Prologue
Clank.
Clonk.
Clank, clank.
Bzzz. Brrr-bzzz.
The gross light
emanating from the ceiling encapsulated the rusty room, surrounding
every corner with the incessant buzz of the electrical wires cracking.
The boots stepping on disjointed patches of metallic floor. El
Chamán adjusted his skull printed mask as he was in front of the
last door of the corridor. Two men who clad military suits covered his
back, not for protection, however - but to ensure he kept forward.
Chamán
knew this was his biggest gig, his breakthrough. Therefore he
didn’t hesitate to open the door full of confidence. He
contemplated the room and his spirits dropped instantly.
It was clearly
an office, something he got briefed about. Yet, disappointment was hard
to hide when he saw only a desolated desk with a tape and a Walkman
with headphones already plugged in. He closed the door and let his
escort to await promptly. Upon inspecting the room, the only
interesting thing seemed to be the framed map with a few markings on
bright red. Freshly added. Other than that, not even a single file
cabinet, or a plant. Just another sad and cheap light over his head.
“I would
have preferred some cooler set up. Some room of smoking upper heads or
so waiting to discourage me…”
He mindlessly
looked at the map as he took the cassette and put it into the Walkman.
With butter fingers, letting some of his own lowered confidence make
him scared to accidentally push the record button rather than play, he
finally set up the headphones down his mask to his heart. After the
click, however, the tape didn’t seem to start.
He waited a bit
before making sure it was the other way around. There were no
indications of the side to hear, but as he was checking up again the
map, a distorted voice finally greeted him.
“Agente Chamán.
We are highly sorry we cannot offer you a proper dispatch for your
mission nor an appropriate briefing. We have little time. You will be
sent as a special neutral unit to inspect one of our NOC projects
location as part of a recognition mission. We cannot disclose further
information as we cannot acknowledge this operation officially.”
So, they are probably sending me to one of those meat grinders?
“Your
destination is the 17th Division. Ppack your essential gear as soon as
possible and don’t be late if you don’t want to be confused
as the enemy. If any of the members does mistake you as one of their
targets, you may get your entry denied. And remember, don’t
engage as much as possible. We only need to check if the Divisions are
working as pretended, or if we have to use our resources in other more
profitable success-wise operations.” Chamán looked at the
map, locating the 17th. “Be sure to leave no trace. We believe in
you.”
The man only
heard static after that last line. He stood, and made sure there was no
post-credits scene. Once he was certain, he took the tape and threw it
to the floor to crush it with his boot. But he kept the Walkman. By the
time he left the hall, the two agents that escorted him took his time
to crack a pack of cigarettes.
“Do you
think this one will obey just like a pup? He seemed like he could piss
his pants at any minute and run away.”
His companion laughed.
“What of it? Is not like we are hurting for lap dogs at the CIA.”