Critical Crossing

Mission Three: Information Investigation

I, along with my unfortunately newfound partner, set out to fly to northern Utah. According to information given to me by a few of the Scorpion Squad's agents, the documents were located in an upstairs room containing a handful of destroyed computers of what appeared to be a normal home. Throughout the entire flight, the girl continuously questioned me about what we were doing, exactly where we would be going, and many more questions regarding my previous missions. Despite being agitated by the incessant pestering, I attempted to maintain a cool head.

Once we landed, everyone on board shuffled towards the exits of the plane, satisfied to finally be rid of the discomfort of the seats. As I walked forward, I noticed how the girl was pressed against me as if afraid she would be snatched up and hauled off. As she pressed against me, I could not help but notice two soft cushions against the middle of my back. If I speak honestly, I have never laid with a woman before despite being in my mid-twenties. If I were to say I did not feel something, or start thinking certain thoughts, I would be lying. However, I am meant to be professional right now. This is business. This is not the time to be feeling these kinds of feelings.

Finally stepping out of the plane and into the terminal, I am relieved for a few reasons. We make our way through the terminal and locate the exit, walking out to a street with cars driving past both ways. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I look at some notes I wrote down. I made sure to write down directions to the specific house from the airport along with the address in the event that I needed to open the GPS on my phone. I turned to look to the girl and saw that she seemed to be aimlessly looking around. I tap her shoulder, which causes her to jump a bit, and then motion for her to follow me. Like before, she carries an odd bounce in her gait.

We stand at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn. As I stand at the crosswalk, I cannot help but feel something is wrong. Simple missions like this are not usually handed to me, though I suppose it is because I have a rookie with me that they gave me this mission. At the same time, if they wanted me to train her to the best possible extent, then why did they start with such an easygoing mission? Perhaps the higher-ups know something that I do not. Perhaps they were expecting me to teach her how to react to events that occur on-the-spot. If that is the case, then they will just have to give it some time until that happens. Teaching people to improvise under heavy pressure like that can be ridiculously difficult, especially when both people's lives could be at stake.

"Jo, is something wrong?" she asks.

"Jo?" I say, "Who are you calling Jo? My name is Joel, get it right."

"Sorry," she panics for a second, "Is something wrong?" For a moment, I wonder whether or not I should tell her what is on my mind. If I want her to learn anything, I suppose I will have to tell her either way.

"It's just that I feel like we're being watched," I say.

"Watched? I mean, don't we have the Watcher apps on our phones?"

"Yeah, but I don't mean that kind of watched," I say, "More like someone else is watching us from nearby. Try and keep your senses keen and keep your eyes and ears peeled. Maybe then you'll be able to catch on, greenhorn." Once the light changed, I started walking across the street. In a hurry, she started walking as well.

As we continued walking down the street, the unsettling feeling continued to grow. Not only did it feel as though we were being watched, but it felt like the number of people has grown as well. I could not specify exactly how many, considering that would be relatively impossible with only a gut feeling, but nonetheless, my intuition tells me that something is not right. I feel as though I have eyes on me all over the place. Every move I do feels like it is being written down. Every time I look left or right, I feel as though something shifts. It almost feels as though I am wearing a skin-tight suit. It makes me want to break free, to suddenly burst out running, but I know that doing that would result in an even worse scenario. For the time being, all I can do is keep walking as though I suspect nothing is happening.