Bart Whitman lifted a cigarette to his lips, inhaling the smoke and letting it sit in his lungs before letting it out in a giant gust. He was alone in what was usually a bustling office. Well, less of a traditional office and more like something straight out of a high tech spy movie. When he had first started working with the USASS (United States of America Secret Service – not the most creative name, but at least it got the point across) he’d been in awe of the commotion of lab techs, computer geniuses, and terrifying looking agents who kept the office in a constant state of movement. Everyone always had somewhere to go, materials to test, networks to hack. It had been mind blowing that he was to be one of them now.
Taking another drag of his cigarette, he leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. Of course, becoming a part of such an elite group of people took months upon months of brutal training, but he’d come through it a stronger man. Training was two years ago now, and although he had recovered from that, it seemed that the secrecy that came with working for a security team that not even the US government itself knew of was taking its toll. Sighing, Bart resigned himself to the facts – there was no way he was ever going to be able to keep a girlfriend who wasn’t part of the corporation. But thinking about the female agents made him shudder – he would rather go celibate. The female agents of USASS were either terrifyingly bulked up, or glared at all the men in the office as though ready to tear off their packages and use them in soup. He shuddered again, celibacy ... fuck, or lack of fucking, really.
He grumbled to himself, looking back at his computer screen at the list of possible apartments he could rent for cheap; not that he didn’t make enough money from the agency to be able to afford his a small mansion, but he was reluctant to waste money on a luxury that he would only be able to enjoy a few times a year, since for the most part he was out on assignments. It was his lack of presence that had driven away his last girlfriend, and she had kicked him out of the house that was technically his. The girlfriend before that couldn’t stand the flippant replies about his office job, going as far as to stalk him to the agency, and bringing down a whole pile of shit on his head for the breach of security. Needless to say that the poor girl had to be ‘dealt with’, much to Bart’s horrified disgust.
Clicking off of the browser window in frustration, he lifted his hand to take another drag of his cigarette, only to find that he had already finished it. Double fuck - that had been the last one. The world was just not on his side lately. Taking off his glasses he rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked at the clock, noting that it was already two in the morning. Getting up from his chair and stretching, he slowly made his way to the dorms, deciding that maybe sleep wasn’t such a bad idea. He could have easily gotten himself a hotel room for the night, but somehow even the lumpy dorm beds were better than the prospect of sleeping in an unfamiliar room, completely unprotected. Settling down, he closed his eyes just for what seemed like a second...
Only to be jarred awake by the automated alarm system installed in the agents’ dorms. Fuck, how was it already 6am? Groaning he rubbed his face in an attempt to wake himself up; he felt like death warmed over. What a lovely way to start his day, he thought to himself, here’s hoping it doesn’t get any worse.
It got worse.
--
“They’re on the move again,” Section Chief Arnold Rayman was saying as Bart staggered into the debriefing room an hour later, clutching his cup of disgusting office coffee like a lifeline, and slumping into the nearest chair. You’d think that for such an advanced and high class agency they would at least provide their employees with good coffee, but no, such was not the case. “Whitman, nice of you to finally join us,” Rayman said disapprovingly, jarring Bart from his laments about shitty coffee.
