Field Agent Monologue
Welcome back, Raymond. The screen flickers to life, black text on white screen. Have a Better Day. And then it clicks off sudenly, glowing slowly back to life, the only text: Installing updates - 1 / 3. 1%.
Ray tries not to sigh, settling back onto his chair. He’s already starting to remember how much he hates desk work. There’s a reason he climbed the ranks to field agent so quickly, and computer updates and one-size-fits-every-ass hard plastic chairs definitely contributed to the decision.
Nothing has changed, not that he really expected it to. His desk is exactly the same, save for the INBOX file folder at the corner, which he’s sure wasn’t empty before he left. That’s annoying. He likes his paperwork done a certain way, and if Carol …show more content…
Thats a lot of urgent tags. He skims over them long enough that his vision starts to slip, and fuck. He can already feel the headache blooming in the bridge of his nose. Adjusting has been a lot easier than he initially expected it to be, but he still hasn’t quite gotten the hang of concentrating on screens. The sharp contrast kind of hurts, actually, but he’s been thinking that since he walked into the blindingly - ha - white building, even before he’d lost an eye.
It’s all a little overwhelming. It shouldn’t be - it can’t be - but it is. Ray’s starting to thinking all of this is a bad idea. It’s barely been two hours and he’s already missing his apartment. It feels wrong.
Rolling his shoulders, Ray catches sight of Mark Beside The Copier giving him a strange, hard look, and - ugh. Ray stills himself suddenly, stopping the tapsweak tapsqueak he’d been making bouncing his leg. He almost offers a small smile, but ducks his head instead, remembering the bandage still taped over part of his face, and sets to work sorting through his email, headache be damned. …show more content…
Three days, he’s been here.
“Because you’re a criminal!” Ray’s losing his temper, and fast. It doesn’t happen often. He prides himself on a long fuse and cool demeanour, but something about being tied up in a hot, small room with little circulation is messing with that.
“What’s my crime?” Poison shouts back, and the words die right in Ray;s mouth. He’s memorized every word in Poison’s file, can trace in his mind the three paragraphs with the ends cut off slightly from a line of printer ink. He knows every infraction, every piece of intel, from the ID number down to the colour of paint found in his wake, but the question is so absurd that Ray splutters, draws a blank.
“Not taking some pills? Making some art? Being alive?” The kid continues. “You’re an idiot, you’re all - all of you, so blind. Popping back those pills, letting them into your heads. Have you ever had a single original thought?”
“Those pill keep us healthy - keep us alive.”
Poison stretches his arms out. “I haven’t taken a pill in eight years. Do I look dead to you?”
“You look insane.” Ray levels him. “Delusional. Better Living Industries can help you if you choose to cooperate - there are rehabilitation
Ray tries not to sigh, settling back onto his chair. He’s already starting to remember how much he hates desk work. There’s a reason he climbed the ranks to field agent so quickly, and computer updates and one-size-fits-every-ass hard plastic chairs definitely contributed to the decision.
Nothing has changed, not that he really expected it to. His desk is exactly the same, save for the INBOX file folder at the corner, which he’s sure wasn’t empty before he left. That’s annoying. He likes his paperwork done a certain way, and if Carol …show more content…
Thats a lot of urgent tags. He skims over them long enough that his vision starts to slip, and fuck. He can already feel the headache blooming in the bridge of his nose. Adjusting has been a lot easier than he initially expected it to be, but he still hasn’t quite gotten the hang of concentrating on screens. The sharp contrast kind of hurts, actually, but he’s been thinking that since he walked into the blindingly - ha - white building, even before he’d lost an eye.
It’s all a little overwhelming. It shouldn’t be - it can’t be - but it is. Ray’s starting to thinking all of this is a bad idea. It’s barely been two hours and he’s already missing his apartment. It feels wrong.
Rolling his shoulders, Ray catches sight of Mark Beside The Copier giving him a strange, hard look, and - ugh. Ray stills himself suddenly, stopping the tapsweak tapsqueak he’d been making bouncing his leg. He almost offers a small smile, but ducks his head instead, remembering the bandage still taped over part of his face, and sets to work sorting through his email, headache be damned. …show more content…
Three days, he’s been here.
“Because you’re a criminal!” Ray’s losing his temper, and fast. It doesn’t happen often. He prides himself on a long fuse and cool demeanour, but something about being tied up in a hot, small room with little circulation is messing with that.
“What’s my crime?” Poison shouts back, and the words die right in Ray;s mouth. He’s memorized every word in Poison’s file, can trace in his mind the three paragraphs with the ends cut off slightly from a line of printer ink. He knows every infraction, every piece of intel, from the ID number down to the colour of paint found in his wake, but the question is so absurd that Ray splutters, draws a blank.
“Not taking some pills? Making some art? Being alive?” The kid continues. “You’re an idiot, you’re all - all of you, so blind. Popping back those pills, letting them into your heads. Have you ever had a single original thought?”
“Those pill keep us healthy - keep us alive.”
Poison stretches his arms out. “I haven’t taken a pill in eight years. Do I look dead to you?”
“You look insane.” Ray levels him. “Delusional. Better Living Industries can help you if you choose to cooperate - there are rehabilitation