Singapur

Intermission

Mr Smith looked over to the man snoring next to him as he sat down. He had always wondered how people were ever able to sleep on planes. Maybe it was this sense of safety, that when one flies in a metal tube so far up in the sky you were basically untouchable.

"Hah tell that to the passengers of United flight 175." Mr. Smith says, chuckling to himself before sinking deep into his seat.

Human psychology was always a keen interest of Mr Smith since young. Maybe it was the byproduct of living on a farm in the Midwest where the only people he ever met were his family and the occasional neighbor here and there which thus made him so interested in humans in the first place. Or maybe he was always an analytical son of a bitch and his upbringing only exacerbated it.

Typical Chicken and the egg problem. Which comes first I wonder? Mr Smith muses as he fishes out a paper bag from his bag and, without even batting an eye, tears the bag open to reveal an hourglass.

At first glance, the hourglass itself didn't seem very special, in fact, it was rather cheap. A fact confirmed by the dull thud Mr Smith heard on tapping the transparent material. Neither did the inside dispell this impression of normalcy, containing what one would expect from an hourglass. Sand.

It was only when he turned it over did his first impression proves to be erroneous. On top of the words property of CERN written neatly in bold letters on the base of the hourglass, there was also a small touch screen with various numbers on the screen reading different variations of the word null and with a large space in the middle stating ENERGY LOST UNDETERMINED.

When placed upright which Mr Smith obviously did out of sheer curiosity. The numbers immediately came to life, rapidly shifting around before finally stopping on one single value as the last bead of sand dropped down into the bottom half of the hourglass. In a large box below, it read ENERGY LOST MINIMAL.

Mr Smith smirked. So this is what all the fuss is about, lost energy? Management must be losing their mind. It was only when he read the transcript did the smirk on his slowly fade to one of grim realization.

He should have known that lost energy wasn't really the only reason for his trip. After all, the Interpol wouldn't have sent their best, or at least was, to some far-off country Asian country if there wasn't a lot at stake. Though to be fair it might have just been him getting ahead of himself.

Despite an illustrious 15 year career at Interpol where he had sent on all sorts of dangerous missions from hunting drug lords in Bolivia to fighting bush wars in the Congo and even assassinating billionaires in New Zeeland. In which, time and time again he did succeed in them, cementing himself as one of Interpol's best. He knew that, as much as he didn't want to admit it, he was getting old. He wasn't the best anymore. The young were always faster stronger and more suited for these missions.

Mr Smith let out a sigh. He had always wondered how different life would be if he had just stayed on his farm, tilling away on his 40-acres farmyard till his hair grew white and his hands grew course. Maybe even having a wife and a bunch of kids by his side. He did always hold feelings towards the barmaid's daughter, however fleeting.

But nope, he instead decided to, fresh out of college, travel to New York City to sign up to Interpol in person much to the chagrin of his parents. It felt just like yesterday that he was a young starry-eyed man full of optimism and fueled by the urge to see the word. Free himself from the shackles of tedious farm life. Yet in some bitter irony, he now realized that with age, the days of his freedom were numbered. Soon he would be pushed away from active duty and instead 'recommended' for desk jobs in some obscure Interpol branch. Living the rest of his life endlessly doing paperwork not too similar to work which he had once sought to escape from.

As he immersed himself in his thoughts, he subconsciously turned to look at the window, looking out of it forlornly. To the untrained eye, he may look like just another 30 something-year-old man admiring the city below as the plane starts its slow descent. Possibly even reminiscing some old flame that he once had. But for Mr Smith, all he could see was a haggard old man staring back at him, dark eye circles and all. A shadow of his younger self.

These negative thoughts were punctured by the loud thump followed by a loud skid as the plane drove to a stop. Over the softening whir of the plane's engine, the intercom sprouted to life. A young lady, possibly in her early 20s says in clear perfect English, " Welcome to Singapore lady and gentlemen....thank you for flying onboard SQ115, we hope you enjoy your stay in Singapore!"

This however didn't distract Mr Smith, he had already set his mind on how to achieve his task and had already compiled a mental list of people he needed to visit. Despite all the negative thoughts earlier, his bout of introspection had actually emboldened him. Fine if managements think I am a lame duck I would show them otherwise. Rejuvenated, Mr Smith grabbed his things and agilely lept out of his seat, swiftly headed to the exit. All the while ignoring the cries of his fellow passengers as he casually shoves them out of the way with his bag.

"Do it good do it fast" Mr smith mutters under his breath as he quickly strolls towards the counter. In his mind, he knew he was ready to take on whatever obstacles this mission throws.

No matter the cost.