The Agency

Chapter 1

I sit far enough away that he can’t see me without really looking and let the soft music float about me, never letting it wonder too far into my consciousness, or allowing it to lull me into thinking I’m anything close to safe. I run my long auburn hair through my hands and spontaniously decide to tie it up. Reaching up, I tie it into a loose ponytail near the top of my head yet it still sweeps down between my shoulder-blades; time for a chop I think. My hands twitch for something to do whilst my target reads his menu, apparently in deep thought, so taking out a compact mirror I check behind me before seeing that I haven't left any clumps of hair out of my ponytail. Then I examine my face for any abnormalities that could make me easier to recognise; dark circles glare under my grey-blue eyes and I watch as the women in the reflection frowns. I take out the pot of what my Supervisor's assistant had called 'concealer, 'This is brilliant for covering up any flaws on your pretty face.' I shudder at the memory of that woman, she was too sweet for my liking and I distrusted her immensely. She tried to show me how to use the 'concealer' but having never used any kind of cosmetics, although I had been offered some as rewards for good work, I thought it was some sort of caramel mousse and I did eat a pinky-finger of the stuff before she snatched it away from me.

I put a cautious index finger into the mousse and try to imitate what she had done by rubbing it into the dark circles under each eye. It was looking a lot better already. I almost gasp as I remember that I have a job to do and I snap my head up, probably too quickly, to check what my target is doing. He has his phone out and is typing very quickly on its keypad, seemingly engrossed in his activity. I allow myself to relax and revise the instructions I was given.

The man I watch is an escapee, and my job is to tail him, find out what I can, then bring him back. My Supervisor doesn’t know this, but I knew the man as soon as I was shown his profiling image; though I’d never swear to it; that’s asking for shit to happen. We were childhood acquaintances of sorts; I was a guard in the cell block he was in, unfortunately for me, and of course it was my job to punish the inmates if they talked. Although it wasn’t normally needed, I always carried an Electrod at my belt; usually the prisoners immediately shut up and pressed themselves against the far walls to avoid punishment. But the new boy, this man I watch now, thought it would be smart to push the boundaries he’d been set, and directly spoke to me. It shocked me for a second or so because inmates never spoke to guards, the resentment demonstration of choice being the ‘silent treatment’, which suited me just fine. But the new boy had spoken to me like I was a stranger he could hardly wait to meet, and it unnerved me; I had never heard anyone speak with such a friendly tone towards me before.

       My mind wonders to a time of my late childhood, years ago, before I got good at this job.

“Excuse me?... Hi, I’m Fin, can you tell me where I am?” I just stand there, my mouth open and round, unable to contain my shock. “Sorry but…where are we?” From the corner of my eye I can see his neighboring prisoners as frozen as I am, gawping at him. I finally find my voice but it doesn’t come out hard and ferocious as I intend it, instead I hear a sound barely above a whisper.

“You don’t talk here” I collect myself and repeat the words again, thankfully they are stronger this time. “You don’t talk here, nobody talks here except for me, do you understand?”

“Doesn’t seem natural” Again he catches me off guard, I can do nothing but gawp at him while he speaks again. “We’ve got to entertain ourselves someway or another.”

“SHUT UP!” The words escape my lips before I’m even aware of them, or exactly how loud I have just shouted. The boy appears to jump back a little. The words he spoke swirl around in my head, I feel somewhere deep down that he is right, why shouldn’t they be allowed to talk, what harm would that do? But I remind myself swiftly that chattering in the cells would cause me a lot of trouble with my Boss if I didn’t stop it. But somewhere deep down I feel that there is something terribly wrong, something I’m missing here. I move swiftly, giving myself no chance to doubt my loyalties, and I plunge the Electrod through the cell bars to make contact with the boy’s hand. He yelps and jumps back, I keep my face hard and unchanging as marble. I watch him cradle his hand against him and he looks up at me with shiny, teary eyes. They are not angry or fearful, but simply sad. Neither does he cower against the far wall; he’s sitting there looking at me. I suddenly feel sick, consumed by a feeling I’ve never felt before. I drop the Electrod as if it is burning my hand, and it lands with a ringing clatter that echoes for an eternity around the cells. I fall to my knees and lean against the cold bars. Someone’s been lying to me. My body spasms and my conflicting emotions are sent into a panic; through the bars, the boy has put his hand on my shaking shoulder, my mind is unable to handle more of this alien environment. I get up on unsteady legs and clamber to the door leading out of the cells, then along the candle-lit passage way leading to the guardroom. I crash through the guardroom which is humming with the chatter of my fellow guards, and into the bathroom, only just closing the door behind me before the sobs spill over.