Jiao-long was still wondering whether they were fooling him. The day after his dressing had started early, his small body finding little sleep once more and being roused by the sound of the men in the hallway. One of them had kicked his door, told him to "Hurry up and get your chink ass out here!" But Jiao-long ignored him, burying his face into his pillow. That was, until a pair of men burst into his room, picking him up and throwing him at his suit, which was folded neatly into the corner - just as Evander had taught him.
"Didn't I just say get the fuck up!" the same man reiterated, pointing toward the suit. "Get up, get dressed, you're already way behind schedule and we ain't gonna wait all morning for you." Jiao-long turned a glare over his shoulder at the man, who he recognised now as the second of the lackeys who had accompanied Marie the previous day. Slowly, just to be irksome, he rose to his feet and started dressing. It only took a moment for those rough hands to be on him again, shoving him back against the wall and fidgeting him into his uniform. The buttons were done in the span of time it took Jiao-long to blink, and that in itself was enough to make him start into reality. Pulling away from those swift fingers, he made his way much quicker into the rest of the suit, doing his best not to wince in pain. The man stood back and let him, coming forward only to help him with his tie until he was finished.
"Much better," he'd said, then, and taking Jiao-long's arm even as he was zipping up his jacket dragged him into the hallway to line up with the rest of the Turks.
The day started out with lines. The men lined up shoulder-to-shoulder in one neat row, then broke rank to create another formation, then another. This occurred for a few minutes, the formations switching up so fast with such intricate footwork that it was like a dance. Jiao-long was stepped on and brushed by so many times he became dizzy. Following, without warning, the men broke off, and jogged laps. Ten around the floor itself, in a set pattern, and then to the side-stairs, which for the most part were unknown to any but the Turks themselves. They went all the way down, and then all the way back up. Fourty-two floors, eighty-four flights of stairs, each run twice. Jiao-long found himself wondering as his mind began to swim from lack of oxygen how the people in the building weren't disturbed by twenty grown people doing laps on the stairs. And then faintly, as he stumbled, he realised he couldn't hear the other men's footsteps.
Someone had dragged him back up the stairs after them, and he was set against the wall as the rest of them did stretches. Each one had their own regimen, and Jiao-long took note as he watched them. He would have to do this with them, then. Every morning, every day. His memory was good, he could watch and learn. It was his small body he was worried about, whether it really could keep up with the others or not, and what it would mean if he couldn't. He shivered, remembering the searing pain, the sense of desolate peace as he hoped he was dying, the actions they'd performed just days before. It would be more of that, he was sure without a doubt.
Once they'd finished, they lined up to be checked one last time, and were dismissed. As the others parted for their duties, Evander approached him, and offered his hand.
"Ya heavier than ya look," he said with a half-smirk of indignation, and Jiao-long blinked at him in what he hoped was gratitude. He ignored the hand, however, and stepped past the man. Evander laughed softly. "Okay, su' 'chaself." Shaking his head, he moved forward, and Jiao-long followed him without a word.
The rest of the morning had been spent on a tour of the building. They used the elevators this time, starting at the bottom floor and moving up. It seemed that someone higher than they were had assigned Evander officially to him, as when people asked after Jiao-long he responded by introducing him as "my new recruit." Jiao-long couldn't remember ever being claimed before, and found himself somewhat indignant against the idea of this man being the one to do so. However, the reality was that there were much worse candidates, so he was in the end glad to concede to this fate.
In the next few hours, they'd seen the information desk, brushed by the lower levels, bypassed the floor they all lived on, stopped at the security check on the 60th floor, and eventually made their slow way up each of the following levels. Jiao-long listened intently as the function of each one was introduced to him, as he'd been told these would be where he would be working for the next few years. Newer Turks didn't do missions outside the building, Evander explained. Not until they were ready.
The 61st floor was low-key, a lounge floor where a few of the people he'd seen living in the quarters with him seemed to be enjoying breaks. The sixty-second was of a great deal more interest. Evander hurried him around to each of the rooms here, introducing him to a few people they passed. This floor was filled with libraries, records and histories, all the things that might be needed within the building. Here, too, was the office for the Public Order/Weapon's Division, which Evander seemed to sidestep, mentioning only that he would meet the people who ran things later, once he'd had some more training. Also, there was a Scientific Research office, Space Development office, and the Mayor's office. Seeing this, Jiao-long had stopped briefly, to wonder how he'd never even thought there could be a mayor over a place like this. It seemed so very run by the insipid parts of the government that the idea had never even occurred to him, nor many people below-plate. But Evander moved them up quickly, and he was forced to store the thought for later.
Up two more flights of stairs ("Oh, you don't need to care about level 63, it's just storage and stuff.")and Jiao-long was surprised to see a large gathering of the people he had gotten used to hating. This seemed to be where the Turks hung out, when they were off duty. The twin, wolflike men who Tseng hadn't seen too much of were spending some time in the gymnasium, as a scantily-clad Marie scowled at him as she passed him on her way out of the locker rooms.
"We share locka's. She hates it," Evander whispered to him as she upturned her nose at the man, passing him without so much as a greeting. Chuckling lowly to himself, he spoke up, and led Jiao-long off once more.
The 65th floor was passed by without entry, as Evander explained one had to have duty on that floor to gain access. It was one of the upper floors of the Science Department, shared with Urban Development, and the man expressed relief that he wasn't usually on duty there as they made their way upstairs. The sixty-sixth floor was much more important, and Evander led him around it with much greater care.
"This is where the big-wigs 'ave their shindigs. Ya gotcha conference room, an' the office party room. Don' ask, ya don' wanna know. They like ya to be on watch outside an' such," he explained, stopping to indicate the vents in the ceiling and the many windows on the floor. "An' all these are highly dangerous areas, easily infiltrated. Ya wanna take a real good look a' this floor, get ta know it before ya get on duty 'ere. Unda'stand?" He didn't wait for an answer before moving on, and Jiao-long only took one more glance before moving after him.
The sixty-seventh and sixty-eighth floors were bypassed as well, for the same reason as the 65th. "Science Department" seemed to be an excuse for a lot here. "There's a lift connects it ta the next floor up, though. In case of emergency. Only goes up, an' sets off an alarm if ya get in it. Reason for that is," he explained as he opened the door to the next floor up (which was apparently only accessible by the stairs) and Jiao-long was somewhat struck by the sudden openness before him, "we live up here."
"Welcome," Evander introduced with a wide gesture to their surroundings, "ta Headquarters." Jiao-long had stopped just outside the elevator, and cast his dark gaze around him at the various people, lined across desks situated throughout the floor. There were no walls between them, no cubicles, though they each seemed to work in oblivousness of each other, respecting one another's space. All of them cast him a glance, however, as he stared at them. He'd not gotten a good look at them until now, and so was memorising them. His gaze soon fell to the stairs on either side of the room, but before he could ask about them Evander was leading him forward again.
"Zheng, 's 'bout time ya got int'a'duced. This here is Jet," he said, gesturing to a large bald man who was kicked back in his own chair, feet upon his table as he read a newspaper. He gave Jiao-long a jerky head nod, to which Jiao-long just blinked. This one he recognised, and easily so; he was the one with the scar. The entire right side of his face was scarred, mutilated, his right eye shut and lascerations even visible on the top of his head, though they looked much more orderly, as if they'd been able to be sewn closed while they healed. The man went back to reading as Evander moved on. "I'm sure ya met Marie," he said, giving her a bright, honest smile as she gave Jiao-long her most rotten, fake one. The woman was dressed and back to work, it seemed. She must have gotten ahead of them at some point.
"Downstairs was Biggie and Smallie, they're the twins, good guys really, jes look a li'l scary." He said this as he passed a set of chairs arranged closer than the others, assumedly theirs. "Kunsel," he introduced as he bypassed a chair, and the younger man stood, bowing formally to Jiao-long. Apologetically. Jiao-long actually spared him a sympathetic look as he glanced back, knowing he was the one he kept seeing everywhere, who was so beat-up upon. As he sat, Jiao-long gazed once more over the small group of faces, tuning out Evander for a short time. He made a mental note to ask about the stairs when the man was finished. And what he would be doing from now on.
"...And this is Veld, ya met 'im," is when Jiao-long began listening again, and turning his eyes toward Evander's voice met the honey gaze of the man he'd come to hate the most. At the moment, he was offering the boy a small smile, which this time was not returned.
"Hello, Seng," Veld greeted, moving forward and eyeing Evander, who snapped to attention like the trained creature he was. "I'll take it from here."
"Sir," was all the man said, before retiring to his own desk next to Kunsel. Jiao-long watched him go for a moment, before turning back to the man before him, who was watching him patiently.
"Good to see you, Seng," the man said to him, honesty in his voice and demeanour. For a moment, Jiao-long remembered why he'd found an instant respect for this man. But that moment passed, and instead he stored the new pronunciation of his name (of which he was getting quite the collection), returning the man's gaze tiredly. Blankly. With a nod, Veld led him back to the desks, where an empty one near the end of the row sat. "Do you know how to use a computer?" Jiao-long shook his head.
"What about math?" Jiao-long hesitated, and then nodded a little. "Good. And reading, writing? How are you with those?" At that, Jiao-long looked up at him mildly, as if to ask if he was serious about these questions. For what purpose, he didn't know, but the man just nodded back, and sat him down. "Alright, you're going to work with Marko. He'll teach you the basics, and I expect you to be up to speed within the week. It's intense, but I trust you can do it." Trust. Jiao-long's eyebrows shot up at that. No one, and he'd paid attention, had used that word with him yet. Perhaps it was just the way the man spoke? But no...he'd meant it. Saying nothing, Jiao-long took a seat where he'd been indicated, and at the same time a pile of papers fell onto the desk before him, a sprightly younger man falling into the chair nearest him at the same time. Jiao-long looked up quickly, and narrowed his eyes.
"Morning, Ching-chong," the man said, the smile on his face so much like a cat who'd caught his prey that Jiao-long's stomach turned over. "Like the dot," he said, gesturing fast to it as if he would poke it, and making Jiao-long cringe. He laughed as he pulled back, and started laying papers out. "That for snipers? Handy." Jiao-long stayed silent, only watching him, and felt a hand on his shoulder.
"If he gets on your nerves," Veld said lowly in his ear, "just bring up the goldfish." With a few pats to that shoulder, the man left with nothing but a "Good luck!", and Jiao-long watched him go with a gaze not short of desperation. A smack on his wrist brought him suddenly back to the pile of papers before him, and without further ado, the man with the insipid smile went to work. Briefly, Jiao-long wondered if, in his wildest dreams, he would ever have thought he'd been in this sort of situation. The answer was no, but at least he'd learned something. So, then...this was what it was like to be on top.