Chapter 2: Another Swig

Mike woke to blaring sound. The world outside his window was alive, and hardly silent about it. He got up from his single bed, and saw his scattered possessions on the floor. He stood up, and walked to his cupboard, avoiding stepping on his scattered clothes. He removed his pyjamas, and put on his black t-shirt. Over it, he wore first a jean vest, and then changed to his blue windbreaker. He walked to the door of his one bedroom apartment, and then promptly turned to walk to his toilet to take a shit. After about ten minutes, he finally walked out his door.

His apartment was one of seven on the third floor. His building was breaking down, the paint chipping and the cement below falling off in small chunks. There was one central staircase, with it's metal railing and cement steps. Mike walked down the stairs, taking two at a time, until he fell down a small flight of stairs. After that ordeal, he resorted walking down the steps one at a time. Mike called a cab on his phone, and sat in it. The base was about five minutes away, but he wished to stop at a café before he reached work. Breakfast was an appetizing indulgence right about now, as he had refrained from eating dinner last night. On the way to his breakfast, Mike messaged Frank, 'Srry to hear about the 3 week suspend'. Frank replied about a minute later, 'Eh, it's nothing.' Frank followed it with another message, 'You owe me dinner. And a debrief about what all happened today.' Mike replied in turn, 'Very well'.

After getting his food, Mike walked the rest of the way to the SCOPE headquarters, stuffing in his bagel and guzzling down his soft drink. After that, he threw his waste in a bin, evidently missing the fact that the bin he just used was for biodegradable waste, and not for fast food plastic. He finally found himself at his office, at about 11 in the morning. He was greeted with bustling hundreds, when he opened the door. Ray waved at him from about fifteen metres away, and began to walk towards him from his current conversation with Darla, who he waved away. Ray walked with purpose, and a smile decorating his face, "Michael. You have orders from boss. Some threat or the other. Darla will give you the information." Just as that, Ray walked away towards the file department. By then, Darla had walked to Mike, "Mike, Mr Hudson has given a mission for you. Mr Falco's remaining cronies. They seem to be having a meeting to discuss their boss' death, tomorrow. You will be working surveillance on the gathering, accompanied by two other agents."

"Cool. Winter, have you seen Cole?" Mike asked.

"Oh, yes. He is with his brother, in the lab. You will find your mission file on your desk, and you must meet Mr Williams tomorrow for mission statement." Darla turned around, and walked up the staircase to John's office. Mike walked to the staircase, but went down to the lab. The basement was a fearful attraction in the base, spewing out new gear, and even new gifted. 'Project Fist' was a remarkably successful operation, Frank being one of it's more successful by-products. Yet in these hallowed underground halls, had been practiced many unsavoury projects, 'Project Grim', 'Project A' and 'Project God's Hand' the foremost of these. Mike walked to Colin's desk, a mess of files, experiments and unholy creations. One file which caught Mike's eye was something about soul transfer, with a big 'unsuccessful' watermark stamped on it. Colin was hunched, working on his gauntlet. Mike tried to catch his attention, "Have you seen your brother?"

"I did see him like ten minutes ago. But I don't know where your boyfriend is right about now."

"Not my boyfriend. We broke up."

Colin's ears perked up for a second, and he turned his head to stare into Mike's eyes, narrowing his own eyes as he gazed, and then finally shaking his head and turning back to his gauntlet, waving off Mike. Mike shook his own head, and then walked to the stairs. He was dejected in not finding Cole, but shook it off. They had broken up one and half months ago, and had decided to stay friends. Yet, evidently Cole had been avoiding Mike, dividing his time between training new recruits and testing out his brother's inventions. Frank teased Mike for being a stalker when it came to Cole, but Mike found the information of where his ex spent his time awfully calming. Mike walked up the stairs, and walked to his desk, sitting down on his chair and taking up the file on it. It spoke about the meeting between the idiots working below the Falcon. Mike reasoned that your life must be hot garbage if you resorted to working under a bird-costumed renegade to earn your living. The mission would be a piece of cake, if even that hard, and it would take the lesser part of an afternoon to clear it. As he thought this, he was given the less-than-welcoming sight of a drunk Easton. The man stumbled into the building through the main door, a great warning for children against intoxication. Easton was inebriated off his mind, and seemed to be walking with no purpose, except a purpose to kiss the floor when he inevitably fell, which he did. Mike got up from his chair, kept down his file, and slowly walked toward the fallen drunk. He carefully stepped over the body, and then kneeled to stare at Easton's face.

"I take it the date didn't go well."

"Somehow, telling a girl you are a secret agent only furthers them into believing you are a loon."

"To be honest, I can't blame her. You are a loon."

"Naff off. I feel like shit."

"Aye, I can see that. If you didn't notice, there aren't too many people sleeping on the floor in here."

Easton got up from his sleeping spot, and sat up. He raised his arm to shove Mike, but only succeeded in unbalancing himself back to the floor. He stood up this time, towering over the kneeling Mike, and kicked purposelessly at Mike. The kneeling boy felt the impact in his chest, but kept his ground. He was painfully aware of all the glances they were getting from working agents, and stood up and dusted himself off. Easton walked to Mike's desk, and plopped himself down on the revolving chair, setting it into motion, and spinning like a crazed maniac, which, let's be honest, he was. Mike walked to the chair, and stopped it from it's revolution, and pushed it forward to drop Easton unto the floor. Easton didn't linger too long on the floor this time, and stood up with enough speed that he began to feel his head hurt. Mike sat on his chair, and stared at the stumbling Easton, who was catching his head like one dumb drunk. Easton opened his mouth, yawning first, and then speaking, "Curse you, hunter. Well, I'm not gonna stay here and be ridiculed by you." Easton turned and began to stumble away.

Mike called out to him, "Easton!"

Easton looked back, "What?" He said, catching his head in his palms.

"Oh, nothing. Take care," Mike said, a smile decorating his face. Easton had clear irritation on his face, annoyed about turning his head, which had given him yet another headache, to even look at Mike, who was only messing with him.

Easton turned back to his destination, shaking his head and subsequently catching his face in his palms. Mike began laughing, and then turned to the file on his desk. He found his eyes linger at the 'SCOPE' watermark on the paper, feeling his eyes narrow their gaze. Mike had worked for SCOPE since he had been 13, and hardly remembered anything from before that. He could faintly picture his mother, but came up with a blank when he tried to remember his father. The world before his initiation in SCOPE was a faint nightmare in his dreams, yet he wanted to go back to that world, when waking up didn't mean one more tedious mission, and going back home didn't mean cleaning the blood from your coat. Mike felt his mind wander to the Falcon, and the glimmer of blood and brains that had been that fiend's end. 'Hell must be refuge for the forsaken' Mike thought once more, knowing he was just trying to justify the cold-blooded murder. He didn't doubt that the blame for the death was on Frank, but yet, Frank had been trying to save Mike. Mike had oft reminisced on his first kill. It had been a blurry image, filled with fire and despair, as if the very air was crying. Mike, in some madness, smashed his fist on the desk, and felt no pain from the impact. Memories came slow to him, and he found pain came even slower.

Mike grabbed the beer and walked to his table. Frank was sitting there, with what seemed to be an awfully ponderous tome in his hands. Frank raised his gaze for a mere second from his book, to glance at Mike with his beer, and shook his head. He kept down the book, and picked up one of the tankards, and took in a swig. He smashed down the glass on the table, after sipping about a quarter of the glass. Mike began to speak, with a stupid grin decorating his face, "I swear, the only time you are fun is when you have a glass in your hand." Frank heard the jab, but just stared in reply, then took another swig of his filthy drink.

Only did he set it down, that he opened his mouth, "Aye, and the only time you are fun is when you are gagged. But barring that, what happened in the base today? Did you see Emma?"

Mike found another stupid grin, this time involving all of his teeth, creep back onto his face, "Calm down, Romeo." He took a swig of his own beverage, "No, I did not see your beloved." Another swig, "And nothing really happened at base today. I did see a drunk Easton today, but that's as common as seeing a pigeon in the park."

Frank found some disgust to decorate his face between his swigs, "Again? I guess the date didn't go well?"

"Aye, and he was blackout drunk to prove it."

"Unfortunate, very unfortunate. Did you see Cole today?" Frank inquired, still having a sober and somewhat disgusted look on his face.

"Nah," Mike replied, taking another swig of his beer.

"Very well. I guess I will see you sooner or later." Frank took a final and deep drink, finishing his beverage, and setting down the tankard on the table, along with the money for the beer.

Mike was displeased, "It's a goddamn beer. Take back your money. I am not yet poor"

"No," Frank said, finally letting some of the alcohol seep into his voice.

"Take the money, or I'll shove it up your arse," Mike replied, taking his final sip, and setting down his beer. A smile still found it's way on his face.

"Very, very well," Frank spoke, to no one in particular, and walked away, taking the money with him, and walking through the door and into the dark and somber night.