Darkside55
The Freeman
- Joined
- Jun 12, 2009
- Messages
- 12,083
- Reaction score
- 93
Sunlight filtered in through the open blinds of single window at the back of the steel-walled room. The square office was more reminiscent of an interrogation room; its minimalist décor of a single steel desk and black executive’s chair making the sterile room seem larger than it was. The linoleum floor had been polished to a reflective sheen. Overhead, a fan hummed away noisily.
A man wearing a brown suit sat expressionless at his desk, mulling over some papers. A file folder was spread out on the black surface of the desk, a stack of papers fanned across it. He could not have been any older than his mid-to-late thirties, but his short hair and beard were already white. His eyes were beads under thin lids that rested beneath the hair of even thinner brows, still brown having escaped the pigment change. The blue-black beads scanned over each page, the man’s forehead furrowing now and then as if scrutinizing each word, then relaxing as he moved on. He paid no attention to the tall, black-haired man standing at the foot of his desk.
This man was younger, somewhere in his late twenties or possibly early thirties. It was hard to tell. His hair was a deep black, cut to a small flat top with a widow’s peak. His thick black eyebrows set over glassy blue eyes, almost without color in the light. For a young man, he had slight bags under his eyes. He was dressed more like a salesman or an accountant than a government agent; white collar shirt, blue tie, navy-colored suit cleanly pressed. His black oxfords were coated with a liberal amount of black polish, reflecting the room like the floor.
He contemplated the quiet man in the chair, glancing down to view the pages the other was studying. A slight smile touched his thin lips. The file was his record, the papers a detailed list of his career history. He could make out his first name upside-down on the first page, the letters blacked out except for the initials L M. His middle name was darkened. A monochrome photograph of him was paperclipped to the sheet. It seemed to him an unorthodox way of conducting an interview, the silence of it, not being asked any questions, but all his information was there in black and white already. He had the vague feeling that this quiet was intentional, a test to unnerve him. Perhaps the other man was paying attention to him, watching for the slightest waver in the g-man’s behavior: a fidget, restlessness, rocking back on the heels of his shoes. He did nothing but stand and stare. Most people are intimidated on job interviews, however they had called him here. He knew that this was not the first time the white-haired man had seen his file. Nothing to worry about, they wanted him for the job. His smile widened.
He wasn’t the nervous type, anyway.
Finally the white-haired man spoke. “I am sure that, as an intelligence officer, you are able to keep a secret?” His eyes did not leave the papers.
“Of course.”
“I am also sure you are aware of some of the experiments that our research facilities conduct. This particular facility, for instance, deals mainly with the R&D of displacement technology. Do you know what I am talking about?” He spoke as father explaining something to a child. It was not meant to be condescending. He wanted to be sure that he was understood before continuing.
“Yessss, sir.” The black-haired man drew out the sound of his S, a quirk in his speech.
He knew of what the other man was speaking. In the previous war the government had tried to cloak ships by placing them out of normal space in order to keep them hidden from enemy radar. They’d done experiments with the time/space continuum based on experiments conducted by Nikola Tesla in the 1930s. The “Philadelphia Experiment” fiasco was widely publicized, the story circulated around by the conspiracy theorists who penned the tabloids, crying cover-ups and government atrocities.
“Then you know of its importance to our military.” As if reading the g-man’s mind, he added, “some bad press hasn’t stopped the funding to this project. The situation with the current war makes it even more important that we continue our research and further the technology. We are also currently working on projects that have more…extended applications.
“As you’re no doubt aware I have called you here to offer you a position within this research facility. I find that I cannot be in all places at once and do not have time for the task of sifting through all the information that comes my way, to filter out the important from the insignificant. As I operate away from this facility it is also difficult to keep in constant contact with the researchers here. Therefore, I am in need of a liaison to report to me and handle my duties here at the facility.” He finally looked up at the g-man, smiling. He spoke in a light, almost casual voice. “Not to flatter you, but you were the most qualified person for the job. So! Interested?”
The black-haired man squeezed the handle of his briefcase gently. It may have been a trick of the sun, but the light in his eyes seemed brighter as he nodded his head to the administrator. Yes, this job would do. The left side of his mouth tilted into a smirk.
“Thank you, Misssster Breen. I will accept your offer.”
A man wearing a brown suit sat expressionless at his desk, mulling over some papers. A file folder was spread out on the black surface of the desk, a stack of papers fanned across it. He could not have been any older than his mid-to-late thirties, but his short hair and beard were already white. His eyes were beads under thin lids that rested beneath the hair of even thinner brows, still brown having escaped the pigment change. The blue-black beads scanned over each page, the man’s forehead furrowing now and then as if scrutinizing each word, then relaxing as he moved on. He paid no attention to the tall, black-haired man standing at the foot of his desk.
This man was younger, somewhere in his late twenties or possibly early thirties. It was hard to tell. His hair was a deep black, cut to a small flat top with a widow’s peak. His thick black eyebrows set over glassy blue eyes, almost without color in the light. For a young man, he had slight bags under his eyes. He was dressed more like a salesman or an accountant than a government agent; white collar shirt, blue tie, navy-colored suit cleanly pressed. His black oxfords were coated with a liberal amount of black polish, reflecting the room like the floor.
He contemplated the quiet man in the chair, glancing down to view the pages the other was studying. A slight smile touched his thin lips. The file was his record, the papers a detailed list of his career history. He could make out his first name upside-down on the first page, the letters blacked out except for the initials L M. His middle name was darkened. A monochrome photograph of him was paperclipped to the sheet. It seemed to him an unorthodox way of conducting an interview, the silence of it, not being asked any questions, but all his information was there in black and white already. He had the vague feeling that this quiet was intentional, a test to unnerve him. Perhaps the other man was paying attention to him, watching for the slightest waver in the g-man’s behavior: a fidget, restlessness, rocking back on the heels of his shoes. He did nothing but stand and stare. Most people are intimidated on job interviews, however they had called him here. He knew that this was not the first time the white-haired man had seen his file. Nothing to worry about, they wanted him for the job. His smile widened.
He wasn’t the nervous type, anyway.
Finally the white-haired man spoke. “I am sure that, as an intelligence officer, you are able to keep a secret?” His eyes did not leave the papers.
“Of course.”
“I am also sure you are aware of some of the experiments that our research facilities conduct. This particular facility, for instance, deals mainly with the R&D of displacement technology. Do you know what I am talking about?” He spoke as father explaining something to a child. It was not meant to be condescending. He wanted to be sure that he was understood before continuing.
“Yessss, sir.” The black-haired man drew out the sound of his S, a quirk in his speech.
He knew of what the other man was speaking. In the previous war the government had tried to cloak ships by placing them out of normal space in order to keep them hidden from enemy radar. They’d done experiments with the time/space continuum based on experiments conducted by Nikola Tesla in the 1930s. The “Philadelphia Experiment” fiasco was widely publicized, the story circulated around by the conspiracy theorists who penned the tabloids, crying cover-ups and government atrocities.
“Then you know of its importance to our military.” As if reading the g-man’s mind, he added, “some bad press hasn’t stopped the funding to this project. The situation with the current war makes it even more important that we continue our research and further the technology. We are also currently working on projects that have more…extended applications.
“As you’re no doubt aware I have called you here to offer you a position within this research facility. I find that I cannot be in all places at once and do not have time for the task of sifting through all the information that comes my way, to filter out the important from the insignificant. As I operate away from this facility it is also difficult to keep in constant contact with the researchers here. Therefore, I am in need of a liaison to report to me and handle my duties here at the facility.” He finally looked up at the g-man, smiling. He spoke in a light, almost casual voice. “Not to flatter you, but you were the most qualified person for the job. So! Interested?”
The black-haired man squeezed the handle of his briefcase gently. It may have been a trick of the sun, but the light in his eyes seemed brighter as he nodded his head to the administrator. Yes, this job would do. The left side of his mouth tilted into a smirk.
“Thank you, Misssster Breen. I will accept your offer.”
