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+--- Thread: Big Brother's Agency (/showthread.php?tid=7241)
Big Brother's Agency - Mystica - 10-05-2013
Rapping. A constant knocking in the dome if his dreaming. He listened as the colour fluctuated with each volume outburst, making the eyes behind his lids feel swollen and large. With each knock, the pressure increased, until he felt something burst.
DUNK DUNK DUNK
His eyes fluttered open, taking in the sideways view of the western wall of his office. He could feel his arm beneath him, stabbed with pins and needles, having fallen asleep beneath the weight of his head. He had been forcibly awaken by this constant knocking, and the frustration was evident upon his face as it twisted into an annoyed snarl. Of course, this anger was simply the overlying emotion. Somewhere in the background, he felt a twinge of embarrassment in his heart for having fallen asleep at his desk. He'd only done that twice before in his life: once in school during an all-nighter, and once in New York after a horrid night's sleep, having been kept awake by the stabbing feeling of regret in his chest.
With the grogginess still fading away, David slipped out of his chair without a sound and slunk over to the door. The moonlight beamed in behind him from the window, lighting the room in a wan, dull light. Dust particles waltzed across the beam, shattering to and fro when David passed through them. His phantom figure swept across the room, and landed against the door. He hadn't gotten an eyehole inserted in the door yet, so unfortunately, he would be forced to open the door to welcome his nighttime intruder. This struck him at the basest of his survival instincts. He'd always hated not knowing who was waiting just behind a flimsy piece of wood. It could always very well be the hand of death knocking at his office.
With hands shaking from the sudden adrenaline rush from the depth of his reptilian brain, David flung open the door, ready for the absolute worst.
He got it.
In the dead light of the night, he witnessed before him the weasel-like face of Steve Sayors, a portly, bearded camera man on his tail, the light from the camera blinding David momentarily. Sayors, with sweating, greasy palms, pressed his microphone forward toward David.
Within seconds, David had closed the door in his face, enjoying the satisfying click as the bolt fell into the latch.
"No," David said simply.
From the other side of the door, Sayors pleaded impotently.
"Come on, just a few words for the website!"
David pressed his fingers into his eye sockets, trying to nurse away the throbbing headache the very image of the interview team had brewed. With a heavy sigh, he pulled the door open again, to glare out at the two cockroaches on his doorstep.
"I wasn't talking to you," David replied. "I was simply in bafflement as to how you even found me! This office is unlisted! My number is unlisted! My entire life is unknown to the upper echelons of the company! How in the bloody hell did you find me?!"
Sayors shrunk back a bit, but held his footing. He slowly, ever-so-meekly, lifted the microphone to his own lips, which quivered in the aggression of the moment.
"After your tenure as interim GM, the Administrator Network is beginning to look into XWF employees' personal and professional lives."
"That seems a bit Orwellian, no?" David offered, stepping aside to allow the violet of a man and his burly camera worker into the office. David quickly glanced down the stairs that led out of the building, and then slammed the door shut behind him, locking it.
"If you have the capabilities of finding me, the Network must be pulling some strings. Possibly illegal. But no one's looked into it. Deeds done in the dark."
Sayors shrugged nervously, trying not to let his already thin shoulders make him appear any tinier than he already was.
"I don't know anything about it. They just tell me where to go and who to talk to."
David narrowed his eyes at Sayors, carefully studying the man's mannerisms and physical reactions for signs of lying. He was already a nervous guy, so the effort was made all the more difficult. He wasn't dealing with a man who had no confidence in his job, let alone in lying. Then, something struck him. If the administration had access to information regarding his past...
"Camera off," David ordered, pointing to the portly gentleman, who lowered it at David's behest. David marched over to the man, muttered "not off enough," and slammed the camera, lens first, into the oaken edge of his desk. There was the sound of something shattering, and David handed the broken camera back to its operator.
"Good," David muttered, looking back to the interviewer.
"Ask away, Steven."