Discontinued

1: All of them

"So how'd you get out of prison again?" Will asked, sipping his mocktail beneath a cool blue sky. The balcony overlooked a sprawling summer town built into a mountain side that could be considered paradise for many. Not for Ian. "Y'know," He said, brushing fair hair out of his dull, grey eyes, "The usual. Go to therapy, they say. It'll help they say." He chuckled dryly with an empty smile. Will shared his grin, "How long do you think this one'll last this time?"
"Haven't met the therapist yet," Ian noted, "So I have no idea if it'll be a week or an hour."
Will smirked, "Remember that one who walked out mid-session?"
"Ryan, yeah," Ian remembered, "Cheater that one," He sighed, "probably needed therapy more than I do anyhow."
"Hold on, how am I only hearing about this now?" Will asked with mock incredulity.
Ian leaned back, "Oh right, yeah, I met him about a month ago. His ring was different and his hair was greased rather than gelled." Ian explained, "Probably had a very controling new wife."
"But that don't mean he cheated," Will pointed out, slurping quickly on his drink before continuing, "Might just be a divorce or maybe she died. Heck, maybe it's an open relationship? You can't know from just that."
"Well his belt was hastily tied," Ian pointed out, "and when he checked the time on his phone it was open on an urgent message from his new wife for his arrival. At midday. He was also sweating and had a red spot on his neck, hastily washed. And it couldn't have been open cause when the wife showed up she mentioned that it was 'just the two of them'"
"Daaaammn." Will exclaimed, "You remember this from a month ago?"
"Yeah." Ian replied nonchalantly.
"Fuck," Will grinned, "I don't really believe you, do I? You say all these things, but how can I know they are true if I don't remember them?"
"It doesn't matter," Ian sighed, "I have nothing to prove."

After lunch Ian parted ways with his friend and found himself upon the top floor of a bus, staring at his phone. He observed the 3 year old text messages between his old therapist Ryan and himself, and looked for tangible evidence to give to Will at some point in the future. The bus stopped, and he peered out the window to his left to look at who was coming onto the bus. One man in particular, with a red polo shirt and brown hair struck him in particular. Ian watched the steamed camera footage upon a screen on the bus as the man payed for his ticket in cash and then came up the stairs of the bus and sat beside Ian as if the two had been friends forever. Ian, perverse to physical contact, shuffled closer to the widow, crushing his left arm against the side of the bus. The other man turned and asked, "Wanna get of at the next stop?"
Ian raised an eyebrow, "Not particularly. What's in it for me?"
"You can figure it out," The man replied cryptically, "After all, I hear that you're an observant one."
Ian leaned back and stared out the window, "Government official," He stated, "secret service presumably. Recruitment I assume."
"Nice," The man exclaimed, "but keep it down."
Ian nodded wordlessly.
"So how did you know?" The man asked.
"There are cameras on the bus, as you can see," Ian pointed to the screen he had been watching above the front window of the top floor, "your wallet contained ten loyalty cards and fourty IDs. Most people have maybe ten at most. You are also of healthy posture and are well spoken. Therefore, government official. You clearly aren't trying to make it known, so secret service. And you're obviously in recruitment since you paid in cash, which means that you weren't planning on taking the bus even though you were planning on meeting me."
The man smiled, "And how did you know I was planning on meeting you?"
Ian turned to the man, frowning. "You sat right. Fucking. Next to me. Personal space."
The man raised his hands, "Alright, sorry." He exited his seat and sat in the pair of seats behind Ian, who asked, "So are you going to recruit me?"
"I'm going to give you a location and a time." He dug into his trousers and retrieved a card which he offered it over Ian's shoulder. Ian was unmoving, "What do I get?" He asked bitterly.
"A job." The man replied, "Which I imagine is not easy to find for someone fresh out of jail."
Ian was silent. The man began to to take the card back, "But if you already have plans-"
Ian quickly turned and snatched the card. He read the address and date quickly as the bus halted again. The man stood, "Best not be late." And headed down the stairs.

34 Kensington looked like a warehouse. It was a tall, brick structure labeled on every wall as "Parkinson's Repairs."
What a load of hogwash, Ian thought, what repaid service needs a warehouse this big? He found the entrance, a short set of stairs leading to a door about half a metre above the ground where there was a tall, beefy man with tanned skin and a thick beard beside it who watched Ian climb the stairs. Ian took his card out of his pocket and showed it to the man. He nodded and showed Ian the door. Nice, wordless interaction. Ian's favourite.

Inside, the building appeared to be a normal warehouse. Shelves of crates were filled and a whir of machinery could be heard ringing off the walls from all directions. It was certainly louder than Ian would have liked.
"Follow me."
Ian looked around to find that it was the same beefy man who had spoken and was now pacing quickly down an isle of crates. Ian did a quick skip to catch up and was led about fifty metres to an inconspicuous door with a window of obscure glass and a lock that the beefy man had a key to. After he unlocked the door, he opened it and pointed Ian inside. "Go down the stairs," He explained, "You're the first, so just wait outside the door."
Ian nodded, and entered the door which was promptly locked behind him. Now that he was alone, Ian found that there was only one path; down the stairs. The walls were close on either side and made of of some kind of cheap paint that smelled like cardboard. Eventually, after a fair bit of stairs, the walls opened out into a short corridor lined with a few benches and a single door. Ian walked up to this door and peered through the obscuring glass window, but nothing of value was visible. Feeling defeated, Ian slumped onto one of the benches and checked the time on his phone. The card had told him to arrive at 7:30.
It was currently 6:00.
Ian sighed and waited.

At around 7 another person showed up. He had chocolate coloured skin with a large chest and large biceps, and carried himself like a military leader, shoulders back, chin up. He looked down at Ian, on his phone looking through his messages with Ryan, still searching for evidence. The muscular man sat beside him and asked, "Early bird, huh?"
Ian did not look up, "Something like that," was his aimless reply.
The other man laughed, a hearty, cheery laugh. It made Ian incredibly uncomfortable.
"Us early birds need to stick together," He proclaimed proudly, "My name's Arthur. Yours?"
"Nunya."
Arthur laughed again, "Interesting name! Where is it from?"
Ian looked up at Arthur with a tired glare and made himself clear, "A small town called Nunya Business."
Arthur's face fell, "I'm sorry," His voice was gentler now, "Did I offend you somehow?"
Ian sighed and put his phone away, "We're not all social athletes, King Arthur," He explained, "And is it really alright to call yourself a morning person when you pulled an all nighter last night?"
Arthur was stunned, jaw gaped and eyes frozen. Ian continued, "don't worry, you don't have bags under your eyes," he reassured, "But your breath smells like coffee and your eyes aren't focusing on their own."
"Is it that noticeable?" Arthur grew anxious, "I don't want to seem like I don't care about this-"
"Don't worry," Ian reassured again, "Most people aren't gonna notice."
"Notice what?"
At that moment two people entered: one was tall and lean, with a long face. The other was shorter (still not incredibly short, but the shortest in the room nonetheless) with small eyes and a hooked nose. The tall one had spoken, and Ian replied, "Notice what you won't notice."
The man lowered his brow and grimaced slightly. He scanned the pair of people sat upon the bench, Ian returning to his phone and Arthur standing up to greet the new arrivals, who introduced themselves as Stan (the tall one) and Kingsley (the short one).

More people began to arrive, and eventually Ian found himself washed in a small ocean of conversation and formalities. He checked the time again: 7:29. Whatever strange interview for this secrecy service was about to commence very soon. Ian put his phone away and climbed onto his feet, bracing himself internally for whatever came next. Among the waves of chatter he heard a door open, and watched as the same man who had recruited him walked into the corridor. "Thank you for coming. Please come into the main room with me."
A voice asked from the crowd, "Are we all going to be interviewed at once?"
There were seven people. It was true, interviewing that many people at once would certainly be difficult.
"You're not being interviewed," the man responded simply, "You're being tested. We already know all of your qualifications. Now step into the main room with me please."