Notes: Lyrics from David Bowie's "Heroes"
Feedback: Good or bad, 's all groovy :)
I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen
Though nothing will drive them away
We can beat them, just for one day
We can be Heroes, just for one day
Agent Merchant watched Woodman as he watched the vampire. The irony didn't escape her as she resisted the urge to check her own observation booth for cameras. Who was watching her? It was like some kind of farce. Work so high pressured everyone had to watch everyone else. Did that mean no one would go crazy here, or that they all would? Well, Woodman would be leading the way.
She marked off the boxes on the form, leaving no mistake. The man was obviously cracking. Who wouldn't after five years, night in, day out. No family. No friends. No hobbies or even interesting little vices. Not even a cat for chrissake. Just some shoe box flat in St John's Wood with the curtains permanently drawn and pictures of a dead woman on every wall. It was depressing to have to do an investigation of a colleague in the first place, but that life was more depressing than most. He lived for the job and that was it. He had a month, tops.
A flick of her manicured nails changed the view on the monitor, this time to Agent Anderson's little cubicle.
"Hello Anderson, what are we doing tonight? Torturing small animals for fun and profit maybe? Or just a cup of tea and ... a good book"
The zoom pixilated the picture, but she could just make out the title of his reading material in the midst of bad colour
"Psychoville ... why am I not surprised"
The monitor-green tinged man of her focus turned the page, grinning at something he read and oblivious to her running commentary.
Another one with a flag on his file. A man who enjoyed his work just a little too much, bringing in more kills than captures, and kills were useless for research. Probably another one with a limited span, but he'd end up a drained husk in some alley no doubt.
She watched him for a few more moments and noted down the title of the book. The Psych guys would want to know for their next appointment. She hadn't been asked to do an evaluation of his home habitat yet, but it was probably just a matter of time. Not a house call she was overly looking forward too. Her mind's eye saw the paintings of dead clowns on the walls already.
A turn of a dial and back to Woodman as she sipped her cooling coffee, careful to keep it from making rings on the stacks of paper before her.
His chair was empty.
Merchant swallowed thickly and looked once more, willing him to have been in a non-existant blindspot. There was no one in that room. It was conceivable he'd gone for a bathroom break, and she'd have to report he left his post, but ... this was Woodman. Agent Eric "born with the book of regulations up his butt" Woodman. He wouldn't leave his post. The door was shut. The room was clear. She pushed the alert button and waited for all hell to break loose.
Even inside her own double sealed room she could hear the security doors began slamming shut in quick succession. Hell, she could feel them shaking the floor as they did it. Little ripples appeared in her coffee with the thumping reverberating around the building. Half-foot thick steel doors, reinforced with concrete and titanium. No travel between floors without the code. No getting into the building. No getting out. If Woodman had just gone for a piss, he was in so much trouble it made her teeth hurt just to think about it. If he hadn't, they were all in trouble.
Her com crackled for a moment before a tinny version of Commander Stoke's normally robust Irish brogue cut though, the message clear but so quiet she had to put her ear to the speaker.
"Report, Agent Merchant"
"Receiving one by five. Agent Woodman MIA as of between zero three eighteen and zero three twenty. No sign of disruption within his assigned observation room. Door closed."
This time the volume near deafened her as all came through loud and clear "Remain at your station Agent Merchant. Floor clearance will begin shortly."
"Five by five. Out"
She sat back in her chair and stared at the silent com before her. Now she got to wait in this windowless box for the all clear to come. Marvellous.
And then the com sparked into life once more, again the volume muted, the female voice speaking barely more than a whisper.
"He gave me a policeman's hat the night we met. It still had a head in it. The eyes had gone a bit squidgy, but that was okay. We played football on the way home ... I think he let me win. He always does the sweetest things."
The whisper died under the sudden screech of cross frequency communication, all departments checking in, trying to trace where the woman had signalled from and unable to get through to each other through the mess. Merchant wasn't surprised when the lights went down and took the radio babble with them.
The emergency lights flickered on after a few seconds, bringing a sickly yellow taint to the already nicotene coloured walls. For a moment she studied her distorted reflection in the metallic counter top. Wide paniced eyes with the normal blue nearly black with fear. Not inspiring. Time to get it together. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
"Pull it together Sam. C'mon. C'mon-c'mon-c'mon. You have a gun. Get the gun. Nice gun. Happy gun. Move Sam..."
When she opened her eyes again, the reflection was slightly less cowed. She gave herself a weak smile and began searching for the key to the gun draw and trying to ignore just how thin the observation room door felt.