Author: Bulgroz the Third Title: The Adjusters #32 - A Wedding and an Orientation Keywords: MF, mc Posted: September 1, 2012 Edited: September 1, 2012 BOOK III: DO YOU TAKE THIS WOMAN? The Adjusters #32 A Wedding and an Orientation (Beckley, West Virginia. Twelve months ago.) He walks in the back of the church when he knows no one is looking. Not that anyone would notice him, really--he was always good at fading into crowds, and there is nothing that distinguishes him from the rest of the guests. He has donned his best suit for the occasion, which helps greatly. He is nevertheless nervous. He makes his way to the rectory, to the side of the chapel. He tries his best to avoid people on the way, which turns out to be easy because everyone is busy welcoming one another and introducing themselves to those they do not know. There is joy in the air, the joy of two families coming together, and that joy bolsters him, lightens his bones, provides succor. He hides behind a convenient column when he sees the door of the rectory open. What has to be the Maid of Honor comes out, looking excited and fetching in her long apple red gown. She giggles a "I love you" back into the room she is departing before closing the door behind her and hurrying down the hallway as fast as the heels she clearly is not used to wearing allow her. He feels the pull to follow her. But he resists. He has a mission. After a last look around, he heads to the door of the rectory, and opens it quietly. A rapid glance confirms that the room is empty but for the woman he expected to find there. Careful not to make any noise, he creeps into the room and closes and locks the door after him. "You always forget something, Sherry!" quips the bride without turning around, her back to him, too busy looking at herself in the long stand-alone mirror that has been placed in the middle of the room "What is it this time?" As he takes two steps towards her, he cannot help but be astonished by how stunning the bride is. Her long white dress flares at the hips the way a princess's dress does in fairy tales, but still managed to cling to her torso like a second skin, working perfectly to emphasize her generous chest and her thin waist. She must have been fasting for the last few days, he thinks. Her long blonde hair cascade down her back in lazy curls. She has clearly elected to not go with the severe bun that brides the world over seem to favor. He approves. He feels the already hard cock in his pants approve as well. The bride--Natalie, her name is Natalie, he remembers--turns to look, suddenly worried about her friend's silence. She registers that he is an intruder but shock keeps her still. He can see on her face that she is about to scream, but not quickly enough. Just as she opens her mouth, he reaches with a hand and touches her shoulder. As soon as his fingers make contact with her naked skin, that odd quasi-electric sensation that he is still not used to travels down his arm and makes the tip of his fingers tingle. Natalie's scream seem to die in her throat. While her mouth remains open, frozen in place, her face has gone slack and her eyes have lost focus, as if she was fascinated by some internal show of lights that reminded her of her carefree youth. He slowly pulls his hand away, keeping it at the ready in case she swoons and loses her balance. But she does not. Her head seems to clear, and her eyes recover their life and their spirit. She looks at him then, her face relaxed, pleasant, receptive. He realizes he is holding his breath. He had been afraid that it would not work. That the tests he had performed until now had been flukes, coincidences, accidents. He had been afraid that his plans to fulfill his Destiny, to raise his Ministry, to proclaim his Divinity, would die on the crucible of harsh reality. "Hello, Natalie," he says, keeping his voice low. "Hi," she responds, her voice clear, happy, expectant. She looks at him as if he is the whole world, and indeed, for her, he is. As he should be. He takes a second to admire her. She is beautiful, the way every bride is beautiful--more beautiful than when he saw her last a couple of weeks ago--her natural beauty enhanced by the excitement of her nuptials and the tireless primping to which she must have subjected herself. Her makeup really brings out her blue eyes, and her white wedding gown suggests purity and innocence and reminds him of childhood mornings around the Christmas tree waiting to open his presents. Simpler times, before life's uncontrollable complications. He finally allows himself a smile, and the chance to relax. "Kiss me," he says. And she does, as he knows she would. She steps up to him and wraps her arms around his neck to pull him close. With her heels on, she is just a touch taller than he is, and she tilts her head to press her lips against his and initiate a slow languorous kiss that quickly picks up passion. He pulls her closer, enjoying the feel of satin in his hands, and the tightness of the dress on her back. As her tongue duels with his, he pulls down the zipper that he finds at the base of her neck. The dress parts, and his hands roam the soft skin of her back, while Natalie responds with a moan that echoes in his mouth. He feels the corset that helps keep her waist as tight as it needs to fit into the dress, and fiddles with it. After a minute of deep kissing, he gently pushes Natalie back which allows the dress to fall down and pool around her legs, unable to completely collapse because of the crinoline. He stares in stunned silence as her body is revealed to him. The corset, bright lacy white, pushes her large breasts upward towards him, her deep cleavage beckoning him. Without thinking, he runs a finger over the smooth curve of her breast, resisting the urge to rip the garment off and squeeze the proffered flesh. Time enough for that later, he thinks. First, there is Duty. "Natalie," he says, looking the blonde in the eyes, "I am your Lord, your Savior. I am the Light that illuminates your life and reveals the Truth. You are my Servant. You are my Vessel." She looks at him, assimilating what he is saying. He can practically see her molding her mental world to the new reality he is foisting on her. "You are my Lord," she says, a tinge of excitement in her voice, just a hint of breathlessness. "I am but your servant, my Lord." Her statement thrills him to the core. "Natalie, kneel before your Lord," he orders. There is no hesitation on her part, merely eagerness to obey, to please. Natalie sinks to her knees before him, a sight that arouses him further, a reminder of dreams of days past. She is almost lost in the expansive dress pooled around her, but she does not seem to care. Why would she? "Natalie, are you ready to worship your Lord?" Natalie looks up at him, pride and glory and desire battling it out in her deep blue eyes. "Please, my Lord--allow me to worship you like the poor undeserving servant that I am." "Proceed," he says, and almost gasps unbecomingly when she reaches with trembling hands for the buttons on his pants before pulling them down to his ankles along with his boxer shorts to expose a hard cock that wants nothing more than to thump her on the nose. Natalie wraps one of her dainty hands--she has not put on her gloves yet--around his cock and gently caresses it prior to leaning over and parting her perfect painted lips and slipping the head of the expectant shaft into her damp mouth. She sucks him in, running her tongue all over the flesh as it penetrates her mouth. He leans back into the blow job she is delivering, enjoying her technique, which is not great, but adequate. What she lacks in skill she makes up for in enthusiasm, as she is genuinely trying to please him to the best of her ability, blowing him the way she believes a man likes to be blown, sucking hard and trying to take him as deep in her mouth on every thrust , making sure she thoroughly bathes his cock with her tongue and slides her lips on the sensitive skin. He looks down, admiring the way she works on him, unwilling to make her stop her ministrations to take off her corset and bare her breasts. His cock shivers, the first precursor to impending release. It is time. He puts a hand on Natalie's shoulder, and lets himself slip out from between her loving lips. "Stop, my dear. Don't make me come with your mouth. My seed has another role to play. Lie back, and spread your legs wide. Offer yourself to your Lord." Obediently, Natalie lies back onto the floor, and spreads her stocking-clad legs in a wanton display. "Of course, my Lord," she replies, an edge of desire creeping into her voice. "Unsnap your corset, Natalie. Your Lord would like to feast upon your bosom." He enjoys the high language, as it befits his stature. "With pleasure, my Lord," and she arches her back to reach underneath her, and with difficulty she unsnaps her corset which falls free and reveals two perfect orbs of flesh topped with stiffened bright red nipples. He wants to dive in and just suck on those hard nipples, lock onto them and suckle until they feed him, but he resists the temptation. He has a mission to fulfill, and pleasure is but a side effect, not a goal. "Pull your panties to the side, Natalie, and welcome me." She does, pulling the gusset of her panties to expose a trimmed pussy already damp, ready to receive him. His cock jerks in his hand. He kneels between her legs, his shaft aimed at the damp crevice between her legs. In a movement that he tries to make smooth, he lies down upon her, guiding the head of his cock to her pussy, into which it slides effortlessly. Natalie gasps, and her hand clutches his shoulder. She is no virgin, but she is also not very experienced. He may be the largest man she has ever had inside her. The thought pleases him to no end, and he reminds himself to treat her well. She is a deserving Vessel. He slides in slowly, and pulls out before pushing in again. On every thrust, Natalie moans and opens up more, her pussy parting to greet him, embrace him, smother him. By the time he has settled on a steady rhythm, fucking in and out of her clenching sheath, she is bucking underneath him, her legs pressing against his sides, her hips shifting up to meet his thrusts. Little grunts escape her throat, and her eyes are closed. She is enjoying herself. She likes it. And why would she not? he wonders. She is getting fucked her Lord. Her God. He allows himself a moment of selfishness and grasps one of her breasts, kneading it in his hand, appreciating its heft. It feels full in his hand, fleshy and firm, and Natalie groans her approval at the treatment--she opens her mouth and makes to kiss him, but he has other plans for his lips. He leans down and, still rutting inside her, fastens his mouth onto her nipple and sucks, hard, nibbling the stiff nubbin with his teeth. Natalie arches her back, and comes as he suckles on her breast. The feeling of her pussy spasming around his cock as Natalie shivers and shakes is enough to bring him closer to orgasm, and he knows that the time is approaching. He straightens up, thrusts into her hard, and looks at her. "Natalie," he says, stentorian, "I will now baptize you into your new faith. You will accept my seed deep into your womb, and carry it to term so that you can bring forth a new generation of worshippers for your Lord. Tell me, do you want my seed?" "Oh fuck yes!" moans Natalie, rubbing her body against his, wanting him to resume plowing her. "Come deep inside me, my Lord! Spray me with your juice! Breed me!" "Are you ready, Natalie?" "Yes! Please! Come inside--oh!" Natalie gasps as he thrusts into her, hard, then once more, then once more. Her mouth remains open in a grimace of ecstasy as he finally arches his back and tries hard not to grunt as he explodes deep inside her, releasing what feels like gallons after gallons of semen into her womb. Natalie comes again underneath him. He collapses onto her, drained, as she shivers the last shreds of her orgasm. He lies there, enjoying the feel of her body against his, reminded of those times in the past when he pressed against warm female flesh. He chides himself for succumbing to romanticism, and for wasting time. Natalie has, after all, a wedding to attend, and people will be out looking for her soon. "Natalie," he says, rising up on an elbow. His whole body aches after the effort. "You are now a Vessel of your Lord." She smiles dreamily, and runs a hand over her stomach in a reverent caress. "I am blessed, my Lord." "You are. And your soon-to-be husband is to be blessed as well. He shall be rewarded for the role he will play in the upcoming events. Look at me, Natalie." She does, her light blue eyes fastening on his. He has her full attention. "Your soon-to-be husband--does he have a fantasy, a cherished desire? Is there anything he has asked for, suggested, or hinted at, sexually, that you have not provided him, or are not contemplating providing him?" Natalie seems to give the question serious consideration. Her brow furrows in her concentration. "Well..." she hesitates. "Go on, Natalie. You have no secret from your Lord. I shall not judge." "He has mentioned threesomes a few times--mostly jokingly, but I could tell that part of him really liked the idea of having two women in bed with him. He stopped saying anything about that when I told him it would never happen." He nods. "Then he shall be so recompensed for letting his soon-to-be-wife to be my Vessel. Listen to me well, Natalie." He puts his hand on her shoulder--not that it makes a difference, but it somehow feels right, like his words thereby acquire additional power. "You shall give him a threesome. You shall go and find a woman--someone you honestly believe will please him--and bring her back to your marital bed and fulfill your husband-to-be's fantasy. You shall be willing to do whatever is needed to make your husband-to-be as satisfied as possible with his experience, including being attracted to and aroused by this woman and making love to her. And from that point forward, you shall be willing and eager to have such threesomes, and share your husband-to-be with another woman in bed. You shall never be jealous of another such woman." Natalie looks at him, her eyes wide, her mind wrapping itself with his words. "I understand, my Lord." "Good. You shall not remember meeting me today--your Maid of Honor left you alone and you have been admiring yourself and getting ready for your wedding. You shall never speak of any of this to anyone, ever." "I understand, my Lord." He is satisfied. And he notices that he is still hard, which hardly surprises him. "Now, worship me again, Natalie. I shall make use of you once more." "With pleasure, my Lord." And she does, taking his cock--covered with her juices--in her mouth, and sucking it lovingly, like it was indeed the tool of a God. * * * (Charleston, West Virginia. Twelve months ago.) Elizabeth Bowden was exhausted--exhausted but happy. She nodded to the smiling waiter as he guided her to her table. The lunchtime crowd was settling in, conversation buzzing all around her. She was early--Greg had not arrived yet, and so she sat, asked for water, and took a moment to breathe and compose herself. She had just left a meeting with a new client, a young man who somewhat uncharacteristically took it upon himself to arrange the wedding for his and his new fiancee wedding. She thought the gesture achingly romantic, and it renewed her faith in the world. Not that her faith needed much renewing--her girlfriends joked that she was the happiest woman in the world, and Elizabeth was not always sure that they meant the joke to be laugh-out-loud funny. And why would she not be happy? she mused. Here she was, twenty-four years old, doing exactly what she wanted to be doing with her life, living in the town in which she was born and which she still loved, and two years into a relationship with the sweetest most wonderful man in the world. As if on cue, Greg showed up before her table, holding a rose bouquet and a smile that made her heart melt. "Greg," she gushed, feeling herself blush and at once embarrassed and amused by the reaction. "You shouldn't have!" She took the flowers, inhaled their scent with pleasure, before standing up and hugging her boyfriend. "I know," he said, "which is why it felt like just the right idea." He held her, and she stayed in his arms for as long as possible, letting him go just before she thought the amused glances of the cafe patrons would turn into frowns of disapproval. Not that she particularly cared what they would think, but she knew Greg did not enjoy the attention. They sat at the table, and she watched him while he ran his eyes over the menu that they both knew by heart. Two years older than she was, Gregory Hermann was tall and well built, and would have been handsome if not for the acne scars on his forehead and one side of his face, a cruel parting gift from a youth that had not been easy, growing up poor on a farm in rural neighboring Virginia. He was quite self-conscious about them. Elizabeth did not care. His scars where part of him the same way his boyish smile and his rebel curls were part of him. And she loved them all, all of those bits that made him up. "What?" he asked, when he noticed she was looking at him. "Nothing. Just thinking how lucky I am." "Not half as lucky as I am, Lizzie. How was the wedding yesterday?" "The Maynard-Grifford wedding--it went perfectly well. A delightful ceremony, a picture-perfect reception, everything happening when it was supposed to happen, how it was supposed to happen." The waiter stopped by to take their orders. "There was just a bit of a scare at the beginning, when Natalie--the bride--didn't show up, but eventually she appeared, looking beautiful You should have seen her--she was glowing. Actually, on second thought, it was probably a good thing you didn't see her. I can't really compete with that..." "Nonsense, Lizzie--you're beautiful." "You're sweet." "And you can't take a compliment. You know what? How about I take you out tonight, and I show you just how beautiful I find you?" "Oh? And what do you have in mind?" she asked coyly, knowing that she would happily go with him wherever he wanted to go. "Well, really, I was thinking of going back to my place, since Paul is away at his sister's tonight, where I can show you with my head between your thighs that when you're coming over and over again you are the most beautiful girl in the world..." "Greg!" She blushed as she looked around to see if anyone had overheard. She was not a prude, far from it, but she tended not to discuss her sex life out loud in restaurants. The thought of oral sex--Greg was particularly good at pleasing her with his mouth--sent a spike of arousal down to her groin. "Okay, okay..." He smiled, clearly aware of the effect he had on her. "Well, I guess we can head out to the Stonewall Jackson for dinner first." "The Stonewall Jackson? That's a bit... extravagant, isn't it? Are we celebrating something?" Greg shrugged, the movement odd and theatrical. "Maybe. Seems like the place to go celebrate the engagement of the best wedding planner in the State of West Virginia." "What... engagement?" She puzzled his words, unable to read the tentative smile on his face, until she looked down and saw the ring he was holding in its case. His hand was shaking. She barely heard his words as he asked her whether she would marry him, so loud was her heart beating in her chest, and later she would not remember what she had answered him--it must have been the right answer, though, for he was happy with it. Later that evening, oral sex was especially good. * * * (Northern Maryland, near the Pennsylvania border. Now.) "Welcome back, Mister Malcolm. It is a pleasure to see you again." Daniel Malcolm looked at the Orientation Counselor across the desk from him, her blonde hair cut in a bob that emphasized her high cheekbones and other perfect features of her face. She was beautiful, in keeping with most of the women--and the men, he added--he had seen in the past two days. She was smiling at him, and the smile looked genuine, unlike the cold somewhat impersonal smile of Human Resource personnel the world over. Even the severe skirt and suit she wore did nothing to dampen her appeal. Daniel practiced some of his newly acquired skills, but all he could come up with was that Betty Parkinson before him was warm, friendly, and honestly cared about his answer. Not an ounce of deception in her body language or facial expression, nor any signs of frustrations or repressed dark emotions. "Thank you. It's been a rather crazy three months." Parkinson's smile grew wider. "I can just imagine. Everyone tells me how different their life is at this point in the process. And it's only going to get better, you can believe me. And now--" she turned to her monitor, and started typing on a keyboard recessed into her desk, "let's have a quick look..." Daniel stared at her for a beat, then let his eyes wander around the light grey walls of the Orientation Office, the same light grey that characterized much of ADCorp Headquarters, if what he had seen since arriving two days ago was any indication. Granted, he had not seen much, as he had been thrown head first into a whirlwind of seminars and information sessions and meetings that introduced him to ADCorp as a whole--ADCorp, a company involved in everything from agriculture to manufacturing with forays into pharmaceutics and chemistry. Much of the details went right over his head, partly because of his lack of interest, partly because unlike most other employees in his orientation cohort, he was not destined for a technical position in the company. He had little in common with them. Hell, he felt he had little in common with who he was three months ago. I can imagine. Everyone tells me how different their life is at this point in the process, Betty Parkinson had said. I doubt you can, Betty. I really doubt you can. He stared at a framed abstract painting--black and white, of course--on the light grey wall over Parkinson's head. If the last two days had been a whirlwind, then the last three months--really, the last four--had been a tornado, smashing his rickety life to smithereens. Four months since the events at Darnell University that threw his world upside down. Four months since he confronted the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity at Darnell--the fraternity that had been programming girls on campus into sex slaves for enjoyment by its members, under the auspice of Kevin Cusker, fraternity president, and mad doctor Thaddeus Cargyle. Four months since the infamous DIK-Bash that hosted alumni and friends of the fraternity and that ended in disaster with more than two hundred people dead and the fraternity house destroyed after an assault by an unknown group of commandos. Four months since he faced off against Biff Cusker, Delta Iota Kappa brother and cousin of Kevin Cusker, who had abducted Jennifer Hansen--Daniel's fiancee, Daniel's soulmate--and programmed her into his personal sex slave because he fancied her, and because he was an asshole. Daniel fingered her engagement ring which he kept tied to a leather string around his neck. Her engagement ring, the one she had returned to him while she was under Biff's thrall. Four months since the death of his friends Radhu and Serena, who had helped him discover Delta Iota Kappa's activities--Serena during the DIK-Bash disaster, with the rest of the guests, and Radhu at home, victim of a heart attack, according to the official investigation. Four months since the death of his friend Jackson, a Delta Iota Kappa brother who turned against his fellow brothers in order to save his girlfriend, one of the girls the fraternity programmed and enslaved, and who died as well during DIK-Bash. Four months since Jenn disappeared. As the fraternity house burned, Biff had tried to escape with Jenn, but Daniel caught up with them and fought with Biff and neutralized him, but not before Biff had managed to send Jenn away with his last orders, his last unknown orders, her mind probably messed up beyond all recognition. Daniel barely made it out of the fraternity house before it was completely destroyed. Four months since he met private investigator Sam O'Neill in the days following the DIK-Bash disaster, who told him that Doctor Thaddeus Cargyle had worked for a company called ADCorp before showing up at Darnell, and who, in exchange for helping Daniel look for Jenn, asked that Daniel become his eyes and ears within the company. For it was four months ago that Agent Eve Shawbank, liaison with the FBI and in charge of tracking down Doctor Thaddeus Cargyle, had offered him a position within the company, in their investigative division. "It seems everyone is happy with your training, Mister Malcolm." Parkinson had finished reading and annotating her files, and had turned her attention back to him, flashing her white smile. "In fact, these are some of the better evaluations I have seen in quite a while." Daniel nodded, noncommittally. He had not known what to expect upon joining ADCorp--his initial orientation had hinted at a company that dealt mainly with technical consulting--but before long he had been whisked away to a remote training facility in western Florida, and plunged into an intense three-months series of courses focusing on investigative and detection techniques, with some fighting and weapons training. He had learned more than he thought could be taught about pragmatic psychology, learning to read body language and involuntary emotional cues. He was the only ADCorp trainee in their small group, the rest split between law enforcement officers on advanced training and military investigators. Everyone jokingly referred to the training as Batman Training. Daniel had kept to himself, earning a reputation as a loner, albeit a capable and reliable one. His strengths were more in the intellectual aspects of the training, although he did learn to defend himself in one-to-one combat, despite not particularly enjoying it. For three months, he alternated between dark despair and a single focus on the goal of finding Jenn again. Jenn, who for all he knew could be dead. By the end of his stay at the training facility, he had reached an emotional exhaustion point, and had settled into a muted fatalism. "Well, Mister Malcolm, I am pleased to welcome you to the Investigation and Enforcement Division at ADCorp. You should understand that you are being hired on a probationary basis, the length of said probation adjudicated by your supervisor, who will be sole judge of the suitability of your continued employment with the company. As a probationary agent, your access to information and facilities will be necessarily limited. You will receive further details later, mostly from your supervisor, who will be your main contact. In the meantime, do you have any questions that perhaps I can help answer?" "Thank you," replied Daniel. "What do you mean by my access to information and facilities will be limited?" Betty Parkinson kept smiling. "ADCorp is a large company, Mister Malcolm. And many of our projects are quite sensitive. They require various degrees of security clearance." She shrugged her shoulders in an almost playful way, shedding her professional aura for just a second. "To be honest, much of what we do I myself do not have access to. Your supervisor should be able to provide a more detailed roadmap for you, although I fear that much of the details of the required clearances are themselves not available without a certain clearance. All that to say, you may be a bit in the dark until you shed your probationary status." Daniel nodded. Everything at ADCorp Headquarters breathed secretiveness, so her statement was not entirely surprising. "One more question," he ventured, "a bit of an odd one, to be sure, but--" he paused, and looked Parkinson in the eyes. "Why me?" Before Parkinson could answer, there was a voice from behind him. "Why not?" Daniel turned and saw Agent Eve Shawbank standing behind him, looking at him with her cold steel-blue eyes and a eerily calm expression. As usual, she looked like a panther, relaxed but ready to pounce. With her deep black hair, her pale skin, and her sharp cheekbones, she was striking, an impression not lessened by the dark leather coat Daniel had always seen her wear. Betty Parkinson smiled at the tall woman. "Agent Shawbank. Nice of you to join us. I was just running over Mister Malcolm's dossier." She turned to Daniel. "Agent Shawbank here will be your supervisor, as I suspect you guessed already." Daniel nodded, and asked his question again, this time directing it to Shawbank. "Seriously, why me?" Shawbank looked at him for a beat, then answered in her typical clipped voice. "Because you showed promise. Because you were in a difficult situation and you did not freak out. Because we believe you can help us." Before he could ask who was that us she referred to, Parkinson chimed in. "It's not an odd question, Mister Malcolm. We do get that one a lot. People do not come to us for jobs in IE Division; we find them. Our agents in the field are always on the lookout for recruits, and we trust their judgment implicitly. In your case, Agent Shawbank spoke highly of you, which is, and I'm happy to tell you this--" she said that with a side glance at Shawbank and a gleam of amusement in her eye, "something of a rare event. You will be joining her team this afternoon, after the welcome session and lunch at twelve." Daniel thanked her, while Shawbank remained silent. Parkinson's monitor dinged, and the speaker came to life. "Betty? Patrick Donovan is here, asking for fifteen minutes of your time." Parkinson thumbed her keyboard. "Thanks Cee. Give me a minute to finish with Mister Malcolm and Agent Shawbank." She stood and smiled at Daniel, extending her hand. "Well, it looks like we are done here anyways. If you need anything, if you have any questions, please feel free to call me or to drop by, or just ask Agent Shawbank. I will see you at the welcome meeting in an hour or so. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mister Malcolm, and again, welcome to ADCorp." "Thank you." He shook her hand, then let her escort him out of her office, with Shawbank following behind. His eyes could not help but trail down the length of Parkinson's body, noting once again the professional adjusted jacket and pencil skirt that exposed a pleasant amount of toned leg. He shook his head to clear it. Three months of quasi-monastic living had not helped him at all. As he usually did when his libido reminded him he was still human, he felt Jenn's absence like a hole in the middle of his chest. Outside the door of Betty Parkinson's office, a slim young man a few years older than Daniel was waiting. Parkinson smiled at him. "Mister Donovan. Sorry to keep you waiting." She put her hand on Daniel's shoulder. "This is Daniel Malcolm, new probationary agent with IE Division. He's going to be working with Agent Shawbank." Daniel automatically extended his hand, and the young man shook it, eyeing Daniel attentively. His handshake was hard. Three months of training made him recognize a dominance assertion on Donovan's part. "Nice to meet you, sir" said Daniel, keeping his voice pleasant. "The pleasure is all mine, Dan. I'm glad I have a chance to meet the man whom the rumor mill calls our new prodigy." Daniel did not know how to interpret that statement, and decided to let it go. "It's Daniel, sir." Donovan continued, keeping his face pleasant. "Daniel, of course. So, Agent Shawbank, huh? I'm not sure whether to envy you or pity you. She's a looker, for sure, but cold as a witch's tit." He then looked behind Daniel and Parkinson and noted Shawbank's presence. "Shawbank. I did not see you there, skulking in the shadows." "Clearly," replied Shawbank, her tone icier than usual. Daniel watched the interaction with curiosity. It was clear from Donovan's demeanor that he know full well that Shawbank was present when he made his remark, and Shawbank's reaction indicated that the two knew each other, and did not like each other. He made an internal note to look up Patrick Donovan at the first opportunity. "Well," added Donovan, looking at Daniel, "one thing's for sure--you won't be bored." He snorted lightly, and Parkinson let out a little laugh as well. "Betty," Donovan said, turning to the Orientation Counselor, "can I have fifteen minutes of your time? I have a... problem that should respond well to your abilities." "Of course, Mister Donovan. Come in." "Thanks. Daniel-not-Dan Malcolm, best of luck, and welcome to the family. Shawbank, good to see you, as ever." Daniel watched Patrick Donovan and Betty Parkinson step into her office. Something was odd about their interaction, about Donovan's body language. He could not tell what. He looked at Shawbank, who was still staring hard at the closed door, her face unreadable. She turned to him when his stare lingered. "Affair?" he asked, keeping his voice low. Shawbank's lips tightened for a second as if she was biting off an angry retort. "Beyond your clearance level, kid." Without waiting for a comment, she turned on her heels. They're all nuts, Daniel thought, shaking his head. He had an hour to kill before his next scheduled event. He contemplated spending it outside, catching some of the early Fall's sun. "You coming?" Shawbank had stopped and was waiting for him. "What for?" "Work, what else?" Daniel followed Shawbank out of the Orientation Office. ADCorp Headquarters was a seventy-acres tract of land filled with greenery and woods, with comparatively few buildings; much of the infrastructure was underground. Overall, the place had a bucolic feel, and while he did not understand why the company would decide to set up its headquarters in such isolation--they were maybe a forty-five minutes drive north of the suburbs of Baltimore--he did appreciate the setting and the clarity of mind it brought along, a luxury he had little enjoyed since the events of four months prior. Shawbank was silent during their walk. Daniel observed that the vast majority of people they encountered avoided looking at her. Those that did look seemed surprise to see her, and managed a thin greeting to which she usually responded with a nod of the head, when she bothered to respond at all. He had the distinct feeling that Shawbank missed nothing,--she knew who reacted how to her, knew who avoided her gaze, who was surprised to see her and why, who feared her, and he filed the information away for further study. That was what he had spent the summer training to do, after all. Except that despite his brand-new training, he found he could not read her, could not tell whether she approved of him or not, could not tell whether she cared either way. The small building they entered seemed deserted but for two security guards at a desk nodding to Shawbank as she walked by, and eyeing Daniel with curiosity as he followed her to a row of elevators. She took the rightmost one. Once inside, she slid a card she had pulled out of her jacket inner pocket through the reader, which beeped twice in response. She pressed the palm of her hand over a plate to the right of the reader. There were two more beeps, and a panel slid out underneath the plate. She pressed one of the buttons on the panel. The elevator started moving downwards. After a few minutes, the doors opened into a series of darkened corridor filled with people walking around looking serious and purposeful. Shawbank stepped out of the elevators, and headed down one of the corridor, expecting Daniel to follow her. The people they passed seemed more willing to greet Shawbank, and she seemed more willing to respond in kind. "This is the IE Division," said Shawbank, her voice neutral. "Investigation and Enforcement. There are two floors. Training and Procurement are on the floor below. This is the Ops floor." "Which one are we?" "Meaning?" "Our team. Which one are we? Investigation or Enforcement?" Shawbank gave him a look that he could not decipher. "Investigation." She stopped before a door with no markings, and swiped her card through a reader again. The door slipped open after two soft beeps. The room inside was the size of a large bedroom, and filled with electronic equipment. At a bulky desk before a wall of monitors sat a short very thin man with a full head of wild red hair, who did not turn when Shawbank and Daniel entered. The door slid shut behind them. Daniel eyed the monitors, which were variously showing maps, data being analyzed, video feeds, and a few web browsers. He felt his heart lurch--Radhu, his friend from college who had been killed four months ago, would have loved this room. He chided himself, and focused his attention on the man behind the desk, who had turned around to face them. He looked younger than Daniel had guessed at first, perhaps a few years older than he was. "Shawbank! Great to be back in our old digs, huh?" He had a thick accent--French, Daniel guessed--but that did not stop him from talking fast and excitedly. He was overflowing with energy, which made Shawbank slow controlled movements even more unearthly in contrast. "Brisecoeur," she said, "this is Daniel Malcolm, the new agent on our team. Probationary. Malcolm, this is Armand Brisecoeur." Daniel extended a hand towards the thin young man, who was extending his hand in a fist at the same time. After an awkward silence during which Brisecoeur reached for Daniel's extended hand at the same time that Daniel went to bump Brisecoeur's fist, Brisecoeur laughed, which broke the tension. "Malcolm. Glad to finally meet you. Loved your work up in North Alexandria, finding Cargyle." "Brisecoeur," said Shawbank, before Daniel could respond, "Malcolm here has clearance level 3C." It sounded very much like a warning--but then again, everything the raven-haired woman said sounded a bit like a warning. Brisecoeur made a face. "Crap. 3C. What's that already?" He looked up, trying to recall the basic clearance hierarchy of the company. "Oh, I see. Okay then. Still, good work, dude. Glad you're on board." "Thanks. It was... a team effort." "When is it not?" He looked at Shawbank, as if waiting for her to agree with him. She ignored him. "How do things looks?" she asked. Brisecoeur shrugged, which involved a lot more movement than expected. "Bah, same old same old. I've loaded up all the data that has accumulated over the past two years, added a couple of new filters and some new detectors that the lab has managed to push through, and upgraded the analysis routines. You know," he looked around, "it's like I never left." Shawbank nodded. Daniel had the feeling he had landed in the middle of a conversation that had started a while ago. Shawbank's phone beeped. She fished it out of her pocket, gave it a glance. "Control. I have to go." She looked at Brisecoeur. "I'll be back soon. Bring him up to speed. And start a search. I've been cooped up in here for three days. I need to move, or I'll kill something. Find us a good one to hunt." "Will do. Have fun." Shawbank merely grunted on her way out the door. Daniel watched her go. Definitely gonna be interesting having her as a partner, he thought. "Brisecoeur," he said, turning to the young man. "Is that French?" "No way, dude! Belgian. Born and raised in Waterloo." "Ah. La Guarde meurt mais ne se rend pas." Yet one more bit of knowledge he had gleaned from Jenn. He looked sheepish for a second. "And just like that, I've exhausted my knowledge of Belgian culture." Brisecoeur laughed out loud. "At least you're not quoting Hugo. Come on, dude--let's go over what we're gonna do, and start looking for some nice ripe plums for you and Score to snatch up." Score? "Huh, Brisecoeur--Shawbank said something about hunting. What are we hunting, exactly?" Brisecoeur's smile only widened as he thumped Daniel on the back, and pushed him towards one of the chairs. "Freaks, dude! We're going to go and hunt freaks!"