Setting
âWake up sleepy head,â a gravelly voice crisped into the cool morning air. âWake up sleepy head.â It came again but this time with more guttural urgency. âWake up sleepy head!â This time it was punctuated with an exclamation of slight panic.
Inevitably it was enough for Atlas to pull himself from his pillow and glance at his noisy bed companion. âIâm hungry you lazy bloke.â
âI should have never of taught you to say that.â Atlas grumbled as he peeled his one silver eye to look over the form that currently inhabited the pillows on the far side of his king sized bed. It wasnât a gorgeous woman or even an ugly one for that matter- honestly it wasnât even human. That nagging presence was Merlin- Atlasâs African Grey. He had apparently flown in when he had noticed a lack of his ownerâs presence in the kitchen- or at least that was the said ownerâs perception of the current interruption. Merlin just stared at him with glassy black eyes and reiterated: âIâm hungry you lazy bloke.â
âYes yes- stop being a cad.â With that he rolled over to glance at the clock with a high sense of trepidation. He rarely ever overslept being the well-oiled machine he was, but there could always be a fluke in his system.
05:26
Atlas was apparent in no danger of losing his punctuality, but he was finding a hard time explaining Merlinâs urgency. They had been on the same schedule for years now, and yet the bird seemed to be a bit tweaked by something. âCome on- letsâ get you something to bloody eat.â
Just garbed in his underwear he made his way to the kitchen to find the reason for Merlinâs disturbance: her name was Giselle, and she was currently lounging over the counter in one of his best dress shirts and sipping on some coffee.
âIâm going to need that shirt back.â Atlas remarked as Merlin flew past him and landed quite squarely on one of the many perches situated about the condo.
âWell you are going to have to take it off of me,â she purred softly.
âI really donât have the time.â Atlas lamented.
It was then that the blonde approached him, and looped her fingers around the buttons- popping them off one by one. Each patch of succulent flesh made it harder and harder for him to stand his ground on the matter. âReally?â
He knew he was going to regret this. âI can spare a bit.â He leaned in and brought his hands to her waist, and pulled her in quite tightly to his own form. âThat is my favorite shirt.â
As they say: time flies when you are having fun. Atlas found himself a bit less than punctual as he rode the elevator up to the Field Office that morning. He was dressed perfectly as usual: gray suit and waistcoat, darker gray button up (that still smelled sweetly of Giselle), his pearl white tie, and that black eye patch covering his right orb. Atlas had pulled his hair back and only a few ebony plaits hung around his well shaven face. While he may not have been deemed the most attractive of the Signet males- he did have quite a bit of charm to make up for it.
âGood morning you lot,â Atlas stated with a grin. âApologies for my tardiness- I had a bit of a hard time getting my clothes wrestled together this morning.â
It was then his eye fell on Gale and his smarmy grin softened a bit. âAgent Cross- I see you are as gorgeous as ever.â It was the usual sort of compliment he gave to the female species, and yet it meant something entirely different when speaking to her. Atlas hadnât quite figured out the nuances of his feelings yet, but he had to say they were far more complicated than some one-night stand and polite bedside manner afterwards.
He didnât let his gaze linger, but instead gave a placid sweep to the other two before settling on the horizon. It wasnât as if he blatantly ignored the other two, but they werenât of the female spectrum- and even though both of them had handfuls of crisp golden hair he highly doubted they played for the other team.
âSo I know I wasnât invited in here to brighten up this drab scenery with my dashing looks. What is our mission this time?â
New York City, 7:30 a.m.
But she was not offended. Oh no, her skin was far thicker than that. She just tended to tease her coworkers from time to time. Nevertheless, she did afford him a direct answer. âNot yet, though if all is true to routine, they will be joining us momentarily. And âdashingâ is not usually the word one hears associated with the maidens, but we shall see.â Turning back to her screen, she quickly read over the information contained within. These documents tended to be coded, not at the level of the technology, but within the information itself, and as such, what filled the center of her screen appeared to be a bunch of jumbled characters that didnât align much.
It was all about method, however, and she was able to unwind the masking and understand the meaning of what she was seeing with the ease of practice.
The head of the field team was the next in the room, his query directed more generally, though she was of course the only one who would be able to answer it. âGood morning, Mr. Serafino. There is a new assignment,â she replied mildly, âBut I shall wait until the half hour to brief.â it was, after all, the standard time for such things, and would grant the opportunity for anyone else to arrive. She rather disliked repeating herself, after all.
Scanning a particular line of the text, she frowned, fingers flying across the flat, touch-sensitive surface that served the same role keyboards once had. Another document was brought up, this one in plain English and containing a three-dimensional photo of a man, head and shoulders. Closing that out for now, she adjusted a few other things and was just finishing lining up the material for the briefing when the third member of the field team arrived. She was torn between warm amusement and a truly unfortunate (and quite recent) kind of dread at Atlasâs appearance, but she was quite a bit better than letting it show on her face.
âAnd you have not lost the gilded edge to your tongue since yesterday, Mr. Whitehaven,â she replied smartly, gesturing politely for all of them to be seated at the central table, if they would. Their requests for information would go unanswered no longer. Selena tapped the surface of the table, bringing up a three-dimensional map of New York City, which automatically zoomed to the edge of what had once been the Long Island area, and was now simply a very large industrial sector, focused on shipping and resource processing for the Spireheart. What was visible to the team was a long section of docks, behind which were arrayed a large number of warehouses, most of them poorly labeled or entirely unmarked. An excellent indication that they were owned by Signet.
âThis is cryogenic storage facility number forty eighty-two, also called the Ark,â she began, shaking her head faintly. So many of these things were still new to her discoveryâas a child, sheâd never thought to ask where her food came from, and chances were good that most people who didnât work for this corporation didnât really know, either. âIt is primarily used for the long-term storage of certain plant germs and animal genetic materials which are deemed currently unable to subsist in external environmental conditions.â In other words, plants that could no longer grow in the soil of the wilds were put on ice while Signet scientists worked on soil enrichment programmes. The animals were simply of those species unable to adapt to current ecological circumstances, waiting until such time as their respective biomes could be recreated.
A sweeping gesture with a finger sent the map a little further down the oval-shaped table, and it was replaced with the three-dimensional model of the man from earlier. The topical details of his face placed him at a rather haggard-looking forty-something, with scraggly grey hair and significant burn scars on one side of his face. âThis,â she said, âis Dr. Victor Fleche. A Signet biological engineer, with fifteen years of experience as the head of the Ark Project, which was responsible for putting the materials in the Ark together. Three days ago, Dr. Fleche disappeared from his home sometime between the hours of seventeen and twenty-three, and he did not report to work the next day. Beta Team has been working the missing persons case, but there was a break in it yesterday, and they need us now.â
Another two faces appeared, rotating on some central axis so as to be visible to all at the table. One was a woman, perhaps mid-thirties, with a short haircut and a recognizable symbol tattooed onto her left cheek: a stylized leaf within a broken circle. The insignia belonged to a very violent faction of (thankfully poorly-funded) ecoterrorists, Gaia. The man next to her looked remarkably similar in facial structure, though his face was free of any distinguishing marks, even if his nose looked to have been broken a few times.
âBeta Team believes that Dr. Fleche has been kidnapped by these two, Rachel and James Dwyer. Both are known members of Gaia, and there is reason to believe they intend to use the doctor to gain access to the Ark. Preliminary psychological analysis suggests that they may take the plants off cryo and try to reintroduce them to the wilds, a task which will unfortunately prove fruitless and destroy the Ark Project in the process. We have orders to make for the Ark and lay an ambush for the Dwyers. You are encouraged to take measures to safely recover Dr. Fleche, but upstairs wants it known that the first priority is the Ark. Weâre being given leeway to set this up however we like, but it has been impressed most carefully upon me that we are not to fail.â That was putting it rather nicely, considering the wording of the documents sheâd received.
Taking a deep breath and releasing it, Selena glanced around at the assembled team members. âQuestions?â
When Igniatius entered, he made sure to greet him, not wanting to make the same mistake twice.
âMorning,â Gabriel muttered with a wry smile as he put the notes back in his suitcase and clapped it shut. The painkillers were slowly starting to work, too bad they had a terrible aftertaste. He once more searched his pockets, this time coming up with a mint package, âanyone want some?â he asked as he quickly put one in his mouth, âtheyâre not bad. I got them from my neighbour after I threatened to smash his music system. He said it should help me relax,â Gabriel paused as it dawned on him. He quickly spat the mint out and started cussing.
âFor the love of.. I hope these are just mints and nothing else. Is my neighbour a drug user?â he asked himself as he quickly got the notes out once more and went over them, now slightly more focused. After flipping through the pages, he mouthed a final curse. He put the notes away and tossed the mints package in a nearby bin.
âAs far as we know, heâs no drug user. I suppose the mints should be fine, but, Iâm not taking any chances,â he grunted, vowing to have some words with his neighbour this evening. If something had been wrong with those mints, there would be hell to pay.
As Atlas arrived, Gabriel waited for him to stop flirting with Gale before welcoming him as well. The man was simply unbelievable, no doubt headquarters would one day receive a complaint about sexual harassment or something along those lines. Regardless, he was good at his job. As long as he didn't start hitting on anyone Gabriel himself fancied, he didn't mind too much.
âHey there, Iâm sure your clothes put up quite the fight. If I were a piece of clothing I wouldnât like to be worn by you either,â he joked. He was quite glad he wasn't the one being late for once. After Gale's gesture, he walked up to the table and sat down, folding his hands together and focused on the map. There was work to be done. A shade passed across his face when he saw the docks. He hated the smell surrounding those and absolutely detested seagulls. The beasts were loud, obnoxious and seemed to love using him as target practice. The wretched beasts had already ruined a coat, a suit and two pair of jeans.
As the briefing progressed, his mood improved slightly. He did his best to memorize the faces, hoping they would put up a good fight. While he hated them, tat the very least those Gaia fools posed a challenge most of the time. He resisted the urge to make a derogatory comment at the expense of Beta Team. Naturally Beta needed help, and, as was their habit, they had come running to Gabriel and his colleagues.
When Gale had finished, he raised a hand. The headache and nausea had mostly faded. When he had their attention he cleared his throat:
âYeah, Iâve got two questions. One, what sort of animals are we protecting here? Iâm allergic to rabbits you see, so if one of those things are in there, Iâd like to steer clear from them. It would be quite embarrassing if I betrayed our ambush by sneezing at a bad time,â he paused for a second, remembering the nature of the Ark, âThen again, I suppose genes shouldn't be too problematic. They usually don't have fur. It seems I'm still not completely awake," a small flush crept across his face.
"Everyone, please disregard that first question and if possible, forget I've ever asked it. Second question, âhe continued with an apologetic smile on his face, âare the Dwyers going in alone or can we expect them to have help? I know ecoterrorists are bold rather than smart, but going in with just two and a hostage, that is very risky,â he concluded as he leaned back in his chair, doing his best to keep the anticipation out of his voice.
âMister Whitehaven?â Atlasâs brow rose in speculation. While had addressed her formally- his was more to mock the sheer sterility of their mannerisms. When Gale stated it- well- he felt an odd notion that passion was bled right out from that statement. âI donât even get a wink afterwards, or asked how my day was. For shame. I think Iâm losing my touch.â Those digits crisped down his waistcoat and glided over the threaded buttons- it was a motion that he participated when he was lost in a deluge of pensiveness. Either way he moved to the table to take a seat, and gave Gabriel a coy look as the other made a somewhat callow comment about his dress. âI take fabulous care of my clothing- and Iâm sure your opinion of âbeing worn by meâ would change given a bit of persuasion.â Atlas left at that- he didnât want to traipse all over proper etiquette in the Signet Corporation unless he was assured he couldnât get his hand slapped for it.
As Gale Cross began that briefing Atlas made himself comfortable and pulled up his own personal display. There were countless little tidbits about the Ark and itsâ importance, but it was painfully obvious was it was supposed to simply be used for: the preservation of what little life the planet had left. So he flipped away from the specs about that massive genetic storage facility and onto reading about Dr. Fleche and the Dwyers. In a world where the existence of natural flora and fauna were an extreme rarity eco-terrorists like this had a tendency to pop up left and right like daisies (Atlas tried not to chuckle at that slight pun there). Rarely ever though did they make a move like this, and successfully as well.
âIdiots,â Atlas mumbled underneath his breath as Gale gave their intention with the genes in the Ark. They would ruin years of saving the world by attempting to âsave the worldâ. He wondered if this âGaiaâ even knew what they were striving towards, or if they blindly followed impulses and thoughts as such. Atlasâs finger flipped through what meager reports they had on Gaia before returning his attention back to the center of the table and to his other two comrades.
All the dark haired fellow could offer to Gabrielâs banal rambling about rabbits was a concerned look on the otherâs mental stability. He turned his attention back down to his reports in hopes of not showing the non-descript boredom that passed by his eye. âThat is a point, but I donât think weâll see too many forces considering they would lose their- well already lost- element of surprise by moving a larger group in. Because these warehouses are for Signet use only- someone moving in with a sizable force would be discovered.â Atlas then paused. âThat being said- we can figure that theyâll be armed- especially if they plan to keep Dr. Fleche doing what they wish. So do we suspect that these Dwyers are humans or elementals? Because that might change the game.â
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