Agent Spectre

The Training Room

“If you do not mind, this meeting is recorded for future references”

She pulls out a recorder and places it in front of me, she turns it on and sets the recording, with her pen ready she asks,

“When was the first time that you met, Agent Six?”

2 years ago

Eagerly my leg bounces up and down as I impatiently wait for the Vice to give me instructions about what to expect in my new position as an agent. Dozens of minutes pass by as I remain in my seat, waiting for the door to reveal my new supervisor.

 After what feels like hours the door leading to his office finally opens, a girl is the first to emerge. An irritated look fuelled with aggression sits on her dirty face. Her dark brown hair is neatly tamed back in a ponytail, blotches of soot clings to her black outfit.

 “Vice, if I am left with another delinquent agent again during a mission as imperative as this, that agent will not get off as lightly as this imbecile did” She threatens.

 Immediately she gives me a scary impression as I watch her storm off, as she passes by she sends me a glare that could send anyone to their knees in fear.

 Vice let’s out a stressed sigh as his tired eyes land on me, using his hand he signals that I follow him into his messy office where on the floor books lay scattered, documents lay scattered around his brown carpet.

 “Excuse the mess” He apologises, “When a typhoon such as Agent Six comes into your office it is foolish to think that your office will remain intact”

 He offers me a weak looking chair, on his desk the clutter of documents continue  as he scrambles through trying to find a piece of paper and his pen.

 Pressing down on his pile he begins to write,

 “Your assigned code is Forty-three” He says as he reads, “This is your ID and how you will be referred to as here, is that clear?”

 “Yes, sir”

 “We do not use names here, you will introduce yourself as Forty Three to anyone who asks until told otherwise”

 I nod with understanding,

 “Your code does not represent a hierarchy, our programme has randomly selected this code for you, do not get cocky if you find someone with a larger number, as they might just be our top agent”

 He turns a page and hesitates,

 “Your father” He says, “Is it who I am thinking of?”

 Ashamed I nod my head, not wanting to have any relation to the reputation that my father left behind.

 “Let’s keep that between us, we do not want people discriminating against you due to the man that your mother decided to copulate with, without contraception”

 A small smile tugs on my lips as he tries to make me feel better. Out of his drawer he pulls out a key card, badge and handgun. He slides a loose piece of paper towards me,

“Sign on the open lines, by signing you agree to the regulations of when you may use a gun and what your badge and key card allow you access you to”

 Obligingly I sign the document and peg the key card to my shirt pocket and place my gun in the holster attached to my belt.

 “Do not immediately expect to receive a solo mission, for some agents it takes months whilst for others it takes years, as you find your feet you will be distributed amongst many teams where you will willingly oblige to the tasks that they assign to you”

 “Is this clear?”

 “Yes, sir”

 He looks at my scruffy looking hair style, my blonde hair just scrapes the top of my neck.

 “Get a haircut, we’re professional agents, not surfers”

 I nod with disappointment.

 He hands me a smart phone,

 “You will receive messages and missions on this phone, all calls made on this phone is recorded, so if you want to have a naughty call with your significant other do our analysts a favour and get another phone”

 Despite being recently single I don’t tell him that that won’t be happening anytime soon.

 “Until otherwise informed you have no rank here, you are the new kid there is nobody lower than you here, even our ground staff hold a higher rank, we encourage arguments to be dealt with violence, it controls our agent’s aggression and also puts other cocky agents in their places”

 He stands up from his chair and buttons his blazer and extends his hand,

 “Agent Forty-Three welcome to Tempest, try not to get yourself killed within your first year as then nobody will remember you”

 I take his hand and receive a firm shake,

 “Thank you sir”

 “No more sir nonsense boy, it’s Eighty four and you have twelve hours to acquaint yourself with the building, I highly recommend you find the training arena”

I take his advice and excuse myself, with my gun hanging heavily on my waist I explore the infinite corridors of Tempest’s headquarters. Lost and confused I discover more and more rooms the deeper I explore the building, now having lost my sense of direction and growing tired of the same wooden doors that appear one after another, curiously I climb three flights of stairs in search of the renowned training arena. Too proud to ask other agents for directions I lose my way back to the stairs that I have just climbed. The soles of my leather shoes eagerly beat against the polished laminated floor, echoing down the corridor.

Eventually a set of double doors ends the desolate corridor, standing out from the rest of the mundane doors that constantly interrupt the plain white walls. Excited for a substitution of bland wooden doors I eagerly push them open, behind the doors a large room hides. Music that my grandmother would have labelled as ‘doof doof’ music blares through the speakers, making my heart beat in sync with the drums as I walk down the black stairs in awe of the room that begins to reveal itself the harder I look.

The renowned training room is separated into different sections, each section hold its own purpose and has its own set characteristics. This room easily matched the constant praises that others had sung when speaking about the agency, its intricate design matched each section’s personality. Lost for words I find myself lost in wonder as I explore each segment. The first segment represents a basic gym, with a variety of equipment to strengthen any part of the body, with each machine being state of the art.  knowing that I would spend hours in segment one I move on, the next is a room that clearly works on the reflexes as an assortment of batons hang on the wall around a mat. The next segment has two training dummies along with two mannequins suited in sparring kits. The next one is enclosed and larger than the others, in what I assume to be bullet and sound proof glass as in the room a shooting range stands, in a fingerprint protected cage a variety of basic hand guns and a few automatic guns hang on the wall waiting to be fired. Finally I reach the last section, this room has one idle punching bag in it’s centre.

Violently a female agent beats the bag, with wrapped knuckles she throws them in sync with the blaring music, into the black deteriorating leather. A determined look sits on her face as her dark hair is tied back and sweat slowly falls down her face. Her eyes are ice cold as they throw their own shots into the innocent bag.

Her frightening eyes shift from her abused bag to my prying eyes, anger burns in her blue eyes as she takes a break from beating her bag and takes three long strides towards me, before I can apologize her fist flies into my jaw, her severe force pushes me onto the black mat.

Shocked and unsure how to respond my hand moves to my throbbing and possibly fractured jaw, I let out a quiet hiss of pain as my skin responds with sensitivity.

“That was for interrupting me” She growls.

Confusion rests on my bruised face as I push myself off of the mat,

“I didn’t do anything” I defend.

The flames in her eyes burn brighter as she takes another step forward, this time prepared I defend her punch to my aching jaw but my pride gets ahead of me as it blinds me from her flying knee into my crotch. I fall in agony asking her why,

“You were staring at me” She spits, “Whilst I was fully immersed in my training until you stood their staring like a misogynist prick, shocked that a girl could hit without worrying about breaking a nail”

My eyes furrow deeper with confusion, unsure of what trampoline she is busy standing on as she jumps to imprecise conclusions.

“That is not what I was doing” I deny, “I was watching you in awe as your form and stance is by far the closest to perfection that I have seen”

The disbelief remains on her flushed face, as she crouches to meet me at an equal eye level,

“I have an act, a superpower if you will, where I can tell if someone is lying, it is what makes me such a valuable agent to the agency” She threatens, “I can tell if you are lying to me, ask the man who you most likely replaced, who tried to lie to me right before I broke his back or the thief before him who tried to convince me that he was not posing as an agent to gain valuable intel right before I snapped his neck”

Her eyes burn through mine as her lips release threats that send chills down my spine, I try to keep my face stoic as I believe every threat with fear.

“Do not disturb me again, or you will be my next victim”

The Director’s pen runs along the lines of her page until the last line is covered in ink, her glasses rest on the bridge of her nose as her attention remains on the page until she finishes the page with a sigh,

“Where six lacked in empathy she definitely made up in skill”

I nod in agreement, with a whole lot more experience than our first meeting.