To tell you the truth, I love a good operation. Because they are so rarely done right. When all the Big and important parts of hundreds of hours of planning and meeting come together, that gives me a special kind of pleasure. The only thing even roughly comparable is writing a final invoice. Good operations cost, and my operations cost a lot. I am not a cheap individual.

Bad operations are a dime a dozen these days.

Take Abu Ghraib. Take all those military ones. Hell, if you are not a military man, which I can respect, take any election, take gamergate, take the so called social justice warriors, take your major promising he will fix the potholes for you. Take your favorite popstar making an announcement that he cares.

The Planning in all of this… atrocious. I would be ashamed to charge even a single cent for this. I would do everyone involved for free.

A good operation is signified by every single step being planned to the Nth degree. It is like a love letter to the operation. A corporate yogi once put it like this. They do exist. Money that was very well spent, and the retreat in the Swiss alps was unforgettable. It improved division morale a lot.

“Do small things, but with great compassion. ”

I wonder why they pay someone like this. But, far from me to question the company. The company has the weight of experience behind it, and you can not weigh that up as an individual.

This operation, I know, was a good one. A good operation has every detail sought out, disseminated, and turned around, examined again, and then the plans are made, verified, focus group tested, management approved, and then countersigned. And if every part of the operation is treated with the care and compassion it deserves, wouldn’t you know it, it turns out to be more than the sum of its parts. It happens so frequently, that few people ever notice this consciously. I call it, “The Zen of Middle Management”.

I know this, because I wrote the textbooks.

I would have my Students sit down, and dissect these infamously bad operations for hours. 9/11, the war on Afghanistan, the cold war…. Red dye, the FDA approval process, Crystal pepsi…

I knew they hated it, but in my heart of hearts, the more I did it, the better for them in the end. If I ridiculed George W Bush just a bit more, made them disseminate the business decisions of Bob Eiger and Jeffrey Preston Bezos (He hates it when people call him Jeff), maybe some of my students, once they graduated, would not make the same mistakes. For me, a good operation is like making love to a person. You would do anything but rush it.

You do not rush a single thing with a good operation. IF all parts get treated with the same attention to detail as they deserve, the end effect will be multiplicative. More than the sum of its parts.

You shoot for quiet excellence, in my opinion. That is what you were hired for.

It starts with the way one dresses.

Many of the younger agents will, if given the chance, choose jeans, or even T-shirts, so called hooded sweatshirts, even in the middle of the night, to remain anonymous. The opposition certainly gives them a lot of excuses to do so.

Lots of T-shirts, and enough jeans to shake a finger at. The regulations were relaxed, to account for modern sense and sensibilities, against my expressed and written disapproval. I had made sure that it was noted, with several strongly worded Missives and memos. I HAD written the textbooks, so I allowed myself the comfort to point out the amount I hoped how much the office would save by just shelling out the cost of bespoke suits, even for junior staff. You just needed one, that was it. Then, for the rest of your life, you could sit out any other discussion about fashion. Good fashion was timeless.

No, they had told me, to my face no less, and had talked about modern clothing options, Turtlenecks, T-shirts, even Power Ties… They had not even read my textbook. Probably bad company men.

The problem was, all that did not do anything good or solid. It makes you more of a target, because every Tom and Jerry looking Cop will look, go in, and go, aha, that man wants to look inconspicuous, lets pay extra close attention.

You wanted to find the man that was prone to making trouble? You did not look twice at the man in the bespoke suit, with the leather shoes, and the expensive looking belt, plus was that a Rolex on his wrist… You looked for the average guy. With the T-shirt and the jeans. The man in the bespoke suit clearly knew what he was doing.

But at the same time, try to describe a man in a bespoke suit. You would start with a suit, yes, but 90 % of the people who watched him work would be hesitant to even hint at “The suit looked good. ” Language was not precise at describing how a suit looked, cultural norms were insufficient to allow for 50% of the population to have an interest in “how a suit fit”, but on the other end, the people that did pay attention never quite got over the specialized words, and just assumed, everyone had even seen a bespoke suit. Effectively, it shielded whoever wore a bespoke suit from being described in detail. Same with the color. If you, at present, identify as female, please, go get someone that identifies as male, and ask them to bring you the charcoal colored pencil. Or, the eggshell shirt. 50 % is conservative, even more people have no idea that there is a subtle but crucial difference between charcoal and ink black.

The car? A rental, but upper class one. Nissan Altima, in the sedan version, in black. It may make you look a bit like an aspiring rapper, but considering the environment, it is worth it. It managed to do its job well. It made me look like I belonged here,m like I was an integral part of the neighborhood full of young urban professionals. Of course, I paid in cash, because if you are over the age of 40, it is expected to be unfamiliar as to how a venmo worked, or how to handle digital currency like dogecoin. Tops, you could handle a credit card competently.

I count my steps on the well taken care of pavement, as to not accidentally move too fast or too slow. 60 steps per minute, as the handbook said. Hell, again, I had written the handbook. It was licensed, printed, I had dedicated it to my former girlfriend….

The area I am moving through is in a nicer part of the city, respectable houses all around, and grass so green it can be artificial. An area that cried for high class families, with dad having a mistress, mom coping with the dangers of addiction by emptying a pill bottle a day, daughter going into social justice just to “slum it”, and son spending the days locked away in a cellar playing video games. Young urban professionals, with names like Kevin and Mark, Tiffany and Kasandra, shopping passionately at Wholefoods and spending extra for ecologically fair traded kosher salt from the Seattle area.

The same People that would not spend a nickel to help out another human being, but instead preferred to hide behind slacktivist slogans like raising awareness. I could at least respect “Moon Unit” and the old hippies, even though for the sake of my employment record, I have to state that I actively disagree with them. Respect and Acceptance, or Tolerance and Agreement, can be mutually exclusive.

I can respect that Hippies exist. They were the original anti capitalist people. They put their money where their mouth was, mostly at “Grateful Dead” concerts, and stuck to their silly beliefs. That is, at the base level, very respectable in my eyes.

But at the professional level, I am well aware that the company owns several of the most prominent groups. I am not talking, “heavily finances”. I am talking, owns, as in, each of the members has an inventory number on their body. You thought they had a “good core”? You believed them when they said, “And if we create a more just world, a more social world, so what if we use questionable methods? Is that really that bad?”

Do you like to believe in Santa as well?

You would be surprised if I told you I had coffee with the guy that came up with the slogan. Nice guy. Also a passionate company man, but from another branch office. ”Viral marketing”. What will those crazy kids think of next?

I met him at a symposium for bookkeepers, to discuss the newest implementation strategies of SAP production databases. In Mount Vernon, Illinois. You would be surprised as to how close certain people came to the truth, not by tracking where you went to school, where you went to training, or anything like that, but what dead ass boring conferences and meetings you made. I can tell you this on good authority, that 90 % of the conferences in massively popular states like Montana…. They don’t exist. There are a couple of nerds that surely wanna discuss how far along they are at consuming their favorite piece of mass marketed entertainment, but people just don’t get how much of the rest we make up. Company men like me. I mean, a Society for Human Resource Management? Really? Do you still believe that is real? Human Resources…

Is it weird that I can barely remember having had a mother? I have vague memories, but there is probably a pill against that nowadays.

I look at the watch. IT is important to follow a plan. It is a sorry sight when I get off the car I have been leaning against, and change into the overall. It has a logo and the print of a number of a local Electric company on it. I know what you are thinking, and it is right. It was disgusting how low the standards were. You would think someone would notice a cheap print job.

My face is that undecipherable kind of brown you get when you are not really sure who your parents are. I mean it. I like families, conceptually that is. The company approves of family men. I make sure my suit is properly folded, and secured in the car. Underneath the overall, I now carry only very thin underwear, and an undershirt. As if I need anything else.

I never got to know my biological parents. The Foundation treated Orphans that way, to spare them from the trouble of having to wonder. I am relatively handsome, and in the right set of light, I can pass as anything from indian to nigerian.

I have learned early on that there are two kinds of racism, one is the open, out and about type, the type where you know where you are. I like those racists. They are like warning signs in human form. You may not like them around your property, but you do appreciate them, in a general sense of the word. You like for them to exist, if at all possible. It is like a fire announcing its presence with smoke. You can not help but appreciate how thoughtful that is.

The second kind is the hidden kind. And they are the dangerous ones. The kind that talks at length about how open and urban they are, and how their friends are all sorts of skin colors, but that start to break in sweat when someone browner than them takes the same elevator unexpectedly. They used the same arguments as back in Jim Crow, but they dressed it nicer.

Perhaps that is why my mother claimed that I was full of evil, that the god of the Israelites made her do it, and commanded her to destroy her first born son. That she was giving birth to the antichrist. The foundation told me when I was old enough to know.

I spend some time meticulously going over everything I have on me, and making sure that everything is synched and ready. A pain is there, in the back of my head. I know it is cancer. The company has told me, it is a miracle considering how much you smoke. I inform them that I run the mile in a very respectable time, I benchpress more than any of the agents behind me in the van, and even more then the fat man that I can smell from up to here. They are not company people. They did not have the advantages of what the company provided, and what the foundation had managed to do for me. Unadoptable, they have to label me. To them, I am an outsider.

I put away my company ID card, my dog tags, and all that, and put on the fresh ID card. I am very good at pretending.

Right now, I am pretending to be Benjamin King. It is important, because the company told me it is. It will provide a valuable increase in stock valuation, because I am on loan to a certain three letter agency. I can smell it on them. If you check, you can find out that the hand lotion provided at Quantico’s training sites is a very well sold product. Most would shudder to think how many people with access to weapons masturbate with the hand lotion of their training facility. The company keeps tabs. The three letter agency does not.

I grab my clipboard, my prescription glasses that look cheap, and a tool belt, and check the watch. I still have a little bit of time left. I open the cellphone, an old blackberry, and start to do some office work.

“To: All Handlers

From: Benjamin King, Director of Clandestine Human Intelligence Operations

Subject: Q3 Progress Report on Clandestine Human Intelligence Operations

Encryption: King-17, “Ferectoi”

Routing Protocol: Kilo 1

Dear Esteemed Handlers,

I trust this communiqué finds you in the best of health and high spirits. As we proceed through the third quarter of this year, I am pleased to report that our Clandestine Human Intelligence Operations have yielded exceptional results. Our ultimate objective is to gather actionable intelligence on the "blanks" we are targeting, and we have made significant progress towards achieving this goal.

Our partnership with the First Light Initiative has been instrumental in propelling our division and the stock price of the company to new heights. Our collective efforts have bolstered the entire organization, securing funding for the foreseeable future, despite the ominous financial forecast. The backing of Uncle Sam has always been a bastion of security, and the company is committed to recognizing the contributions of its workforce by incentivizing their achievements.

Our analysis section remains a crucial cog in the greater machinery, with the intel gleaned from our subjects being carefully curated and transmitted to "The Program" for consumption by First Light. Our recent results have been nothing short of exceptional, from all reports coming back. However, no endeavor is without its setbacks, and we have experienced occasional breaches in our classified communications. Rest assured, we have taken corrective measures to eradicate any threats posed by these breaches.

I would like to take this opportunity to extend my heartfelt congratulations to Chad, Brad, Ashley, Mohinder, and Barbara for surpassing their quotas. Their individual success reflects positively on the division and in turn the company, and they have been granted additional resources to support their continued achievements.

At the company, we are not just co-workers but a family, and our mutual success is dependent on the support and cooperation of each other. I encourage all of you to never hesitate to request assistance when needed. However, I must emphasize that excellence is our benchmark for performance. Certain individuals within our division (no need to name names) have attracted the attention of the board, and failure to adhere strictly to protocol and standards will result in serious repercussions.

Our partnership with First Light has facilitated a significant reduction in the threat level within the greater Washington area, by an impressive 4% in the previous month alone. While Seattle remains a prominent hotbed, our progress in the Yakima region has been exemplary. We recognize that the victory is not won by the grunts on the ground, but by the precision of logistics.

Lastly, I would like to remind each of you that every contribution, no matter how small, is critical to our collective success. We are the squad leaders of foot soldiers in a battle against the "blanks," and it is only through our tireless groundwork that the "boys and girls" of First Light can do their jobs with such ease.

In closing, I would like to remind you that our division's vacation and usual debauchery this year is rumored to have a distinctly Caribbean flavor, meaning swimsuits and enough of a stomach to drink at least a hole in the remaining budget. Accommodations for those that need them are going to be made, but the company prefers team players. I look forward to seeing each and every one of you there.

Best regards,

Benjamin King.

“

This was for the others of my department. The company holds a long and proud record of working with the underprivileged kids like me, of giving them first rate accommodations, all the advantages that money can buy. The doctors had given me 2 years back then. A shame they had said. Such a bright kid.

The company had not accepted that. Nothing is impossible if you have the company on your side.

And in return, I would not accept anything that made the company have a bad light. No matter what kind of battlefield they sent me on.

“To: Command Division

From: Benjamin King, acting Director of Clandestine Human Intelligence Operations

Encryption: Togo 21, “Ferectoi”

Routing Protocol: Panopticon 12

Esteemed Commanders,

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

I write to you with a heavy heart, as I must report on the progress of our organization's mission to gather actionable intelligence in the Clandestine Human Intelligence Operations. Our organization has been striving to operate with a clear purpose, and I am regretful to inform you that we have not been able to meet our expectations.

As a soldier on the front lines, I take full responsibility for our shortcomings and apologize for any frustration or disappointment we may have caused. However, I feel compelled to bring to your attention a personal issue that is concerning me deeply. Our associated frontline soldiers in Project First Light are being kept in the dark, with only half of the research from the company's internal departments being sent to them. As someone with a military background, I empathize with these individuals and believe it is important to highlight this issue to the First Light Initiative's brass. Their effectiveness could be quadrupled, easily.

Despite our joint efforts and partnership with the First Light Initiative, we have yet to achieve any significant results in our mission to gather actionable intelligence. Occasionally, we have faced challenges such as breaches in our classified communications, which have hindered our progress. We recognize that our adherence to protocol and standards must become an unwavering priority, as any deviation from them will result in serious consequences.

Although we have reduced the threat level in the Washington area by 4%, Seattle remains a significant challenge, and we must improve our logistics if we are to achieve a breakthrough. Our ultimate goal is to gather actionable intelligence, and we must remain vigilant and focused on this mission.

I urge each and every one of you to remain steadfast in your dedication to our mission. Our success depends on the contribution of each individual, regardless of how seemingly small or insignificant it may appear. As we face a formidable enemy, we need to continue to work together as a team to achieve our goal.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,

Benjamin King.

“

I press send, precisely as the company watch strikes ten, and put on my war face. Time to show Uncle Sam what exactly military money can buy you these days.

I leave the car, just as the doors to the van open, and men in electricians dress file out. Long gone are the days of dry Ice in vans packed full of surveillance tech, of agents pulled tight in cramped quarters. I had been at the initial meeting, when upper management had hemmed and hawed, and had finally agreed to send just a single man on loan.

Me.

With a spring in my step, I walk through the neighborhood, secure in my knowledge that a dozen cameras on doorbells capture the image of Benjamin King, dressed in a uniform that is a bad copy, as he goes down the row of houses. Dozens of identically looking houses. Prim and proper. The exact kind of neighborhood you will want to hide something in.

I stop, and sigh. This is a demonstration, I know that, but …

I stop my fingers just as they are about to reach for the packet of cigarettes, and chastise myself. Not a time for a victory cigarette yet.

I finally make it to my house, making it seem as if Intelligence has not found it fit to be my reading material for the last couple of weeks. Two streams of chatter in my ear. One of them is from the in the ear headphone, one bud plugged in. Militarised, they tell me. Rugged, able to work under snow, in the desert, on any place on earth. Top of the line.

The other one is from the implanted ware. In my ear canal, directly under the off part, they went in, and did technology that I do not understand completely, with the end result that I can pick the company up, and they can pick me up. THIS technology works even through a human body, covered in blood and ichor, dropped into sulfuric acid, sandblasted, and with a bullet sticking in it. I have seen the evidence. It is part of my job to see this sort of thing. Someone will make the company a lot of money when they finally release it for the market. Buyers will be lining up all over the place, uncle sam, the israelis, china, russia… There was even talk that the next generation will be able to do quantum tunneling.

This is intelligence gathering. My cup of tea. Seeing things like that, and making observations.

Fieldwork is not.

I make my way down the driveway, past the visibility hedge, the 60 steps to the front door. A ring video doorbell greets me. Clutching my clipboard like a vice, I take a last look inside the camera, making sure that the camera gets a good hard look at my face. I am ashy today, my skin is dry. It would be easy to moisturize, to put some tender love and care on that worked skin.

Benjamin King does not moisturize.

I press the doorbell, and after a while, The lady of the house comes to the door. I can see how the doorbell camera activates, and can hear it refocus. I put on a tired smile. You could almost call me pale.

The woman of the house is average, I am disappointed to say. As expected, she smells faintly of damp earth. Close.

“Hello, ma’am”, I say, and give her my best “This is the 1950’s” smile. “I am from the electric company, and we get unusual power spikes from your property. Can I just check something at the meter? ”

I see the woman hem and haw. But, my official overall, and my ID card eventually convinces her.

The house is the very model of the house that someone working in tech would have. I remove my shoes at the door, no need to be uncouth, and follow her in the cellar. Past design tchotchkes, Modern art, and such. I use my phone to light the way up, which she graciously accepts. I make sure that the line is open, as I stand in front of the fusebox, and take a photo.

“Yep, older model, but don’t worry, everything seems in order. Do you have any idea if your neighbors are at home?”

I smile my best harmless smile, as she regards me curiously. It is my job to be noticed, I remind myself. She will give the police a very good description, I am sure of that.

I thank her, and make my way upstairs again.

The next house is … different. For one, the ubiquitous ring doorbell is missing. The windows are reinforced, and bear stickers of a company logo. I smile. I know whom they went to when streamlining their business contacts, regarding making components in asia. We do consulting for them, at very reasonable rates.

Tina opens the door for me. I know her type, before I get the smell of wet damp earth.

“Hello, ma’am”, I say,m and give her my best “This is the 1950’s” smile. “I am from the electric company, and we get unusual power spikes from your property. Can I just check something at the meter? I have already been to your neighbors, and…”

I do not even get a single second to think, as she goes, “My husband is not at home, can you please come back when he is? ”

I feel the power in the words, but they do not take hold of me. I smile, a little bit sad, but also happy enough. The company was right again. Our intelligence is top notch. The woman pauses for a time, and then sets out to speak again. Frustration in her voice, surprise. I have heard that before.

“Ma’am, can I please come in? It will be only a minute. ”

I can see the cogwheels over her head moving, as she puts things together, she sees 1, she witnesses 1, and….

“Okay…..”

Somehow got 4. I take off my shoes, revealing only clean black socks, and make my way in, looking at the place. It is swanky, it is fresh, it smells…. Very strongly of old earth. Earth that has been wet and moist for a very long time. The Radios are silent, but I know the directional microphones are listening.

As on command, the power spikes, and the lights flicker. I know this, because I can read a clock. The instructions are very very clear. Otherwise, the contract with the company would be null and void, and I would be free to walk.

“Thank you, ma’am. The power spikes are tricky. HQ suspects that there is some misconfiguration in one of the houses, and it has gotten worse. I am sure it is just a tricky bit of electrical malarkey, which I suspect is one of the husbands maybe doing some “home improvements”. Nothing illegal, but we suspect it is causing the internal amplitude to spike, which throws off the meter software, which in turn throws off the net something fierce…. Can I get to the meter? ” I nod in the same direction as in the last house. That is something underappreciated about the cookie cutter nature of the greater north american suburb.

I take time to breathe, giving the codewords. It is techno babble, nothing really bad, just the same sort of stuff you would feed a suspicious housefrau. I take a close photo of the meter, sending the data to the team, as if in confirmation. Right now, a clearly not well disguised pair of electricians would start by making a show out of dressing the trainee down, to the amusement of the gathered neighbors, who would most likely watch it with quiet amusement if they were honest. Noit that any one of them ever learned a trade.

“UUUH…. That fluctuates…. ” I say, pointing out the meter reading. “Look at this, it goes faster, then slower…. ”

The housefrau scrunches her eyebrows, and comes closer to look at the meter, as I take my screwdriver up to wait for the sign.

I know it, because I have been counting the seconds in my head, and listening to the argument. Triple redundancies, codewords, time, and….

As the power shuts off, my screwdriver breaks through her skull, nailing her to the wall. It is quick, way quicker than anything on the video camera in my glasses. I am not augmented, and from the internal radio, I hear the double click, signaling that the electric spike bought me a single delay in their surveillance system. A normal person would have to leave this down, let it simmer…. Put the body to the ground….

I keep the body there, until I hear that the surveillance team is paying attention again, and I hear the sharp intake of breath. It is important to let the buyer see what their money is purchasing, after all.

“It is probably nothing. ”

I say, without an inch of strain in my voice, as I let the body slide down. I know they live alone, in a house rented via an agency… That does not leave a lot of room for children.

I work fast and precisely. Out of my toolbelt, I take a hatchet , and start with severing the head from the body. The body sinky to the floor, and starts to bleed profusely. I make sure that my socks soak up some of the blood, as I hear retching and gagging inside the channel. First Light agents are watching this, and they are listening. They have not yet figured out why a pencil pusher like me just did what they would spend a month and a SWAT team for.

I finish by taking a small chess figurine out of the tool belt. A white tower. Gingerly, I place it in the mouth of the woman, close it, and step back, to see my handiwork.

Technically, what I do is called murder. Heinous murder, home invasion, and so much more. It is a feint. That, and technically, it is only murder if the government is not too afraid of what is happening right under their noses. Then, it becomes public service.

The company knows what the blanks actually are. It will not tell this, because such a thing is bound to show up on official documents, or senate hearings. Plus, plausible deniability and willingness to leave out details is billable at premium rates. So, when the company got approached, like all good companies, by an unofficial government stooge, with a briefcase full of government money, they did not want to hear things that would scare them, or the people that controlled their purse strings. They may have said differently, but they did not want to hear anything that would scare or terrify them. They want to hear nice things, like “barely an inconvenience” “We know a guy” “we have a friend in the industry” and “We can take care of that. ”. They wanted a happy, clear, positive message. “We will look into it, and we will take care of that”.

Their signature move used to be to send in a fire marshall, and drag them out that way. Maybe an evacuation, maybe something interesting… Draw as many civilians away as possible… THEIR losses were ugly. I am talking, Russia's losses in ukraine ugly.

BUt when the government of the United States, and of several other countries, realized just how much what they considered blanks were influencing their highest levels…. Someone went, You know, maybe we should ask that nice consulting agency that takes care of our more weird problems, If they would hypothetically happen to know a solution to that. They helped us out so much with the PR fallout from the terrorist hunt, and from illegally and against all of our rules imprisoning American citizens against all laws, maybe those nice people can help us out against further troubles…

And the company agreed, that yes, for the right price, hypothetically, that was possible.

I leave the cellar, and step to the front, leaving a nice easy to follow track of blood, when I get rid of my socks in the hallway. No need to get creative. I do not know much more than this.I have been told by the company as much as I need to know. I trust the company. It hurts me to have to behave like an amateur, but orders are orders.

I know that right now, talented computer guys and girls (the company is an equal opportunity employer, dedicated to ) do an intentionally sloppy job, making it seem like a talented civilian hacker broke into the servers of the electric company, and added a person to the schedule. Benjamin King. They even have an employee ID on file. A contract with my signature under it.

People will be too stupid and shortsighted to check further than that. They will never check just how much of a coincidence it was that a van full of eight people was full of people that joined at the same time. Or had the same haircut.

They will see that the electric problems were real, that several calls were made to the company, who has a reputation to only send out people when it suits their wallet. Nobody will bother to check who made the first call. Or what happened to the transcript of the call.

IT would be immoral to keep that log, the SJW woke accountability faction or whatever they call themselves these days, tells the corporation. The irony is, they scream that they are independent thinkers, they are unique beautiful snowflakes, but do you actually see how often they take up fascist methods, cheer on companies, and so forth? The actual Nazis back then could not have asked for a more faithful bunch of little brown shirts. Mind you, I don’t dislike them. I just recognise the corporation's handiwork. The corporation encourages personal growth, and values all possibilities to find fulfillment. I work while I am thinking, taking a bag out of my baggy clothing and opening it, no matter where it comes from.

But if you see rabid tribalism around a brand identity that is mostly filled with buzzwords, that even the supposed opposition can not precisely define? Really? You bought accountability, when the exact people that screamed for this want to be shielded from accountability? You just accepted that?

I was in Germany during Occupy. I saw what could be done, and quite frankly, it scared me senseless. The corporation is not that evil. It would have been the end of the corporation. It was mostly advising people…

I place the blood from the vials all over the house, while imitating a fight. I make sure evidence will get found. It is a bit convoluted, but successful.

People tend not to look further than the closest hint.

They do not get what it means, when there is a severed head, with a screwdriver rammed through the back of the head. Some occult specialists will have a field day with it, and link it to half a dozen causes from the fringe sector, anything from gang violence to ritual initiations of Nicaraguan cartells. None of them will discover what the white tower actually is. Or why a black bishop is significant.

The blanks themselves? They are interested in being not discovered, so they have crafted their own secret security shenanigans.

They are more likely to believe that the black handprint, or the red question mark that will be found on the back of my clipboard will be found to be of significance by the right people,

I take one last look, if I have missed any blood splatters on me, and grab the clipboard. Opening the door, I can see a crowd has gathered at the end, talking to each other. I check myself, and offer a last wave to the camera, in a gesture that leaves the palm of my handprint stretched out to the highly detailed camera. To a police cop, it looks like a wave, but to the blanks, it looks like it is the sign of a secret society of theirs, called the “Black Hand”.

I do not care, because I have done my duty, and I am going to have a cigarette soon. I grab my board, and make my way over.

The fat man is dressing down a younger trainee that bears the marks of having made a mistake. I see it in the eyes of the neighbors that they pity the young one, and their class conscious behavior soothes their own guilt by promises that corporations such as the electric company are evil.

I can see in the eyes of the fat man, who stands a bit aside, and “Calls HQ”, that he is horrified. He has a full inkling of what just happened. I know it, because I have read his file, and committed it to memory. He was at a jobsite that happened 15 years prior.

I smile, and hand him the clipboard. I took the liberty to already fill out the form for him. He was in treatment after a failed run at a similar situation, where there was a massacre. Five agents were killed, and two permanently crippled, just based on what I read. They barely put down one of the servants, who took shots with a .45 gun as if they were gentle love taps. I am a pencil pusher, and not even specialized, according to my management. By the evening of the next day, the ink will dry on a watertight national security contract.

I smile, and pat him once on the shoulder, taking the factory sealed package of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, and into mine. My steps take me past the crowd that still watches the scene unfold.

I know, in 15 minutes, the blanks will have an idea of what just happened. They will pull photos of the scene, and will track Benjamin King. The files about him have been carefully crafted by the company.

By midnight, tonight, the blanks will have assumed that a rival faction of them was responsible for the atrocity. They will weigh the risks and rewards of continuing, and a young promising man that just occasionally drinks the blood of aberrant monsters will be told that while it is sad that his fiancee died, he will pack up his things, and go into hiding. His skills are unwavering, and important to keep his masters save.

Activity between his masters will increase, and soon, his masters will attack the rival faction, which in turn will retaliate. The company has told me this. I believe the company. I am good at my job with the company.

I pull out of the parking space, and into general traffic. 15 minutes allow me a comfortable distance to the scene, as the blanks panic, and pull their forces together. It takes time for the aging router to reset. You really think power outages are random? They pretty much get the same face that Benjamin King has. I have spread his DNA at the scene of the crime, his fingerprints, his spit….

In a traffic jam, I risk a glance to both sides, and pull out a white fluffy towel, to just dry my very sweaty face. The people to the left and the right of me just stare, as they try to throw curses at the traffic control software that controls the phases of the local lights. Using a computer guided model, it is possible to make a traffic jam that happens the exact moment you want to. It is amazing what is possible if you plan an operation right. Takeout, anyone? Wanna try Uber?

I am trapped between two big trucks, and blindly, just by feel, I open the cigarettes. I take one of them out, smell them, and put it under the towel. I stick it into my mouth, and munch it down.

The effect is immediate. I feel something resembling bliss. The tumors that are giving me these headaches are going down, and I can feel them dissolving. I know what is in those cigarettes, because I try to be health conscious. I reach, blind, for my wallet, and affix a new identity card to my Suit Jacket. The card shows a white face, reasonably innocent, with great posture, a nose that is easy on the eye, and just a bit of blonde beard.

As the knocking comes from the window,. I reach blind for the 100 dollar bill. Those are the rules. I can hear the south mexican accent, I can smell the stink, but I do not care. I reach the bill up to the slit of my window, and get a packet of chicklets stuffed into my fingers. No more personal interaction is necessary.

People do not pay attention. The chicklet seller disappears without a trace. The towel goes off my face, and I check my blonde beard. IT is so refreshing, when I can be a new person. People would pay a lot to be able to do what I do.

I affix the glasses from the glove compartment to my face. I smile, and count down, and as the count reaches 0, the congestion opens up.

Silly, how such a traffic jam can just clean up. Must be a coincidence.

“Ferectoi”, the voice in my implanted headset calls me. Bane child. It is not the famous actress, though I wish it was. I like to meet famous people. She would not know what a Fomori is. She would have to be taught.

I put the car in drive, and carefully, make my way to the next appointment. Trying not to think about what precisely is growing in my head, why precisely some of my coworkers will never ever be seen again, and what the chiclets that I bought from a supposed street vendor are.

A good company man does not think. Pentex, my company, takes care of making that very clear.

I sink back, and listen to the instructions, told to me by a computerized voice that is as fake as the idea that I feel any remorse about what I have done. Or the assertion that I am fully human.

Other people take it as a compliment when someone calls them an individual. I do not.

I take pride in being a team player, a company man, and a “suit” for a consulting company, Pentex International. There are other people like me on staff. We are the ones that have been deemed to be good enough to have customer exposure.

Pentex, I read an advertising board along the side of the highway. Just another way to spell Family.