Danger Kid

Chapter 11

"The quintessential of mediocrity is embodied by the two of you," whispers Smith in a voice that is still loud. He is like a tea kettle about to get hot, right now just barely whistling, but in a few moments he could start shrieking.

"How is it possible that two agents with as much experience as you two were able to so definitively botch such a simple assignment?" He air quotes the word "experience" with such enthusiasm I'm surprised his fingers don't pop off.

I'm not sure if he actually awaits an answer, Mr. Smith loves rhetorical questions just about as much as he loves wasting my air. And right now he is in his throne, his office chair, and he resides behind his desk. He is our master, he doesn't have to make it clear what he wants. He simply has to demand it.

However, expecting an answer or not, I want more than anything to answer. Sarcastically, that is, as well as disrespectfully and with as much unprofessionalism as I can muster. Fortunately, Brayan is on my one side, and actually cares about developing a positive relationship with Smith. So, for his sake, I try and coax some deference into my voice.

"Sir, the mission objectives were more than slightly misleading. We were expecting to be up against three low level deviants. They were not to have light up capabilities, and were supposed to have extremely diluted blood lines. Additionally, we were outnumbered, so the fact that we survived, and brought in even one, would suggest that our performance was a few letter grades above 'botch.'"

Smith listens to my defense with an unsympathetic smile that basically pleads for a punch in the face. "So your excuse is that the objectives were misleading? Were you expecting our intel on three illusive and unregistered deviants to be clear? And your other argument is that they were too strong for you?!"

"They weren't too strong for us. One just got away." I say.

Brayan has been sitting silently at my side the whole time. We discussed this before we came in to have our assignment reviewed. Smith likes nothing more than baiting and making his subordinates look weak. Well, at least Brayan and I. I decided to do the talking so that it would be me who looks like the fool. It was I who messed up the mission anyway. But Smith has never accommodated our plans, and he purposefully turns to Brayan.

"Brayan, you are acquainted with my daughter, correct?" asks Smith with a sneer.

"Of course, Sir." Brayan responds submissively, face struggling to make eye contact with Smith.

"Did you know she is actually of a very poor blood line? Probably not. Her mother is not a deviant, her father is only a quarter blooded deviant. Krystal is only one eighth deviation. She is hardly capable of generating enough energy to light up, much less top over. However, she has completed all of her missions with a level of perfection paralleled by few, if any agents, within Gauntlet."

"Maybe it's because she is in Contraband." I mutter, instantly regretting it. Smith turns ice cold, his face expressing so much disgust at what I said that I'm surprised it doesn't rot off and plop onto the table.

"If you are to suggest that Contraband department provides easier, less prestigious, or less relevant jobs then the worthless titles held by you two, then I'm surprised you were able to pass the entry exam, much less write your name on it." Snarls Smith.

"I'm not. Contraband is far more prestigious then the Deviant Combat Department." I submit.

"So now you're suggesting that I am part of the leader ship of an inferior office?" he says with mock shock. Internally, I say yes. Everyone knows that Combat Department is the bottom of the line. We are the grunts of Gauntlet. Just as everyone knows that Contraband is top of the line, at least until you get to the military and international departments.