The Choices of Staff Members of Hydra

1

OFFICE 17 (I)

Deep in the most secure building at Camp Lehigh, far beyond the normal, crowded areas that never seemed to be calm or quiet no matter the time of day or night, there were offices unknown to most of the people who worked there. The walls in that subterranean world were crowded with pipes, some hot enough that it would cause anyone who came too close to begin to sweat, others cold enough that to touch them would be painful and still others that would constantly leak water, rust building up in circles and splotches on the metal, the walls, and the floor. There were doors to the offices at regular intervals and all were occupied, whether they looked to be or not. SHIELD did not waste space when space was so much at a premium. Their new building had been approved; construction had been underway for a while on the day Arnold Corliss walked the unpleasant lower halls of Camp Lehigh in September of 1985, but it would be years before it was completed. Until then, Camp Lehigh remained one of the main offices for SHIELD, and one that not many were happy about being posted to if they were in the lower levels. In the endless maze of basement corridors, the silence aside from the hissing, dripping or clanking pipes was oppressive, causing anyone who walked those hallways to try to walk softly, posture rigid, attempting to ignore their own footsteps.

Corliss was walking more stiffly than anyone as he grew increasingly concerned that he may be lost. He found himself wondering if anyone would ever find him if he did actually take a wrong turn or would he simply walk forever, eventually starving to death, skeletonized beneath the endless pipes with the dim light hiding his crumbling bones from those who looked straight ahead as they walked by. He shook himself from that disturbing image and tried to regain his sense of confidence. He had been eager to go down to the office he was seeking, it was a promotion after all, a recognition of his competence, of his service. It was not a punishment, even if he would be consigned to a windowless office to carry out the will of Hydra.

The office he was seeking finally came into view, the door heavy wood with half frosted glass in the old style. Corliss could see the light through the glass which meant the person he was meeting would be in the office. He was relieved but still stared at the number on the door for a long time before tentatively knocking: 17. All of the doors he had passed had strange numbers on them, none in any sequential order. The door he stood in front of was next to a door that read: 49, and the one across the hallway was 263. If he knocked on the wrong door, his promotion would be gone, and then he would most likely be gone with it, never to be seen again, just on the off chance he had observed something he shouldn't have.

His light taps on the glass were answered immediately. The door opened with an intensity that made Corliss back up a step as an old man was staring without blinking, his eyes as cold and hard as marbles. In fact, they so resembled marbles that Corliss had the urge to touch them, to see if they were actually human eyes or not. He resisted that impulse with difficulty and walked inside the office as the old man stood aside.

The office was large, the walls completely covered by filing cabinets from floor to ceiling, and two rows in the middle of the room, making it seem like a maze. A desk sat in front of the filing cabinets in the middle, small, rickety and it seemed to Corliss, almost an afterthought. Two chairs sat by the desk which was completely clean except for two file folders carefully laid out on top. The old man shuffled with an odd limp to the desk, his movements slow and painful, yet somehow strong, as if the old man had an ageless spirit in a deteriorating body.

"Arnold," the old man said in a smooth, pleasant voice that was jarring. It was the voice of a golf tournament announcer, calm, measured, sophisticated, and utterly bizarre to be issuing from the frail, ancient body. "Take a seat."