I sat up on my thin dorm room mattress, back against the wall. My roommate, Paul, was already asleep. His light snores interspersed with the soft patter of a midnight sprinkle. A nearby streetlight warmed our room with an incandescent glow. In it I was able to make out the picture on my nightstand of a much younger me and my father, sitting on his desk in his New York office.

"This is in your blood. Remember that, no matter how hard it gets." I remembered him saying, placing the thick black frame in its spot as he helped me move in. I smiled wryly, wondering what he would say if he knew I was this apprehensive, and it was only orientation week.

The clock next to the photo reminded me in its large blue letters about how late it was getting, and I resigned to dealing with my anxiety laying down with my eyes closed, until sleep finally brought me some relief.

"Red." Paul hissed.
I opened my eyes groggily, surprised to find him already dressed in his 'navys' - the long sleeved button down and matching administrative uniform pants that identified us as Trainees. His inky black hair was still damp, and the ends of it were sticking to his wrinkled forehead.

I groaned. "How are you even alive already?"

"I'm a morning person." he stated simply.

"You know that's the worst kind."

He grinned, toweling his head off in the mirror which hung on a partial wall, separating our sleeping quarters. "Better hurry up before you're late."

After a quick trip down the hall to freshen up in the communal bathroom, it was time for me to put on my own uniform. The fabric was still stiff and uncomfortable. I absentmindedly stopped to scratch where the collar rubbed against the nape of my neck before I resumed lacing up my boot. Paul watched with undisguised jitters, fidgeting with the straps of his black duffel bag.

"It's day five." I began, standing up and smoothing out my clothes. "They're probably going to round things out with the last of whoever is coming to speak to us, and then on Monday we'll really start."

Paul's angular eyes betrayed his worry, and I offered him a smile. "It's going to be a good time."

"You really think so?"

"No." I slung the strap of my duffel over my right shoulder. "But that's what I keep telling myself."

It was a dreary San Francisco morning, and the fog had already obscured the apex of the Poriot - a precarious, twisted conglomerate of steel and glass which pushed forward and pierced the sky. It was the centerpiece of the group of ultra modern buildings that made up ACME's West Coast campus. However, the Trainees' main building was made of thick gray brick, earning it the nickname of the 'Fortress' (and on more difficult days, 'the Jail'). It was the only one left untouched by renovation, fitting for an Agency that reveled in its traditions.

Our class of twenty four was already gathered by the entrance of the Fortress, making small talk in a smattering of different accents. We were already lightly acquainted with the two males who lived across the hall from us - Felipe Maldonado, whose dimples deepened as we came closer, and David Morris, a SoCal native that greeted us with a languid wave. Standing by them, a hush fell over the group as Instructor Amiraj approached. She was a slender, dark skinned woman, with her salt and pepper hair pulled neatly in a low bun. The sleeves of her short sleeved grey polo were pulled taut with muscles that must have been earned from her years of teaching Defensive Tactics at the Academy.

"Good morning, Gumshoes!" Her voice was commanding yet bright. We returned the greeting with matched enthusiasm, and the lines in face rested pleasantly. "Welcome to Day Five! Today you'll be addressed by the Director, and then...we'll get your feet wet before you dive in on Monday."

"Finally." David grumbled loudly, setting off a few scattered titters. Amiraj acknowledged him with an amused nod.

"Hold tight to that sentiment, Gumshoe. You'll be wishing you had this much downtime again soon enough."

Chase Devineaux, the Director, was notorious for two things - his good looks, and his cold exterior. It was ten minutes into his speech, and I had already zoned out, bored of his serious tone, but finding his auburn brown hair and strong jawline pleasant enough to keep looking up at him on the platform.

"Do you know him, Red?" Paul whispered.

"Not personally. Why?"

"He keeps eyeing you."

"So?" I shrugged. "Can you blame him? I'm pretty."

Paul elbowed me. "Not in that way. It's as if he's trying to place you..." he trailed off, as the Director's gaze landed on both of us.

Due to the circumstances that had originally brought me to the Agency, and growing up within its walls, I was no stranger to curious looks. But the Director's hazel eyes seemed to be searching for something more. I gave him a questioning smile, noting as he mentally shook his head and returned fully back to his speech. I turned to Paul with a raised eyebrow.

"Told you." he muttered.

"Okay, you did. But I don't know why..."

Instructor Amiraj walked down the aisle towards us now, and we quieted down, putting our interest in what Devineaux was saying.

"There are three main career paths at ACME." he explained, "Supervisory, Investigative and Specialist. Most of you will start off on the Investigative track as Uniformed Agents, working out in the field against one of our greatest adversaries, VILE."

"Recovering missing monuments." I scoffed underneath my breath, causing Paul to snort loudly before guessing the next letter in the game of hangman we were playing in the margins of my notes. Amiraj shot me a pointed look from across the aisle.

"Those of you who were selected for a special field of study or aptitude will most likely find yourself working with a unit after your probationary period. The only unit with an exception to this is -

"Special Operations." Felipe finished, his right dimple making an enthusiastic appearance as he spoke.

"Yes." Devineaux paused. "If a recruit seems especially promising, we will extend an invitation after graduation for them to continue their training for this elite unit. Special Operations works some of our toughest cases, and to earn that title of Detective, you have to be our best and brightest."

"I'm running out of body parts." Paul murmured. "Can't I get a hint?"

"I'll make him a boy, best and brightest." I replied, giving the stick figure a large manhood. "Keep going."

"And of course, those who display leadership qualities can move up the ranks in Supervisory positions."

Paul had finally picked the right letter in the off color word I was having him decipher, and we poorly stifled our laughter with a combination of throat clearing noises. Devineaux did not look impressed.

"However, there is always the ever present chance that you might not hold up to our standard of excellence." His stare lingered. "ACME Agents and Detectives are expected to maintain the utmost professionalism at all times. Any deviation from this are grounds for dismissal."

Paul sobered, straightening apologetically in his seat. I quickly turned to a fresh sheet of paper, now looking appropriately engrossed in jotting down some key points. I could feel the warmth of Amiraj's glare at the side of my head, and started to prepare for the threat of an infraction we'd be getting after this.
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