when the sun goes black (old- will probably revise)

1

The rhythmic ticking of the clock only added to the building tension as Frank pulled out a chair and sat down.

He did his best to ignore the internal whirlwind of questions- why he'd been called there, what he'd done, if he was in trouble. All the while, his superior stared back with her chin in her hands, watching him with a gaze that was undeniably critical.

He'd been called from a training session with no explanation, instructed to report immediately to the office of a high-level Scarecrow. Confused but obedient, he'd dropped his raygun, straightened his collar, and rushed to the elevator.

Frank was a loyal employee of Better Living Industries. Undoubtedly one of the best, a rising star within the ranks of white-uniformed soldiers. Determined, intelligent, loyal, physically competent despite his underwhelming stature. He had all of the qualities of a Scarecrow. That was precisely what he hoped to become one day, and the only thing he let himself think about. What more was there to worry about than his future?

Dr. Carroway's office was just like the rest of the building-the whole place shared interior design elements with a walk-in freezer, and was about as homey. Harsh, cool blacks and whites dominated the building, all lit by bright fluorescent lights. Two chairs stood on either side of a white desk. The only decorations were neatly organized wanted posters and BL/IND memorabilia, hung on the walls.

Despite having little reason for concern, Frank was overcome with a feeling like he'd been called out of class to the principal's office. He could be there to get expelled or personally congratulated for making the honor roll, and the wait to find out which was agonizing. Though he'd done nothing in recent memory to merit expulsion, he was pretty easily convinced that he'd put thumbtacks in the principal's shoes or set fire to the gym, and that obvious misdeed had just slipped from his mind.

It didn't help that he was covered in sweat and hadn't combed his hair, two things he was suddenly quite conscious of. At last, Carroway spoke.

"You aren't in trouble, Franklin. Loosen up." She stated, leaning back in her chair and continuing to study him. Her hands were laced together on her desk, her back perfectly straight, her red lipstick immaculate and her brown hair done up in a tight bun. She was the spitting image of professionalism.

He expertly hid the twinge of annoyance that came with his full name. All the upper-level BL/IND agents insisted upon using it. He hated the way it sounded. Just Frank was fine, but Franklin? Weird.

"Ah, sorry." He murmured, with a half-hearted chuckle. Her reassurance did little to settle his nerves.

"That's alright. I know this is sudden, but there's no need to be worried." She declared. "You're probably wondering why I've called you here, correct?"

He nodded.

She tapped two of her fingers on the desk to the rhythm of the clock, never breaking eye contact. "You're one of our most valuable employees, Frank. Despite our initial doubts given your... history, you've flourished over the year you've been with us. You always manage to exceed our expectations."

"Thank you." He felt a slight surge of pride at her stream of compliments, but maintained straight-faced composure.

"As such," Carroway began. "We've decided to try something a little different. We want to see how your talents could be utilized elsewhere."

A bit confused, but following, Frank allowed her to continue. "Last night, our operatives managed to bring in a high-priority fugitive. He acts as a leader of sorts for those deviants running around in the desert. He's always managed to evade us. Like, ah..." she trailed off. "Sand between our fingers. Until now."