Otherworldlies P2: Under-qualified and Over-worked
Last month’s excerpt: After finding the only eye-witness dead, Duck a newly made active agent graduates to the field.
As Duck is very new at this, they assume it is best to follow the file to the T so they make their way to Kline’s room. The door is ajar when they reach the room, not entirely odd as they doors stick, but the odd part is the corpse which greets Duck.
“How unfortunate, I am sorry Kline.”
Kline’s body laid on the couch with her dog lapping dried blood which covered her hand. The rest of the blood stemmed from her nose which looked as though it had burst. Perhaps too much tonic, Duck thought, but the tonic was just water mixed with a type of focusing medication used for ADD diagnosis.
Which means someone walked into the warehouse, undetected and let’s be honest it’s not like anyone can afford to stop them, and killed Kline.
Duck wanted to be saddened by the events, so much so they said, “what a tragedy,” out loud and waited all of two seconds before continuing with their mission. At least they knew the interview revealed something damning enough to force a killer’s hand—perhaps even the Phlebomancer? (remember Phlebomancer is a new type and highly dangerous otherworldly.)
Duck made their way though to the armoury, only to remember it was a glorified closet for everyone’s jackets, and simply left arming themselves with a stapler and a torch. In reality, Duck should be reclining in a semi-stiff lumbar-popping chair with their feet elevated and their headphones blasting ABBA as they type in data; the job which they had training for. Of course the warehouse gave them a run-down 12-step PowerPoint detailing their new duties, but Duck only skimmed the headlines.
(If they had read it, it would have been like so: Step 1: research, go to the library and take out necessary files, if you do not know what to look for ask the Librarian. Step 2: casing, stake out the ‘supposed’ or ‘suspected’ hideout and chart all possible exits with blueprints taken in the first step. Step 3: partner up, it is not safe to work alone so ask a manager to assign or show you the partner sheet. Step 4: equipment, the armoury is heavily stocked with new and improved weapons and stunners to aid on your assignment. Step 5: approach, this normally amounts to initial contact with suspect via a written letter or ‘summons,’ should they refuse, escalate to…Step 6: response, a delivered telegram depending on the time of day. Step 7: confront, the average otherworldly is typically lost or afraid and looking for help so they are more than willing to go with an agent peacefully. Step 8: report, should any step fail or succeed, report said progress to a superior. Step 9: break, take a much earned break. Step 10: praise, this is the most important step in any agent’s assignment, bask in praise and compliments from friends.)
Sadly, said PowerPoint was written before First Contact (a pyromancer during the witch trials whom burnt any person in black suits out of caution—really underestimated the fear element in someone on the run from people in black clothing) and had been changed to a more reactionary training mostly paired with emotional readings and body language studies to gauge an otherworldlies emotional state.
None of this matters however, as Duck was under the assumption the active agents were like detectives in film noir; otherwise using fedoras as a disguise and pretending to be cool and smart.
They were trying. For a first assignment, Duck was designed to fail, no one should have to confront a new type by themselves and under armed. Duck just hoped they would still get step 10 (they would not, not only because it was fazed out but they had no superiors left in that division).
“What’s the worst that can happen?” Duck had made it a fair ways from the warehouse and lost some of their bravado in the rain and the muck. People didn’t even stop and look at them as they jogged past, just brushed shoulders with Duck almost toppling them, before carrying on. In truth, Duck knew this would happen. They had been too caged in their bookkeeping and only travelling too and from their squalid apartment day and night made their experience of the city equivalent to walking through an aquarium and proclaiming you’ve been to the ocean. But, despite the darkness stretching and the lack of visibility, they wanted to focus on the things that could go wrong.
It’ll make me feel better, they thought. “The rain makes it harder to hear if someone is following me, but it does cover my tracks a little, but this is the perfect cover to be jumped,” they take in their surroundings and check behind them, just in case, but the sidewalk is clear for now. Only neon lights pierce the misty veil from across the street.
They turned their head to dart between the alley they walked by and the sidewalk they trudged on, “Once I get to the hideout, I don’t know how many exits the building has which means I will most definitely be at a disadvantage, well, more so than I already am, but I’m ready.” They patted the stapler and torch which bunched up in their suit inner pocket.
To an onlooker, this would seem as though they are packing an armed weapon, which is why Duck suddenly felt something hit their head and they met the concrete with a wet splat, gasping down small puddles of dirty rain.
“Sorry about that, she told me to off anyone suspicious,” a small voice floated somewhere above them, but they soon closed their eyes to stop the water coming in. A foot nudged them, “are you okay?”
“No,” they whined.
The small voice laughed, “Good, but I’m going to need you to get up, she likes to meet the new ones.”
Duck’s forehead rubbed roughly against the concrete as small arms dragged them up. How embarrassing to be caught by a protege, Duck thought begrudgingly as they move to stand.
“You know, I could’ve just walked my way into the building and then you could’ve hit me? I mean it would’ve had more of a intimidation factor if I suddenly woke up in a strange room,” Duck criticized, as if this were not both of their first times doing anything remotely like this.
The child, with two pigtails curled into buns, blinked then swore. “You’re right, she won’t like that. Can we just pretend that I did that?”
“No, we can’t.” Duck really hated children using their innocent little faces for pity. “Own up to your mistake, after all you are in training right?”
The child nodded, “Yea, for two weeks but I haven’t been doing to well in my practical theory. Oh, I’m Michelle by the way.” Michelle extended her hand to shake Duck’s and because they were polite, they did. Something Duck forgot, as it had been 12 long years since their first introductory course, was that many otherworldlies use touch as a way to neutralize targets—a target shaped like Duck—which is why they awoke in a strange room.
Duck had to give it to Michelle, she took lessons quite well. Their head pounded and their eyes felt dry and itchy and very sensitive to the light which swung suspended from the ceiling beam. Many people when they clue into the fact that they are in a desperate situation, try to escape. Duck pulled at their bindings which kept their arms tightly held behind them and their legs attached flush to the chair legs. Other than getting the beginnings of rope burn and gaining a growing sense of fear, they could not get free.
As the numbness in their hands started to disappear, they noticed a metallic and mouldy smell wafting from around the room. Just left of their chair is a pile of grey corpses with many puncture holes of varying sizes—meaning the methods of which the Phlebomancer collects blood is wide-spread—and Duck retched at the sight.
“Sorry about them, there was no where else to put you except the collection room,” a woman shrugged after opening a dark door in the far right corner.
“It’s very intimidating,” Duck replied after hanging their head in exhaustion. There is a cup filled with, hopefully, water being held to their lips; they take greedy gulps. “How long have I been detained?”
The woman hummed and took the cup away, “about an hour? I had an guest I needed to dispose of before Michelle walked in with you.”
Duck’s head shot upwards, pulling a muscle, and shook in disbelief. ‘It felt longer,’ Duck thought, ‘much longer.’
The woman watched as Duck came to terms with the length of time, “anyway, I hope you have no regrets because I have to dispose of you now.”
“What?”
To be Finished, May 31.
