Underhanded Apostasy

Acceptance

One needs not much qualification in terms of education level to participate in the preliminary test of Sention Biotech’s bodyguard recruitment program. It doesn’t matter if you were just an elementary school graduate, a dropout, or even a person who has never been formally educated. A college diploma means nothing if you can’t give the correct answers to their questions. As long as you are literate, capable, and willing, you can strive to overcome the difficulties of their selection process.

The real challenges lie in the seven phases of elimination for the hundreds of recruits that applied on one occasion. Preliminary was held a month after the end date of application. The ones who passed would have to endure a remaining onslaught of six exams left. Cognition test, followed by psychological and physical examination, profession proficiency test, first interview, a month of probation, and a final interview. By the end of it all, out of 361 applicants, only 5 remained.

Dorian can say he was lucky to have survived it all, but Misha always disagrees. She said luck didn’t deserve the credentials of his success. Her reason being without her ‘intervention’, the supervisors wouldn’t have given a rat’s arse about his existence. She’s right in some ways and wrong in another. Yes, the savvy tech lady helped him gain access to a lot of information, and that was about the extent of her assistance. The main thing allowing him to pass an almost inhumane physical examination, or a gruesome combat proficiency test, or the drab probation period where he had to learn the posh etiquette of the elites, was Dorian’s own competence. After some tedious four months, the now official recruit finally finds himself welcomed into the very center of Sention Biotech’s bustling activities.

For a company rumored to be one of the oldest in the country, it well understands the importance behind keeping up with the advances of technology. That thought first appeared in his mind as soon as he stepped a foot inside the headquarters. Through the back entrance where access is comparably more restricted, a security camera was readily scanning the face of each comer, lodged in a discreet corner where hardly any of the novice recruits would notice. Dorian deliberately entered last to give himself more observation time. He’s now standing stiff as a statue beside four other recruits whose names he never bothers to remember. From everyone’s menacing faces he can tell nobody has the intention to make friends today.

“Morning, everyone.”

Dorian thought it’d be impossible for a person to be any more rigid than they already are, but apparently in the presence of Mikhail Neumann — Sention’s gargantuan Chief of Security — most people will activate the switch of their fight or flight instinct. For Dorian, though, he can only bring himself to stand a tad bit straighter, trying to mirror the others’ response just to prevent unnecessary attention. He barely feels anything aside from a sliver of curiosity at how a man could ever be that huge, and truth be told, a fascination towards the blinding shininess of his bald head.

“Good morning, sir!” Answered the four others in tandem and Dorian milliseconds late.

Neumann’s brown eyes scan his prey like a hawk diving for a hare — five recruits after four months of arduous selection process, a corps d’elite of security personnel he himself has picked. “Being the one who was in charge of beating the crap out of you, and from now on, the one you’ll be obediently reporting to, ‘congratulations’ would be the proper word to say upon your success. But clearly I’m not here to join in on the celebration.” A condescending smile appears on his thick lips while he continues, “So, save your joyful sentiments for later when you come home to reconsider your life choices. Because trust me, you’ll need it when the time comes.”

The dark skinned gargantuan of a man pauses again to relish in his prey’s subtle curiosity. “The one you were hired to protect isn’t exactly the most cooperative of superior, that much heads-up is all I can give you. Just be prepared, remember your training, and follow any instructions given.”

Dorian does raise an eyebrow at that. Not the clearest warning but neither was it too cryptic to be deciphered. At least the mention of their superior awakens memories of flying rumors he often catches. The one man he calls bambino is the same person he went through all this trouble for, the one heir to the Belgamont line, an untouchable golden babe in the woods who was forced to run an empire too big for his two delicate shoulders. A relatively mild jest about him mentions things like ‘the insensate cherubim’, referring to his supposedly angelic physique but heartless conduct, and the ones made without consideration whatsoever to decency are, well, indecent in a lot of ways that for the sake of censorship, better left unspoken. Those hearsay are spread like the plague by one gossiper to another until it becomes unclear who or what started it.

It’s not that Dorian’s the type of man who’d gulp those scuttlebutts like starving whales, it’s just he finds them too entertaining to miss. Whenever Misha read to him a forum thread about that pompous heir, there were times he half heartedly believed them, and times he outrightly rejected them due to how illogical they sound. But today, without prior knowledge of what in actuality his superior would be like, Dorian is tempted, so, so tempted to blindly believe every nasty thing there is to say about Clarison Belgamont. Because what harsher introduction can he get than a douse of ice cold water as soon as he comes face to face with one of the most graceful human beings he’s ever met?

If you answer none, you’re wrong.

The rumored insensate cherubim himself gives the most diabolical snarl there ever is, seething with tumultuous rage that reddens his face so beautifully. His hand is still high up in the air, holding an empty cup in such a way that a Renaissance painter would gladly portray him. Only after blinking the moisture away does Dorian meet the sharpest silver-colored eyes to jab at him.

“I don’t f*****g need bodyguards,” he spat vehemently from that sweet mouth.

As a person who often seeks the bodily warmth of another, Dorian admits he actually lacks the sensibility to empathize properly with them. This includes any living being besides his own species. Dogs, parrots, hedgehogs. Name all the adorable housepets one could imagine of having. They’re owned for different reasons that endear their owners. To the man such reasons don’t matter much unless they give him the same gain he has to sacrifice to keep them. Calicos are cute, but acknowledging this doesn’t mean he would unquestioningly do anything for them. The price for his inconvenience has to be something that grants him benefits. Money for example, because nothing else he loves more in this world than money and a bit of a thrill. It’s true.

And yet, after finally getting the first taste of the Belgamont heir’s hospitality, he has to repeatedly remind himself of the future benefits he’ll eventually get if he accomplishes this mission.