New Game

There was a call today.

(Holy shit! Michael's actually being mentioned in the story?! Remember, his personality and characteristics are completely out of character in this story. Just so you know once he shows up.)

When Ida and Harold arrived at the briefing, everybody else was already there.

Scott looked like he was about to have a mental breakdown. In a mere matter of minutes, he had gone from put-together to an absolute mess. His hair was disheveled, falling from its once perfect bun and into his face. His glasses were dangling from one ear. The man looked as if he was on the verge of tears.

"What's going on?" Aviah demanded irately, slapping a hand against the table. The other agents agreed loudly, their voices angry. They were on their last leg. Working such long hours was beginning to take its toll in exhaustion and irritation and the others were not sure how much more they could take before they snapped, or slept. A bubble of muted conversation broke out around the room.

"There was a call today." Scott disclosed, his tone flat. "Somebody aid she might have an idea of how to help us find the murderer." He spoke in a hollow voice like he was reading line off a teleprompter. He looked through the agents, almost as if he was in another world entirely. The agents glimpsed at one another and then back at their dazed leader. Ida shot Harold a weird look, wasn't a lead a good thing?

"Isn't that a good thing?" Tony parroted Ida's thoughts, scratching the slight stubble forming on his chin with his hand and giving the other a look of concern. Scott stared at him as if he was seeing him for the first time and his right eye twitched slightly. Tony felt uneasy, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

Scott swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. He took a few measured breaths, trying to slow his heart rate back to normal. He used a finger to slide his glasses back up his nose and opened his eyes to face the table. "The informant is Michael Joseph Jackson."

A foreboding silence swept over the room.

All of a sudden, it felt as if all the air had been sucked from the conference room. The tension was palpable, stifling everybody. Harold spotted Lauren at the head of the table. She looked as if somebody had drained every ounce of life from her. So pale she was almost white, her eyes listless and unreadable. Harold had never seen the hard-bitten woman so utterly terrified.

"What are we gonna do?" Ida asked. The others, save for Lauren who was still in a trance, turned to her then exchanged glances with one another. No one knew the answer.

Scott frowned, chewing his bottom lip furiously. "S—somebody is going to have to interview him." he stammered, unable to keep the fear from his voice. Scott prided himself on being an example for his agents. He was well aware that he was a bit of a perfectionist and that quality was oftentimes difficult to deal with yet, even if they might dislike him a little bit, Scott wanted to be somebody his agents could turn to in times of crisis. Maybe even somebody they might come to admire. However, it seemed he was still incapable of controlling some of his anxieties. He still had much to learn before he could become a successful agent and leader. He was furious with his own inability but accepted his flaws. The logical conclusion was to assign the job to somebody with experience in the area, preferably somebody who had dealt with Michael Jackson in the past. "I was thinking perhaps, since she was on the original case, Agent Ro—?"

"NO!"

Lauren shrieked, abruptly snapping out of her stupor and slamming her hands onto the table with a crash. The other agents stared at her, startled. "I—I can't." Lauren moaned, gripping desperately at her hair. Her eyes were haunted, tears pouring from them and splattering onto the smooth surface of the table. "I can't see him again. I can't," she repeated, her voice trembling. Her face turned pale and she began to shake violently as if having a terrible flashback. Suddenly, she burst into fresh tears and buried her face in her hands, sobbing harshly. Tony placed a hand on her back, trying to soothe her. She simply whimpered, "I can't." in a tortured whisper.

The others watched the agonizing display with wide eyes. None of them had ever seen Agent Roth show any emotion that even bordered on fear, let alone anything like this and no one knew how to handle the situation.

After witnessing Lauren's breakdown, Agent Quinn felt his own fear and doubt begin to gnaw at him. He felt his stomach twist uncomfortably and he traced an outline on the carpet with the tip of his foot. Harold was ashamed of his own weakness. How would he get anywhere in this job if he let some serial killer scare him? He had to learn to overcome his stupid phobias or he would never make it as an agent. He shook his head roughly. A man who changed the face of criminality. Michael Joseph Jackson. Finally, Harold swallowed the fear that threatened to overtake him and stepped forward, "I'll go." he said determinedly.

Everybody stared at him, shocked.

"A-are ya sure, Quinn?" Ida asked, her voice shaking slightly. She placed her hand on Harold's shoulder gently and whispered, "Aisha is my girlfriend, I can go." Ida suggested weakly. She seemed more than a little terrified by the prospect of coming face-to-face with the Countertenor, but she seemed willing to do it if it meant saving her very special somebody. Harold did not feel that Ida needed to go through any more than she already had. Harold shrugged off her hand and flashed her the biggest grin he could muster.

"I'm one hundred and twenty percent sure," Harold said, smugly.