preschool director. She looked harmless enough until you got a good look into her dark and soulless eyes and realized she was just plain evil. She had an odd smile that she would spread on her face like thick mayonnaise.
I hate mayonnaise.
The way she spoke to us, like she didn't give a damn either way we chose, but we had better choose her way, or else we would find ourselves matching the bodies we found in our cells. I didn't much care about her We-Are-Section-But-Don't-Talk-About-Section speech. I think I remember the same spiel in a Brad Pitt movie I saw. First rule of Section is you don't talk about Section. Second rule of Section, you don't talk about Section.
After we were all low-jacked with bio transmitters by Methuselah a.k.a Walter from Munitions, we were sent directly into weapons and combat training. There really wasn't much time given to even get acclimated to our surroundings. They just stuck us all in a bunker and started training us minutes after we set down our Section issued gear. Admittedly, the first year of training was harsh. The coffee was bad, the food was worse, and the sleeping arrangements made me wish I were back out on the streets. At least there, I could find a quiet place to hole up. One person with a nasal congestion problem could keep the entire ward awake for days while they worked through their allergies. By the time I made it off the Farm, I had learned basically how to survive on about two hours sleep and make gourmet coffee out of used grinds. I was pretty good with a rifle and not a bad spotter for sniping. I was even fairly decent at hand to hand combat, although Master Hiro said that I needed to work on my blocking and counters. I was in the workout room practicing on the speed bag when I first saw him walk in. I swear it was like he was in slow motion, wind machine and all blowing back his long brown hair. His crystal like eyes swept the floor, catching me instantaneously.
He was dressed all in black, as usual, I came to learn. He wore a black t-shirt with the sleeves cut away exposing his muscular biceps. He was not very big then, having an athletic build like a runner. His black joggers tied loosely around his slender waist and hugged his rear nicely. I found myself staring a bit too long at his butt. I know, because I think he cast a curious glance my way as he crossed over to the weight machines.
I forgot all about my speed bag workout. My eyes were doing their own pacing as I watched him load the bars with weights and begin a set of bench presses. I could not help but admire the way his legs looked, open and bracing against each push of the bar. I could see myself crawling in between those legs, pulling myself up his frame and aiding him in his pushes, counting them off for him.
One...Two...Three...Four...Five...Good baby. Now do five more for mama...
I had heard about the magical god that was Michael Samuelle. He was all the talk among the recruits. All the women wanted to be with him. All the men wanted to be like him. When it came time for all recruits to be selected for the draw, I prayed and pleaded to God (might have been the first time I prayed for anything so earnestly since I was six years old) to let me be on Michael's Alpha team. Being on the Alpha team meant that I would get to work directly with Michael on nearly every mission he went on. I would get to be with him during each and every briefing, ride with him on every transport, and run with him during every mission. I could watch his back in the field and take care of him if ever he got hurt. It would be me he would turn to for field information, or to relay information back to Command, or find him a clean drink of water. I so wanted to be on the Alpha team with Michael, and when the draw finally came up, I was ready to accept my rightful place next to him.
When I looked for my name on his roster, I did not find me there. Instead, I was on the Red team with Hershel.
Bloody David fucking Hershel...
He was the lamest team leader in the entire agency. I don't even know how the hell he even managed to get to be a Level 5 Operative. He was a total screw up! The dumb-ass couldn't even see his damn hand in his face without his glasses!
And they were thick as hell too! Section put me on a team with Mr. Magoo instead of putting me where I should have been!
I could not contain my anger and I screamed about being on the wrong team. It wasn't fair! I didn't deserve to be put on the Red Team. I was not a Red operative! My scores were great...Well, maybe not perfect, but certainly enough to be put on Michael's team. I was better than anyone else on the Red Team, and certainly more competent than my team leader. I almost ripped the damn list off the wall. I nearly did it when I saw Michael looking my way. It was like he was staring dead at me, daring me to do it so he could justify why I wasn't allowed on his team.
I stopped.
I stood.
I stared back at him, waiting for him to say or do something.
But he didn't.
He simply paused a moment then walked off towards Command. That one moment made me calm down nearly immediately. Who knew in all the times I had raged before, all I ever needed to calm me down was one look from him?
