Christopher WunderLee - Moore's Mythopoeia

When he first began working at the department, they sent along with his employment informational packet detailed instructions: “take elevator to nineteenth floor, step out of elevator, turn left and walk to end of hallway, turn right, count doors, the thirteenth door on the left, open and step inside, turn right, count doors, ninth door on the left, open and step inside, take right and follow the hallway to the door at the end, step inside, third door on the right” and Vincent had used these instructions for a full year, until he didn’t need to refer to them anymore and he could find his office without their assistance.

By now, Vincent knew exactly how to get to his office, from his office to the john, from the john back to his office, from his office to the vending machines, from the vending machines back to his office, from his office to the stairwell, from the stairwell back to his office, from his office to the cafeteria, from the cafeteria back to his office, from his office to his supervisor’s office, from his supervisor’s office back to his office, from his office to the ‘interviewing’ rooms, from the ‘interviewing’ rooms back to his office, from his office to Agent Tobias’ office, from Agent Tobias’ office back to his office, from his office to the conference room, from the conference room back to his office, from his office to the information containment library, from the information containment library back to his office, from his office to the lab, from the lab back to his office, and one or two other places (both ways). Everything else was a bit of mystery, and potentially (he’d have to look into this) off limits anyway (ID passes were miserly passed out for specific purposes only).

Once Vincent was in his office (he very rarely could be found occupying it — being primarily a field agent), he usually checked the view screens in the adjoining room, where thirty or so nameless, voiceless women (once in awhile he could hear someone popping gum) monitored the network and administered assignments. They all faced the same way, sitting in stadium style rows in front of the master wall, where two hundred large screens broadcasted surveillance and fed evidence into the Machine. Each woman had three smaller monitors in her seating area (there were small, plastic dividers separating the women), a keypad and connection switches. Elisa’s screen (not always on her case) was third row down, sixth from the left (Vincent gave the Machine a rather benign feed from three of his in-house cameras, none of which ever caught her doing anything but walking by or reading) and had been for the last twelve months. Her assistant’s screen (not always on her case) was the twenty-second row down, eighteenth from the right, only recently being fed into the system (and with no censorship from the captain). The two hundred or so screens flickered back and forth from different cases every six seconds (although the women could capture an on-going feed on their monitors if need be) and followed the surveillance of women currently under investigation so that at any time, while thirty or more women sat typing, plugging jacks into different connections, and monitoring different cases, a variety of different images appeared on the master wall, everything from sexual interludes (the six second switch always being halted) to showering to panty adjustment to masturbation (red light, red light) to peeing to sleeping to the mundane (such as watching sites or doing laundry). Vincent prized peering out at the master wall and watching, he could spend hours simply examining the screens, focusing on one, then switching to another, and over time, he’d grown to know the women broadcasted into the room.

But this morning, he didn’t have the luxury; he had to report to the director’s office (his supervisor) for a briefing of some sort. Vincent left his office and went to the end of the hall, where he took a right, counted nine doors, entered, took a left, counted six doors, entered, took another right, counted eight doors, entered, moving rather briskly, turned left, or maybe right, he turned left (sound of door opening and closing), counted (any doors look like they’ve just been opened?) four… maybe five… three, counted three doors, entered, went down the hall (faint voices, one of them could be Captain Vincent’s), yes, he went down the hall, door number six on the right, yes, he’s inside, and entered…

“As I said, Section 9 is up in arms about this.”

“Section 9 doesn’t have jurisdiction over this case, director. Section 9 doesn’t even have precedence, now if Section 2 or 7 were complaining we might need to explain ourselves, but Section 9. Tell them to take their petition and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“It’s not that simple, Captain. They have indicated that certain information about the subject has been withheld from your reports. They believe that should this information be exposed, we would no longer be in charge of the operation.”

“They always say that when they want to muscle in, director. I comply with the full disclosure ordinances, I play my operations by the book. This is all just politics and it’s wasting valuable time.”

Vincent, standing, Director Fitzgerald (Fitzgerald Fitness Worldwide, Inc.) sitting behind his desk, both men speaking over each other. Vincent knows what to say to the director, he knows because he can tell what the director will say before he does, and he has a ready-made response. They want to retrieve her, already, without his report’s completion. No evidence, just the length of his investigation… won’t be long now. The director has reservations — he’s concerned…

“Perhaps, you could share with me the current status of the operation?”

“Of course, we are currently in Phase 5. She is under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Nothing, as yet, has indicated to me or any of my officers that a Section 9 movement is required.”

“Haven’t you been in Phase 5 for longer than normal?”

“Yes, but my surveillance is not yet complete. I assure you, Director Fitzgerald, as soon as we’re ready, we’ll initiate Phase 6.”

“You’ve got to give me something to get Section 9 off my back, captain.”

Spineless… he should just roll over and let them butt fuck him… jurisdiction, he’s observing jurisdiction…

“They shouldn’t be on there in the first place, this has nothing to do with their operations. Nothing, as yet, has indicated to us that rebranding is required.”

“You haven’t heard or seen anything suspicious, something that Section 9 may have picked up in an independent investigation?”

Knows nothing… just weary… gullible (old trick), appease his concerns…

“No, not at all. She’s a recluse almost, she has an assistant, her brother came to visit her the other day and they had a fight. That’s about it. We need to gather more information, director. Don’t let those jug-heads in 9 push their way in, they’ll fuck up the entire operation.”

“All right, but you’ve got to speed up your mission control. I can hold them off, but as soon as they go to the magistrate and start saying things, there won’t be anything I can do.”

Insert team player lingo now…

“I thought we were all on the same team. How are we supposed to do our jobs when we have to worry about another section coming in and taking over?”

“9 is pushy, always have been. They think they own this damn department. That director of theirs, that Donahue, he’s a real S.O.B. We’re all in the same boat, my boy, every section in the department, trust me.”

Sympathy and just a little force…

“Fine, but if I see even one of those black-clad neandrethals come anywhere near my operation, I’ll bring him down and explain later. I can’t have them moving in, it’d ruin months of work.”