March of the Black Messiah

"You have about 90 minutes before the President walks through that door and we are all fired... or worse." Clementine Wilson had real fear on her wan pudgy face. Her blouse was sweat stained and Eddie was certain that had he still the nose for it she would have stunk to high heaven. Only he could feel how sodden his collar was and assumed he was in no position to cast stones.

"I have Tbilisi but the Bucharest and Sarajevo station chiefs haven't sent their reports, and Ankara is lost, all we have is satellite and local social media." Eddie could hear the whiny tone in his own voice and the sharp way that Clementine's eyes whipped up from her own pile of paperwork told him everything that he needed to know about her opinion on that excuse.

"You are an analyst Mr. Martinez so take what you have and spin that straw into gold" she paused and her eyes hardened just a fraction, "Or head downstairs and pay for the gold directly" She turned away from him and back towards her own impressive stack of reports, a pair of fingers with chipped red nail polish to her throat and her low mutters spilled words onto her tablet. They all had their own share of the load to lift.

Eddie Martinez rubbed his eyes and looked on last time at the impossible task before him. There was nothing to be done more with what he had. He tabbed through his report and surveyed exactly how screwed he was. He had the skeleton already constructed but there wasn't enough muscle on the thing to make it move. A few days and everything would be ready to his normal standards. Only the way things were going in two days he would need a whole new set of reports to explain the chaos. Events outpaced his ability to keep up. Only now there was a line in the sand and that line was on fire.

He stood up and steeled himself.

Clem Wilson cared about her reputation. No Office Chief got to their position without blood on their knives but the fire in her eyes and the real fear in her posture told him that failure today was a beast of a different stripe. Word on the grapevine was that everything was on the table. After the Whispering Plague and the Port-au-Prince Event policy had been 'cauterization post haste' it had worked well enough to snuff out the Canarsie Incident but with the size of this problem there was only one brand large enough to handle the job.

He needed information and with the situation as it was there was only one thing to be done. He let his own aide know and gathered his courage. Clem had put this one on him for a reason. He had the best relationship with the Basement Division. If they had a chance to make something work it was going to be from him getting something from downstairs.

It was chaos from top to bottom and from each of the Office's runners scurried carrying reports from one desk to another. Analysts burned themselves at both ends to scrape something from the nothing that they had been given. Too much was riding on this upcoming decision. It was obvious to everyone what was coming. What that coming meant.

Despite the cloying heat of too many overworked bodies pressed too tightly together Eddie found himself shivering as he worked his way through the press, squeezing past other frantic souls. Ever since the destruction of Langley the Directorates had been split and this commandeered Atlanta office park was not exactly fit for service. Too many people in too little space. Still as Eddie neared his destination the crush abated and then as he rounded one corner ceased entirely. The air was still moist and animal but the uneasy hum he thought that he could hear told him that he was getting close. Had things been twice as bad and twice as cramped this section of the building would still be empty.

A heavy door, newly installed marked the boundary he needed to cross and a single man in full battle dress sitting at a stool next to the portal watched him. The soldier's helmet rested between his feet and his armor was sloppy and unclipped. His long rifle was leaning up against the wall and his sword was bare on his lap. Calloused fingers ran a rag along the length of the blade working the scented oils into all the inscriptions. The soldier had deep blue eyes and while his hair was cut to regulation there was very little else about him that would have been fit for the front page. From his straps and buckles hung little chains of multicolored beads and next to his name tag a crude charm made of a pair of eagle feathers marked him as a Brave.