My Name is Ranel [Short Story] ✅

Part 1

A/N

I'm like ... in the middle of my exams right now ... yet I'm writing this. Sorry not sorry. I love my characters so much. Can't help it. Also, I didn't do a proper recheck (too lazy), so ignore any grammar/typing error.

Presenting, first chapter, 4.9K words in total.

"Four innocent people were killed, ten injured and two went into coma," Jerome scrunches his nose up as if he has smelled something revolting, arranging the stacks of papers together while doing so. Putting them on the surface, he folds his arms together on the desk and studies the folder right before him, scrutinising his eyes at the picture of the crook. He then observes me from under his fair eyelashes, pressing his lips together that I feel like I am being X-rayed. I inadvertently fiddle with the flash drive in my sore hands. The air has gone eerily dense between us, almost as if the vapour has frozen in the cold, dim office. I feel as if I have a small supposition of what is coming in my way. "I am fairly disappointed, to say the least – I'm afraid."

My breath hitches. I can already see the teensiest lucid image of what future is forming ahead of me after this, after years of being in this post – four years, to be exact. So much has happened since then. Too much, that I hardly ever remember anything, seeing as assenting to be part of this post basically means throwing away all of your pasts into the pit, never meant to be seen again – unless, of course, under particular circumstances. But really, that depends on how well you manage.

Jerome Victor is one cold man who doesn't show the faintest emotion on his face. Everything about him is impassive, as if he has been detached from all kinds of feelings. Any attempt at asking for empathy from him might as well be looked through, as if our words are merely a mirror that is clear as crystal to him. So when he said he was disappointed, I know I've screwed things up for real this time – there is no denying it. I have always been wary with my steps, seeing as what I do ever since I got here involves a great deal of peril.

"Have you any idea how worse things would've become had Point Zero not come at the right time to warn you about the hijack?" he asks me quietly.

"I'm aware of it, sir,"

"Have you, then?"

I regain my breathing pattern as I clench my jaw. "No, sir," I reply. "I'll be very vigilant next time—"

"Next time?" he repeats, a bitter, humourless laugh following the question. I feel my lips go dry. I gulp down my saliva that has accumulated in my mouth, feeling the muscles in my throat contract. "I think that is hardly necessary, Point Nine."

"Sir—" I begin.

"Have you got the data?" he interrupts.

I pause as my fingers stop fiddling with the flash drive on my palm, its metallic body hot against my skin. "Yes, sir,"

Jerome unfolds his arms and stretches one arm out, palm facing upwards as his fingers beckon me to hand the flash drive over. I rest it on his open palm. Jerome's eyes land on my bloodstained hand. "Not your blood, I take it?" he asks, looking mildly interested.

"It was a dire circumstance, sir," I begin to rationalise. "One that needed a desperate call, and I had to act. You'll understand, won't you, sir?"

He nods, his eyes fixated on the flash drive. "Nevertheless, such performance wasn't exactly obligatory," he says. The pad next to him then glows green, followed by repetitive beeps. A call. He averts his gaze towards it, and his eyebrows rise. "I'm afraid we will have to continue tomorrow at noon. You will meet me here, Point Nine."

"Yes, sir,"

"You may go."

I push the chair back, its legs scraping against the tiled floor. I study his face while doing so, searching for any hint of answer regarding my future in this post – whether I'll still be Point Nine – before I leave his office. No hope, I tell myself.