Seven

I Am Your Handler (I Kill You When You Fuck Up)

Or: “Lisa Clark And The Joys Of Being A Handler Glorified Babysitter.”

“She survived everything that was thrown at her.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to do it again.”

“You’ve read the same reports I have, Director. She’s not just ready. It’s not just that she can do that sort of mission again. She needs to do it again.”

Captain Hannah Kennedy and Director Harrison Munro discussing Lisa Clark following the Amarillo incident, circa 2029.

Captain Daniel Romero. Formerly Director Daniel Romero of ESP, the man responsible for the original Team Omega… of whom only a handful of members had survived. He stood at the front of the room, leant slightly on the podium. There was a small smirk on his face.

Clark had never met the man. Never especially wanted to, come to think of it – when she had been seconded to ESP, she had learned a lot about the organisation just from listening to others talk. Grey, Schaeffer, Little, Striker… all her colleagues, superiors, the people who led other teams, all of them had their own stories about Romero, the man who had invented Team Omega, the man who had turned ESP into what it was.

She’d never actually looked him up; why would she? When she joined ESP, it was Director Munro who had been in charge. Romero was little more than the boogeyman in the background, a horror story the more experienced officers told the younger recruits. To know that he was here now…

Well, it beggared belief.

Clark didn’t listen much as Romero bantered with Stark (though she was hardly surprised that Stark decided to mouth off). It was, admittedly, somewhat surprising that Romero bothered – surely he had better things to do – but Clark wasn’t about to worry too much about it.

“For those of you who don’t know,” Romero said after a few moments, “you’ve been brought together to become what we call ‘Team Omega’.”

He went on to explain the history of the team – Clark knew most of it already, so she zoned out again. She glanced around at each of her new charges in turn: the silent Willow and Nerve, Stark and his too-obvious flirting with Blood Templar, the latter ignoring it entirely, then Johan Steiner and Troll, the former scowling and the latter smirking.

How in the fuck did I end up being a glorified babysitter for this bunch of lunatics?

It was a stupid question, though. She knew exactly how. She sighed, and forced herself to focus on the briefing.

“Your mission is pretty straightforward,” Romero was saying. The projector screen lit up with a map. “This is a town called Stormhall in the state of Florida. Small place, built around a couple of villages, and best known for being the location for a Starfall Innovation National research building.”

Clark frowned. Shayla Silverhand seemed to be paying attention, but she was wearing a blindfold. What the hell was this briefing if a member of their team couldn’t see it?

“Don’t worry,” she muttered to Silverhand. “I’ll make whatever notes you need.”

“I won’t need any,” Silverhand replied, her tone icy. Clark sat back in her chair. She felt suddenly foolish and chastened, but quickly brushed the feeling off.

Fine, she thought. If you don’t need it, you don’t need it.

Romero continued with the briefing, going over the target location; the building itself was ugly, grey, a little taller than most of the buildings in the images Romero had shown, with the SIN logo built into the side in a very dull shade of blue.

“There’s an… we’ll call him ‘an asset’,” Romero explained. A picture came up of a fairly lain-looking redheaded man in a white shirt. “He’s stuck in one of those research buildings, and the enemy recently landed a division of Union Guard there in hopes of securing themselves a foothold and getting their hands on that research. The local armed forces, supported by ESP forces and a few… esoteric agents… have been working to repel them.”

Clark frowned. Esoteric agents was not a term that she had heard very often. It was also not a term she particularly liked hearing.

“While they’re in action, your team, led by Agent Clark, will locate the asset,” Romero continued, “terminate any high-ranking targets of opportunity you happen to run into, extract yourselves and the asset alive, and return to base for the ‘you didn’t die’ party.” He held his hands up to the floor. “Any questions?”

Clark held her hand up at once, and Romero’s eyes alighted on her..

“Sergeant Clark, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” she replied curtly. “When you say ‘esoteric agents’, do you have any specifics?”

Romero nodded thoughtfully.

“At the present time, nothing concrete that intel have seen fit to share with me.” He grimaced, almost imperceptibly. “Though I know ESP forces in the area have been working with… let me check this note…” He went through a small sheaf of papers on his podium. “Ilayda Windknife.”

Not a name I know, Clark thought.

She heard a soft intake of breath from Silverhand next to her, and glanced at the woman. The set of Silverhand’s jaw had hardened and her teeth were clenched.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Maybe she knows this ‘Ilayda’, Clark mused. The names sound vaguely similar – like they came from the same culture? And ‘Windknife’, ‘Silverhand’, sound a bit like the same kind of high fantasy bullshit names.

The rest of the questions were perfunctory – Stark asked about the asset, but Romero brushed him off. There were a couple of other questions – mainly from the ESP regulars, asking what their role was going to be.

“What about Sergeant Clark?” one of them asked. Clark straightened in her seat.

“Sergeant Clark gets what you might call the best seat in the house,” Romero said. “She’s Team Omega’s handler.”

Clark scowled. Handler. Fancy word for glorified babysitter for this collection of lunatics.

She didn’t let her aggravation show on her face – what would be the point? Instead she simply nodded when Romero turned to look at her.

“I trust the Sergeant to get the job done,” Romero said. He placed both hands on the podium. “Any more questions?” A moment passed in silence. “Good. Then you’re all dismissed. Get it done.”

Clark sighed. She motioned to her troops to get into escort formation for the team of misfits. They did so quickly and efficiently, for which Clark was very grateful.

“Alright, people,” she said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. “Let’s get you all settled in.”

***

They wouldn’t stop fucking talking.

“This is all scheisse.”

“It’s fucking crazy.”

“Ja. It is certainly not a mission I would have chosen.”

“I would have chosen to stay at home and fucking sleep.”

“Ha. Noob.”

This is the collection of fucking morons I have to work with, Clark thought. She tried desperately not to snap at them to shut up. This is my fucking job now.

She tried to rationalise it. When she had been given this job – this very important assignment, as Captain Striker had called it – she hadn’t expected to like it, but she had underestimated how aggravating she would find it all.

Or maybe it’s just the reminder of the name.

She scowled as she walked. I’m not thinking about that. Fuck off.

Behind her, she heard Stark try a pickup line on the Blood Templar.

“Ask me what the sword’s for,” the LARP lady said. “Hint; it’s obvious. And I’ll be happy to demonstrate if you don’t back off.”

Yup, Clark thought. This is my fucking life now.

Fortunately, they reached the male barracks in relatively short order, and Clark made sure the door was locked after them. After a few minutes they reached the door to the woman’s barracks.

Sleep might help, Clark thought.

“Right,” she said to her charges “This is the woman’s barracks. Templar, Willow. Shayla, you’re here.”

Willow hadn’t said a word since the plane. Clark was starting to wonder if the one word she had said was a fluke. Instead, she just walked into the room and picked a bed nearest the window.

“And you’re joining us?” Blood Templar asked Clark.

“That’s my job.” Clark replied, trying not to sound as ticked off as she felt. Judging by Blood Templar’s knowing smirk, she hadn’t succeeded “So settle in, ladies. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Shayla Silverhand snorted and walked over to another bed.

“This one,” she said.

Clark rolled her eyes. Blood Templar moved past her as well.

“Fair,” the LARPer said. She undid the belt of her sword and put it on another bed. “I’ll take anything vaguely soft for half a minute.”

“Perhaps you should indulge Stark after all, then,” Silverhand said in a scathing tone. “He seemed taken with you, and I doubt you’ll find softer.”

The LARPer laughed. She drew her sword and Clark tensed, but Blood Templar only, took a whetstone from her bag and began gently sharpening her sword.

“I think Stark’s the kind who’s taken by anything with a pulse,” Clark muttered under her breath. Wouldn’t be the first.

“There’s more to Stark,” Silverhand said. “There’s more to most of them, really.”

“Yeah?” Blood Templar paused in her whetting for a moment. “How’s that?”

“You heard him talk about SIN,” Silverhand said. “There is more to that story than we know.”

Of course there is, Clark thought. One couldn’t be the result of SIN supersoldier bullshit if there wasn’t ’more to that story’.

“There’s more to everyone’s fucking story, Silverhand,” she said. She unzipped her combat boots. Across from her, Blood Templar continued her whetting.

“I suppose that’s true, Sergeant Clark,” Silverhand retorted. “So tell me – why do they call you ‘Wolf’?”

Everyone stopped moving. Blood Templar stopped whetting again. Willow turned to look over at them all, a wary expression on her face. Clark blinked.

Silverhand was smiling – a nasty, predatory grin.

Did that bitch really just -

Clark closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Long story,” she said easily. “Bit dull.”

“Yet you tense whenever it’s spoken,” Silverhand needled. “You do not like the name – but it is your name, given to you as an accolade for some achievement, no doubt.”

‘Clark, get the fuck down!’

‘You did good work.’

‘You didn’t hear? She was the only survivor. Some real lone wolf bullshit.’

Clark’s voice was icy when she finally spoke. “You don’t need to know.”

“I know I don’t,” Silverhand pressed. “But I would like to. After all – you and I are comrades. I would happily share the tale of my own epithet, but -” She raised her metallic arms in a mocking shrug. “I fear that tale is obvious.”

Clark felt a growl rise up in her throat before she could stop it.

“Listen to me, you pretentious elf bitch,” she hissed. “I am your handler, not your comrade. I kill you when you fuck up, is that clear? You don’t get to know my life story – and frankly, I don’t give a shit about yours. Clear?”

There was another long pause, and then Silverhand laughed, a nasty cackle that echoed in the barracks. Clark felt her ire rise, but then Silverhand’s laughter faded.

“You’ve been more than clear, Sergeant Clark,” she said. “Thank you for indulging my curiosity. Good night.”

Without another word, she lay down on the bed. Blood Templar let out a low whistle. Willow looked away from them all again.

Clark took another deep breath and forced herself to remain as calm as she could.

This is my fucking job now, she thought again. Fucking A.

***