My schedule for the next two weeks is drastically different. The recruits are given three days to recover with a restorative for each, and then the second cycle of interrogations begin. During that time I audited some classes—most were an in-depth version of what I got from Marcella’s friend—and worked out. Sure, I spent a ton of time brushing up on my Spanish and learning Chinese; as well as some papers on squad tactics Marks sent me. The second rest period, I mostly just stay away from the recruits as they are becoming more resentful, save Jamie. She apparently has no hard feelings and goes out of her way to say hi to me, so I sneak her food.
Speaking of food, I adjusted my calorie number on the kiosk again the morning after my first day of interrogations, and around mid-day I get a message from Marcella: “If you can see your abs, keep stuffing your face. Your body needs material to build muscle.” I scoff and send her a reply akin to 5k calories was a lot my dude. She sent me a buff arm and a poop emoji. Made me laugh in the middle of lunch, shooting sports drink out of my nose.
With the third interrogation looming, one that is supposed to be their final exam, the air is thick with paranoia as the instructors can pull them in to be question any time in the next four days to add an element of uncertainty and panic into the equation after they have gauged their ability to handle it.
“So what happens to the recruits after this? Aren’t they going to the same place I am?” I ask Jerrico as he sets up the main interrogation room to have a different visual than the recruits are used to.
“Hmm, no. The thinkers have told us that after such a brutal and possibly demeaning experience, the recruits should be given a break and then a rigorous exercise program to resocialize, vent some anger and frustration into growth, and analyze if there are any lingering effects of this phase of our interrogation training.” He shrugs. “The two weeks we did last time seemed to help some, so we’ve been told to stagger sending students to the field teams over a second two weeks. Putting you in two-ish weeks earlier than that. Not sure what the Close Quarters Battle school is going to do with you, but that’s out of our purview.”
“I’m sure that Marcella will brief me. Thanks for all the help guys, it was really enlightening tailing you and picking your brains.”
“Hah, just don’t go and threaten anyone else with actually eating their brains.” Jerrico jabbed.
“Well, I suppose Mexican folklore has room for another brain sucker.” I beam at them, trying to cover my embarrassment with comedy. I get a polite chuckle.
We talk about nothing important for another ten minutes or so, how kids have it easy these days, “when I was your age” stories that were all like comfy cuddle stories that lightened the mood as they know I had a hard childhood and wanted to keep distracting me from the work ahead of me. When a black SUV pulls up, the chatter ceases.
A goon steps out of the front passenger side and opens the door to the back, where a well-dressed snake slithers out of the car and into the warehouse. He’s every bit as slick looking as when I first saw him, but with the extra piece of shit factor of me knowing he’s going to enjoy watching the recruits suffer. Parker Strum struts up to us.
“Excuse us, I’d like to talk to the instructors.” The venom in his voice is palpable.
I don’t move.
“Are you deaf as well as dumb girl?”
“She’s on the instructor roster until the end of the day. So, you’ll have to be more specific.” Jerrico said in an even tone and neutral face. The twitching visible on Parker makes me smile inside.
“She should be with the other recruits preparing for their final interrogation with the rest of them.” The Face is trying to school his anger but is failing.
He really does hate me, doesn’t he?
“The decision was made above our paygrade. Until tomorrow, she’s an instructor here, not a recruit.”
“Then, I wish to discuss matters with these two men, you are excused, girl.” He stares at me and his goons take a step forward.
I look up to Marks and Jerrico to see what they think. They both shrug. Well alright. I walk over to the picknick table and sit to watch the men chat, and Parker is animated in gesticulation. I text my mentor that Parker was a day early and currently talking to the other instructors. She texted back some swear words and what he could do with his mother. Then I assume she calmed down and started giving me advice.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
\I can be there in a few hours. DO NOT let him or his goons isolate you. DO NOT let him intimidate you by playing the Lieutenant card. If he tries to force the issue, dart to a safer place and hide until I text you again. He does not have authority over you, but don’t be stupid about it.\
/Copy. I’m irritated, but not afraid. I’m probably going to be stupid about it the longer I’m exposed to that fucker./
She sends me back a ‘no’ and stops texting. Ugh, why do people want to bring me drama when I have so much internal bullshit to handle. This, after being told that my schedule is hassling a lot of different parts of the Organization. I bet all of them are grumbling that I better be worth it. No pressure, Marcella, just a little pressure from everyone! What’s another rock in the path eh?
***
I begrudgingly admit, Parker does good work when his emotions aren’t involved, but the fact that he uses a goon to do the roughing cheapens the experience a bit. One of the instructors is always in the room with him except me. I refused as Marcella told me to.
“You know he’s going to insist he interrogate you. You have a plan for that?” Jerrico asks.
“A bad one, but yeah. Did you hear my whole story?”
He shakes his head. “Just that you’d filled all the requirements for the ‘practical portions’ and one of our old instructors confirmed it herself.”
“Huh.” I’m honestly surprised that Marcella would put them in this position. But putting out info that sounds like slander against another Lieutenant wouldn’t help us get anywhere positive. “This should be interesting then. I think Parker’s finished with this one.”
A few minutes later the goon drags the boy out and starts cleaning up. Parker walks up to the mirror, straightens his tie and coat and walks to exit the room—then enters the office.
“Oh, you’re here too. Hello, Novarro. Enjoy the preview?” He asks with faux civility.
“Enjoy, not so much. Appreciate the expertise, for sure.”
“Great!” She says with genuine cheer. “They you’ll appreciate the opportunity to go next.”
“I appreciate the offer, but no thanks. My training is in the office observing today.” I say as emotionless as possible, which lately is pretty reserved. Hooray for practice!
“It’s not an offer, it’s a certainty. You are taking your final today.” His face is a mask, but his teeth are gritted and his tone tight.
“You administered my final about a month ago in that same room, Parker. I remember the experience vividly.” I smirk at him falling into the trap.
He scoffs, “that was just a bit of extra training. A final has extra elements.” He says flippantly, really flopping all over the place emotionally.
“Oh? Hey Jerrico, what are the requirements for the final interrogation.” I look over to the knowledgeable instructor.
“A recruit must undergo a stressful event before an interrogation that will last between three and eight hours, administered by a senior instructor or a Lieutenant and observed by an instructor or Lieutenant to verify procedural compliance IAW the Warram interrogation manual. The student is not to incur debilitating or lasting injury during this period.”
“So, I was abducted from my hotel room at the Organization’s casino around 8pm, bound, gagged and drugged. I awoke to Parker’s pretty face asking me about some quirks about the algorithm. I incurred broken ribs among other bruises and scrapes, and I was picked up around 4am by an Organization member.” I turn, to Jerrico, “Does that count?”
“Missing the observer to observe procedural compliance.”
“Not to mention without a witness it’s all heresay.”
“So if Miss Fontaine obtained a recording of the ‘interrogation’ and assuring procedures were followed well enough for a final exam, would that count?”
Jerrico nods. “That would full fill the requirements, yes.”
“Not so fast, without the video, all your saying is conjecture.” He’s flustered now, and I want to press in for the submission.
“Parker, think for a second. Do you really want people to see that tape? The one where you leave the interrogation and the office to go home? The one where you put me in a shock collar and crank it up as you leave? A video that will convince anyone that sees it that you need remedial security training?”
He doesn’t say anything and Jerrico looks shocked.
“Not enough to convince you? How many people know about your compulsion Talent, Parker. Or that it feels like a swarm of bees in your mind that you know will keep stinging until you give a truthful answer? How many people do you want to know that you used it to ‘train’ the protegee of another Lieutenant? How Many!?” I don’t know when I started standing and growling, but I am thankful that Jerrico grabbed me by the back of the belt to keep me from poking the arrogant bastard.
Parker takes the three steps and puts his face three inches from mine, “Careful who you levy threats at, Girl. I am not some child you can intimidate like some boogeyman.” Oof, figures he would dig into that failure. “You see, without Marcella here to babysit you, you will do as I say, when I say it. Do you understand.”
The last statement he makes with the oomf that I remember, the bees and the stinging compel me to answer, “Fuck you and that talent.” I say through gritted teeth as the buzz fades. Luckily that’s a system approved answer to his question—I guess. I hear a gun drawn behind me and I drop.
“You should take a time out, Mr. Strum. We don’t use those kinds of talents on our own people, especially instructors and protegees.” I see Jerrico with a determination in his eyes and a pistol leveled at Parker.
“I will remember this Jerrico.” Parker snarls and stomps his way out of the office.
After a minute of silence, we both sigh and as my instructor holsters his sidearm, he says, “You were right. It was a shit plan.”