The office of Agent Presley Bell was cold and dark, cut off from the world just outside the large windows by heavy wooden blinds-- mostly shut, but left open enough to allow for some of the light of the late morning to stream in, forming lines much like the bars on a jail cell, shadowed across the room. Large, dark oak bookshelves lined the walls, filled with heavy books, folders, knick-knacks, and awards. A single plant stood in the corner between two of the bookcases, a non-descript tree that would be found in any office. Cabinets stood behind the desk, topped with more awards and stacks of files. The desk bore few decorations, namely a few pictures and a Newton's Cradle resting on a far corner of a large executive desk, clicking away in the silence that hung in the stiff air.
In front of the desk were two simple chairs with arms, a man sitting in the one on the left side. Agent Roy Vega. His head was lowered, gaze cast down to his hands, clasped together in his lap. He twiddled his thumbs, anxiety raking through his body though he tried to hide it. His joints were stiff as he fought the urge to move. To squirm. The silence was unbearable. Agent Bell's fingers somehow moved soundlessly across his keyboard, hardly a tap to be heard as he typed on the silent keyboard, pausing at times to click on something before again typing away. True torture. Roy had just about had enough of it.
Finally, with one final click, Agent Bell sat back from his computer screen, pulling off a pair of reading glasses as he turned and faced the man sitting before him.
"Thank you for your patience, Agent Vega," Bell spoke, voice hard, words short, tone holding an icy chill that nearly made Roy shudder in his seat. Agent Bell fell silent again, watching the other man with an almost hostile gaze. He shifted then, moving to lean forward on the desk, setting his glasses, folded, to the side and lacing his fingers together, "Shall we be on with this then?"
Nodding in response, Roy lifted his head to almost meet his supervisor's gaze, though found himself staring at the man's nose instead, "Yes sir," he responded, praying his voice stayed even as he spoke, "Let's begin."
With a curt nod, Bell gave a simple, "Good," in response, then continued with, "I'm sure you know why you're in my office today, Agent Vega, but why don't we take a moment and have a little review? Hm? Five months ago you wrote to me proposing a new project. A project you had proposed once before, but what's more, a project I initially shot down. Can you think of any reason why I would decline this project, Agent Vega?"
"Yes sir," Roy answered immediately.
"And what would be that reason, Agent Vega?" Bell pressed.
Roy drew in a calming breath, swallowing back his growing nerves, and said, "The project held too grand of a risk, sir."
Agent Bell let out a laugh at that answer, "Is that all you think?" he questioned, then scowled as he went on, "Agent Vega, with all due respect, you should know by now that the project to which you cling so fiercely is--and always has been--the deranged beliefs of an absolute fool. To take incarcerated villains, free them of their confines--their restraints--and allow them to run amock through cities--around the general public--and hope, by some chance, that not only can they apprehend those villains which even our own operatives have failed to capture for years, but that by doing so, said criminals will somehow be reformed into, what, heroes?" Bell let out another laugh, but it was a sour sound, bursting out through a stinging sneer as the man shook his head, "Twelve incident reports, Agent Vega. I've had to write twelve incident reports in the three months your project has been up and running. Tell me, just how do you think this makes us look? How do you think this reflects on the DNCC?"
"To be fair, sir," Roy started and immediately regretted his words. Was he really about to start arguing with his supervisor? It was too late to turn back. Roy strived to make his words sound as inoffensive as he could, "My team hasn't exactly had the best support. Nor have we had the greatest of odds in regards to the missions we've been assigned." Nope, that was definitely wrong. Roy wished he could take the words back. Rewind time and just sit in silence while Agent Bell chastised him like a child. It felt awful, but at least it would be better than actively upsetting the man. This was definitely not the time to be upsetting the man.
Sure enough, Agent Bell did not look the least bit amused by Roy's words, and his scowl grew deeper, "Your team, Agent Vega, has been responsible for the deaths of nearly four dozen civilians, the injury of three-hundred innocent people, and over thirty-five billion dollars in property damage! Whatever 'support' you feel your team deserves. Is. Null! Whatever 'odds' you feel were placed against you? Absolutely irrelevant! If your team can't handle themselves on a mission even enough to simply lose the target without casualty, then what good are they doing in the overall purpose of this project, to begin with, Agent Vega? You claim this program will reform these rampant renegades you've collected, but all I've seen is a pack of chaotic animals spreading sheer chaos through the streets! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put an end to the Hounds Initiative right now and have those hell-risen demons sent back to their fiery pits where they belong!"
"Malcolm Grey wrote-"
"I don't want to hear about Malcolm Grey! I've heard enough about Malcolm Grey! Malcolm Grey was a crazed lunatic with delusional ideals and an egotistical view of good versus wrong. The man believed that laws were subjective and that morality was nothing more than perspective. The only good that came from Malcolm Grey's article on the so-called 'spectrum of humanity' was predicting the inevitable fall of a once-honored hero. A prediction we failed to see until it was too late. I'm sure, Agent Vega, I needn't remind you of the horror that was the Montreal Massacre."
Roy was silent, his head dipping at the supervisor's final words, hands gripping his knees, fingers clawing at the fabric of his dress pants as he fought to hold his composure, "No sir..." he answered tightly, quietly, unable to lift his head once more to meet Agent Bell's harsh gaze, "I'm all too familiar with the tragedy."
"Then enlighten me, Agent Vega," Bell said coldly, "Why should I allow this harmful charade to continue wreaking havoc on our country?"
Again, Roy was silent, thoughts swirling around in his mind as he frantically searched for the right answer to give. He knew that no amount of reasoning through Grey's teachings would get through to the man. He knew that a speech based on hope and belief would only get him thrown out of the office. He had nothing, and the longer the silence held, the greater the tension in the air grew. The Newton's Cradle still swung, each click sending the ball on the other side flying away from the rest of the line, and each clack sending the energy straight back in the other direction.
That was when it hit him. Roy raised his head, sitting up straighter in his seat, and finally met Agent Bell's dark gaze, "Proof of concept," he said simply, "Trueheart's fall wasn't a disproval of Grey's theories, sir, but rather,
a proof of concept. If a hero
so grand as to be treated as a
god can fall into the darkest shades of morality, then why can't a villain,
seen as an irredeemable monster, rise to the lightest of shades in turn?"
"Because it simply hasn't happened, Vega," Bell replied dully, "and it never
will. It just isn't possible. The scale of morality is
not a two-way street. There is indisputable good, and then the path to evil. That is all there
ever has been, and all there
ever will be. You have to
accept it and
move on."
Shaking his head, Roy stood and stepped forward to set his hands on Bell's desk and lean in, "You and I
both know, Agent Bell, this program-- This
project-- These
people. All of it. This
movement is a movement for change. With the success of the Hounds Initiative-- For I assure you, sir, it
will inevitably succeed in the end, and when it does, it will bring about a
revolutionary change in our society.
Indisputable proof," his hand beat the desk for emphasis, "of the scale of morality being fluid and free.
Indisputable proof," again his hand hit, "that our society is not lost, but rather, misguided.
Indisputable proof," once more Roy drove his hand into the desk, fingers curing into a fist as quickly gained the strength and confidence he needed to stand up to his supervisor, "that anyone,
even a villain, can be a hero. And who stands at the center of this commendable discovery? None other than the Department of Numan Control, and by that vain,
Agent Presley Bell, who initiated the project and stood by it to its glorious end!"
Agent Bell shot to his feet in a flurry of motion, slamming his hands down on the desk as his chair spun out of control behind him in the wake of his action, "
Do not preach at me, Vega!" he snapped, "Sit your ass down
right now or I’ll have you dragged out of this office!"
Roy stood his ground, gaze unbreaking from that of Agent Bell, "The Hounds Initiative has merit!" he shot back, "Admit it! Admit that you
see it! If you didn’t see at least a
glimmer of integrity--an
ounce of caliber in this program, you would have never approved it.
So admit it, Bell! Admit that you see what The Hounds Initiative," a sudden laugh escaped Roy then as he shifted and added, "What
The Hell’s Renegades have to offer not just this country, but the
world!"
At this, Agent Bell was the one to fall silent, and remain so for quite some time. He stared at Roy, hard gaze seeming to dig through the man, churning away at his surface like a farmer tilling the ground in preparation for the sowing of his seeds. It tore at Roy in a way that made him feel vile and wrong, but he helped his stance, refusing to let the man intimidate him more. The silence gripped the scene like a feral animal, begging to be released, and all the while, the Newton’s Cradle still clacked away.
Finally, the supervisor shifted, pulling away from the desk, and turned to pull his chair back over, sitting as he did and turning to face Agent Vega once again, "Take a seat, Agent Vega," he said, voice lacking any indication--any
insight into the man’s mind.
Roy obliged, pulling away from the massive executive desk and sitting back down in the puny little chair that stood in front of it. He didn’t feel as small as he had earlier. Despite Agent Bell’s masked state, he knew he had the man. This was how it always went, after all.
"End of year," Agent Bell stated shortly, "You and your team have until the end of this year to get your shit together. If I see
one more instance of poor publicity, that’s it. I’m cutting the program and you and your Hounds are going straight back to the holes you all crawled out of. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Roy smiled, "Thank you. I promise you won’t regret this."
"Don’t promise me anything," the man scoffed, "Just deliver results, and
don’t disappoint me again."
"Understood sir."
"Now get the hell out of my office, Vega," Agent Bell waved dismissively, setting his head in his other hand, as he slowly pinched at the bridge of his nose, "I’ve had just about enough of you to last me until the end of this year."
Still smiling, Roy returned to his feet and started for the door. He paused on his way, stopping at the corner of the desk and setting his hand to stop the flow of the Newton’s cradle, gently pressing the ball on one side in place until the movement stopped, before continuing out if the office. The time for sitting idly by was over. It was time to take action.
Showtime blokes and bitches!"
The yell rang out through the cavernous hallways of the Lockdown Unit, breaking the silence of the absurdly early morning as a man with pure white hair took off running from the far end of the hall towards the communal space near the front of the unit. As he went, small blasts of multi-colored light shot from his hands, striking into each of the doors he passed on the way and shaking each door with an intense B A N G that was impossible for any soul to ignore.
"Rise and shine, motherfuckers!" he continued to shout as he turned to face the hall behind him, cupping his six-fingered hands around his mouth to direct his voice ahead, "If I can't bloody sleep, then guess what, neither can all of you!"
A pair of guards was sitting at the table in the living area, playing cards and watching a movie on the projector screen. They jumped up at the start of the commotion, before inevitably making way to the rambunctious man still causing a scene so early in the morning.
"Sabriel!" one guard snapped, "For fuck's sake, this is the third night in a row. Can't you just be fucking normal?"
"Sorry, love," the man, Sabriel Kudera, threw his head back to look at the guard, casually brushing a piece of his hair to the side as he flashed the man a flirtatious smile, "I'm afraid 'normal' just isn't quite in my vocabulary. Perhaps you could offer me a lesson~ I really am such a hands-on learner, you know~"
The guard rolled his eyes and shook his head, "For the last time, Sabriel, not gonna happen. I have a girlfriend."
Sabriel turned to face the guard, still smiling, "Daww~ What she doesn't know won't hurt her! C'mon big boy, let's have some fun! Maybe then I can finally sleep!" Sabriel threw his arms up, but quickly drew them back in as he suddenly recoiled in pain, "OW!" he burst, ducking his head down and putting his hands to the back of his skull, "Bloody hell, that fucking hurt!"
Behind him, another had joined the scene. None other than the resident insomniac, Harper Willard, who stood behind Sabriel with a heavy scowl, holding a firm stance, their hands close to their body and legs set to keep them grounded. With a quick flurry of motion, they swung their leg, and struck straight into Sabriel's tailbone, sending the man stumbling and falling to the ground with another yell of pain.
Rolling over as he hit the ground, Sabriel looked up at Harper, at first in shock, but his expression quickly shifted to one of anger, and he sneered at the other individual. He threw up two fingers in the middle of his set of six and thrust the gesture at his attacker, to which Harper responded with a similar gesture of their own.
"Oh, fuck you, Harper!" Sabriel spat, starting to get back up to his feet with an irritable growl.
Before he could get far, however, Harper kicked him right back down and slammed their foot down on the ground for emphasis. They closed their two first fingers to their thumb in a quick motion, then pointed fiercely at Sabriel, sneering right back at the man, before they turned swiftly and stormed back toward the hall, shoving whatever sorry sap happened to be in their way as they went.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you!" Sabriel yelled after them, obviously trying to get the last word in, as though it would make a difference in the fact that he had just had his ass handed to him.
"Honestly," the second guard spoke as the first made way after Harper to ensure they didn't cause any further violence, "Can't you all go just one night without trying to kill each other?"
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