The air itself seemed to rot from its own sewer-y stench, clouding up
and misting and causing all of the metal equipment to rust at an
accelerated pace. The only light in the room was from the few computer
monitors' screensavers, and even then the light seemed to shiver from the
intensity of the smell.
Down in this world of distaste and grunge, a shadow rocked back and forth. The chair squeaked as a brown, spiky-haired person wearing shades, a black t-shirt, army camouflage pants, and black leather combat boots tapped his fingers together in thought.
A red light blinked and the figure stopped rocking. He put a headphone set over his head and bent the attached microphone an inch away from his mouth. He licked his lips. He reached out and pressed a button.
"Hotline," he said in a soft low voice, "Password please."
"From the tribe of Judah, twelve thousand sealed," a harsh voice from the phone muttered.
"Soon I will come again," the brown-haired person responded, directly from memory.
"We need your help," the voice scowled.
"You usually do," the boy responded smugly.
"The only reason you're still operating is because of us," the voice retorted angrily.
"So you say."
"You think you have something on us? One phone call and we can nail your ass," the voice shouted enraged.
"Challenge accepted," the young man responded. He smiled as he heard the voice count to ten in the background, trying to control its anger.
"Look," the voice began again, "There's been a breakout at the Bush Tech Medical Research Facilities. Some 'patients' (what the government secretly knows as human lab rats) escaped from the research institute without a trace."
The young man immediately frowned as his mind calculated, memorized, and downloaded the information.
"So why do you need me?"
"This matter is too private for the F.B.I. to be allowed jurisdiction on the case, and the C.I.A. is a little too upper-crust for this type of case."
"So you need someone quiet and ruthless?" The man smiled again. "It's going to cost you."
"The government's willing to spend five grand to make sure the job gets done. They won't tolerate any screw-ups."
"I don't want your money," the man said. "I guess you'll have to find someone else."
"There is no one else," the voice argued, its tone raised. "You either do it or we'll put you down!"
"It's been nice chatting with you but-"
"Hold on, hold on one God damned minute," the voice shouted. "What is it that you do want?"
The young man's smile grew into a wide maniacal grin. "I want all access to government arsenals, files, and online databases."
"My superiors will never-"
"Have a nice-"
"DAMN YOU CHRISTIAN DAMN YOU! Alright, alright, I'll get you the access you need. The full report will be e-mailed to you accordingly."
"George?"
"Yeah?"
"I would have taken the money."
"Fuck you, Christian."
"You always do say that," Christian replied, reaching over and pressing a button; terminating the connection. He sat there for a few minutes, barely breathing and totally motionless. Then after taking a deep breath he began to rock back and forth in his chair, tapping his fingers. The computer monitors' light died as they shut themselves down.
Down in this world of distaste and grunge, a shadow rocked back and forth. The chair squeaked as a brown, spiky-haired person wearing shades, a black t-shirt, army camouflage pants, and black leather combat boots tapped his fingers together in thought.
A red light blinked and the figure stopped rocking. He put a headphone set over his head and bent the attached microphone an inch away from his mouth. He licked his lips. He reached out and pressed a button.
"Hotline," he said in a soft low voice, "Password please."
"From the tribe of Judah, twelve thousand sealed," a harsh voice from the phone muttered.
"Soon I will come again," the brown-haired person responded, directly from memory.
"We need your help," the voice scowled.
"You usually do," the boy responded smugly.
"The only reason you're still operating is because of us," the voice retorted angrily.
"So you say."
"You think you have something on us? One phone call and we can nail your ass," the voice shouted enraged.
"Challenge accepted," the young man responded. He smiled as he heard the voice count to ten in the background, trying to control its anger.
"Look," the voice began again, "There's been a breakout at the Bush Tech Medical Research Facilities. Some 'patients' (what the government secretly knows as human lab rats) escaped from the research institute without a trace."
The young man immediately frowned as his mind calculated, memorized, and downloaded the information.
"So why do you need me?"
"This matter is too private for the F.B.I. to be allowed jurisdiction on the case, and the C.I.A. is a little too upper-crust for this type of case."
"So you need someone quiet and ruthless?" The man smiled again. "It's going to cost you."
"The government's willing to spend five grand to make sure the job gets done. They won't tolerate any screw-ups."
"I don't want your money," the man said. "I guess you'll have to find someone else."
"There is no one else," the voice argued, its tone raised. "You either do it or we'll put you down!"
"It's been nice chatting with you but-"
"Hold on, hold on one God damned minute," the voice shouted. "What is it that you do want?"
The young man's smile grew into a wide maniacal grin. "I want all access to government arsenals, files, and online databases."
"My superiors will never-"
"Have a nice-"
"DAMN YOU CHRISTIAN DAMN YOU! Alright, alright, I'll get you the access you need. The full report will be e-mailed to you accordingly."
"George?"
"Yeah?"
"I would have taken the money."
"Fuck you, Christian."
"You always do say that," Christian replied, reaching over and pressing a button; terminating the connection. He sat there for a few minutes, barely breathing and totally motionless. Then after taking a deep breath he began to rock back and forth in his chair, tapping his fingers. The computer monitors' light died as they shut themselves down.