The beds here are somewhat reassuring. The rough texture of the bedsheet and blanket has been constant.
Of course, it’s only been 2 weeks here. Hasn’t been constant for too long.
I don’t really know what's going on now. After yesterday, we’ve just been given no tasks. Everyone else is at the naafi, just me and Isabella in our rooms. And she’s fast asleep on the bed opposite, despite it being around 2pm.
They did commend us on our quick thinking. Taking down a terrorist with no one injured and defusing an IED, obviously impressive. Yeah, the guy was a terrorist (why are all the fucking terrorists from luton?). Apparently, he was radicalised by the English Defence League, an islamophobic group, and he really didn’t like the fact that the MP for South Luton was muslim. To be fair, what the fuck did you expect? South Luton is literally a predominantly muslim area, of course the MP is gonna be muslim.
“Mmmm.” I hear Isabella groan as she slowly sits up, groggy. “What- What time is it?”
“2pm.” I reply. “You slept through lunch.
“That’s nice…” She says back, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. “Anything new?”
“Not as far as I know. Just waiting.” We’re absolutely lost on what happens now. What was even the point of having such short, intense training? Why are we needed?
“That whole thing. It did happen, right?”
“Yeah, obviously.” It took about 30 minutes of hand washing and scrubbing before I managed to get the blood out of my trouser leg, of course it happened.
“I kinda miss being back in school. Back home, I guess.” she says.
“What’s even ‘home’ for you?” I reply.
“It’s not much of a home, really,” she looks at me, somewhat pensive. “Dad got arrested last year, mum died shortly after. I was alone at home. Now that I think about it, I don’t know why no one came to get me.”
“How’d you even get food?”
“Theft. I stole everything I needed to get by, and it worked for a while. Until I got caught.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what was wrong with the shopkeeper. He blocked off the door and threatened me with a knife, all over a pack of instant noodles. Of course, I tried running, and the fucking guy slashed at me. That’s when I stabbed him with my own knife.” So that’s what her fun fact at the icebreaker was.
“Then what?”
“Both of us got hospitalised. Sadly, he lived. And I got interrogated. The police, the nurses, some organisation called CAMHs, and then after a while, that Campbell guy came to the hospital and told me about that recruitment event, and now this.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
This is weird. Hiroshi had the same experience as me, and now Isabella has too. All three of us have had either no or terrible parents, too.
“The hospital thing - the same thing happened to me and Hiroshi, with the CAMHs and then Campbell.”
“Odd fucking selection method, finding the orphans in the hospital.” Yeah, real odd.
“Hiroshi said something weird to me, though. We were speaking about what all the similarities mean, then out of the blue, he said ‘Maybe they’re the ones who killed your parents.’”
“Were your parents killed?”
“It’s- I can’t talk about it.” I can’t think about anything about them. I already feel my chest tightening. “Still, no one but the police knew about it. How did he know?”
“I don’t know about that.” She’s pacing the room now. “But yeah, what does any of it mean? Why would they specifically pick orphans?”
“Maybe because no one cares about us.” A bitter thought.
“Then they could’ve chosen any random tramp off the streets. Why did they pick a bunch of teenagers?”
“We raise less attention than adults?”
“Maybe so. But then why would we have uniforms?”
“I don’t know.”
“No one knows anything right now, Aya.” She stops. “And that scares me.”
The door slowly creaks open.
“Guys…?” It’s Emma, popping her head through.
“Yeah?” I ask her.
“They want everyone in the presentation hall. Now.” She replies, before scurrying off once again.
“I actually can’t be asked…” Isabella moans. “Go without me, I need a minute to get ready.”
Fine by me.
“Is everyone here?” Says Lieutenant Hood, his voice somehow booming out across the entire hall without a microphone. The hall is disproportionately large for 8 people, but at least it has air conditioning. “Yes? Good.
“First off, well done on completing your basic training here. Not everyone gets through it, not everyone has the capacity to learn so fast. There's been countless times where we’ve kicked people out because they weren’t up to scratch, but none of you are one of them.” Surprisingly. “You might be glad to hear that all that will be useful soon.”
On cue, the screen towering over us displays a slide with massive white letters in the middle,
‘OPERATION BLIND ANGEL’
“The security service, or MI5 as you may call it, has brought to our attention an organised crime group called the ‘Sturgeon Syndicate.’” Sturgeon? Isn’t that a fish? “This group trafficks humans, sells drugs, performs assassinations, the lot. All attempts to infiltrate them by the National Crime Agency haven’t gone well, and so they’ve decided to give us the task.” That’s so nice of them, let the kids infiltrate the organised crime group known for trafficking and murders! “This briefing is simply to state that you will be involved in this. Documents detailing everything will be given out in a short while.” Useless briefing then, no? Just give us the damn doc… “Go off and pack your things.” He says, turning off the screen. “You’re off tomorrow.”