Chapter Two

The police office led Seymour Birkhoff into a tiny interrogation room, shoving him into the metal chair. Across the table the office sat across from the scared young man, Birkhoff, all brave and cocky through the Internet, was suddenly quite. He hung his head down, strands of blond hair pulled out from his ponytail hung over his face. Since they had busted him at his apartment, he had made very little eye contact with anyone and had not said a word. The officer leaned across the table on his folded arms and asked, "I am only going to ask you this once. Are you Shadow Walker?"

As uncomfortable as he was at the situation, Birkhoff was still a smart man. "I don't talk without a lawyer." He quietly replied.

"What?" the office laughed. "A lawyer?" he got up and headed towards the door. "I hope you have a good one."

The officer left the room and Birkhoff sat back in his chair. He was smooth and cocky online, but in real life, with real people, it was completely different. His mind began to scramble over all the possibilities. He knew he had to get himself out of this somehow. Looking down at his feet, he knew with his small stature and less than stellar physical conditioning, he would not last more than five minutes in prison. There had to be something he could do, but it wasn't like the police or prison guards were going to leave him around a computer any time soon.

The opening door brought the young man back to reality. This time, it was not a police officer, but a very well dressed, middle-aged man who came in. He was in a perfectly-fitted, expensive looking suit, his hair combed neatly back. He was cool and collected every step he took calculated. "What?" Seymour asked. "Are you my lawyer?"

The man smiled. "No, no. I am just here to offer you a second chance."

Seymour was confused. There was no going back. "What are you a time traveler?" Birkhoff was less than impressed.

Laughing he sat down across from Seymour. "Not exactly," he replied, "I'm here to offer you a second chance to join us, to serve your country instead of going to prison."

Birkhoff did not know what to do. Not going to prison sounded good, but the offer this man was making seemed too good to be true. "What if I'd rather not in jail than work for the government?" Birkhoff wanted to see if the guy could keep up with what he was offering.

"You don't have a choice." The man laughed.

Confused, Birkhoff did not immediately understand the comment until a wave of sleepiness overcame him suddenly. His mind flashed back to the glass of water he had been given when he first arrived at the station. 'Well, at least I won't be going to prison.' He thought as he fell asleep.

When he came to, Birkhoff was still in a tiny white room, but now he was laying on some kind of cot. As his consciousness returned, he looked to his left, where a small desk was set up next to the bed. That was the only decoration in the room. Sitting up in the bed, Birkhoff was surprised his baggy, torn-up jeans and t-shirt had been replaced with sweatpants and a white t-shirt. "Who the hell changed my clothes?" he shouted.

Almost on cue, the door opened and a man, older than the first but dressed in an equally nice suit, came into the room. "Good to see you're awake, recruit." He calmly said.

"Recruit?" Birkhoff rubbed his hand, still groggy from whatever they had drugged him with.

The man laughed. "I'm Simon. I am an agent here."

"An agent" Birkhoff was confused, the encounter at the police station a little groggy in his mind."

"You've been brought here to work as an agent for an organization called Division. We are a black-budget agency of the US government."

"What?" Birkhoff rubbed his wrists, sore from the handcuffs. "You're kidding right?"

Simon shook his head without even a hint of a smile. He was all business. "Not at all. You've been picked for a special task. Because you are a technical genius, we want you to not just be an agent, but to be groomed as a tech analysis in Operations."
"Operations?" Birkhoff arched his eyebrows in confusion. "And how are you people going to make me stay?"

The agent tossed a folder over to the young man. Opening it, Birkhoff was greeted by a photo of a grave. He wasn't sure why, until his eyes came across the gravestone and he read his name on the gravestone. "What?" he whispered in shock.

"We faked your death. You were killed in a lunch room brawl. You were really too small and weak to survive. Everyone outside Division thinks you're dead. Now you serve us, or we really kill you."

Birkhoff swallowed hard. He was a criminal, but not a violent one, so he had never had his life threatened before and he was more scared than he ever thought he could be. Right then he knew he would have to obey. "So what do I have to do?"

Simon laughed. "It's simple. We essentially teach you to be a spy. For you, it means a focus on providing technical support for missions."

"What kind of missions?" Birkhoff wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to hear the answer.

"You'll see plenty of it. Simon avoided the question which made Birkhoff even more uneasy. "You get today to settle in, but Amanda will want to see you this afternoon. Tomorrow you will start training with the other recruits."

"Amanda?" Birkhoff was not looking forward to another one of these secretive people.

"Amanda is our lifestyle therapist. She helps guide the transformation."

"Great." Birkhoff replied, not looking forward to therapy.