The Campus.

The house was big in a way few people can understand. It had spires that scratched t the sky, Doors big enough to fit a baby grand through, (it happened all the time), and a private army of maids, servants, and groundskeepers. Not to mention the guards, hulking men with odd blocky bulges under their jackets. There was a party going on. An endless parade of sleek, expensive cars, sleek, expensive women, and dumpy old rich men, with a smattering of handsome celebrities. 1

And yet, few cars could match the black one. If one took the trouble to ask, (few did) the owner, after pretending indifference, would inform them that it was a May-Bach Excellero,. And quite casually launch into a dissertation on statistics and qualities of the vehicle that, if not properly defended against through yawns, coughs, or imagined cell-phone rings, would stretch for better than an hour. It was a redefinition of “sleek, the car was. it looked cooly and inhumanly graceful, a shape formed out of a composite of black chrome, lots of money, and a hint of inferiority complex. 2

It wasn’t until the driver had slid out, walked around, and opened the passenger door that the first sign of humanity appeared, the slender hand of some supermodel or other. 3

because the driver, it has been said, could not possibly be human. such perfection, people whispered, could not possibly be contained in a mere mortal shell. He was immaculately dressed in a solid black suit that no doubt still bore fresh stitches from the latest, hottest, expensive-est Italian designer. It fit him not like it was made for him, but rather like it was made On him, accentuating every muscle, every carefully toned part of his body. it fit just right around his slightly slender, though rock solid, abdomen, tapering out to his broad, and very carefully muscled shoulders. 4

His hair was sandy blonde and cut medium-short. His eyes were a deep shale tone. He had been compared often and aptly to an ice statue carved by Michelangelo; graceful, perfect… Cold. He moved with an air of nonchalance that seemed, as oxymoronic as it was, rigid. 5

He helped the supermodel out. She was just gorgeous, just graceful, just flirtatious enough to distract, at least, all the men who thought themselves rich enough to steal her away, even though they knew, deep down, they stood no chance next to her companion, who from car and cloth seemed to have everything they did, that is, money (so much money), and yet still had that which they did not, namely, perfect (I do not say that lightly) looks. The man tossed a single key on a white gold ring to the man the valet’s vest, hooked his arm in the woman’s, and strode inside. The man in the valet’s vest caught the keys deftly and slid inside, winking jovially at the crestfallen valet boys, who hardly noticed it, so busy were they studying the receding figure of the supermodel, which was hardly disguised in the tiny outfit, a miniscule piece of cloth that only cost a meager twelve thousand dollars.6

Jack glided the May-bach into a parking space in the roped off section of lawn, and killed the engine. He tossed the key out the window and dialed his phone, slipping in an earpiece. He could hear the digitized ringing as he opened the console. It was sparsely filled with a wallet, which had several platinum and gold cards within it, an expensive, gold accented mp-3 player, and a pair of leather driving gloves. Jack scooped up the contents, and dumped all but the gloves into the grass. He then pried up the false bottom of the compartment. It contained a Sphinx-3000 autopistol, .45 caliber, three loaded magazines, a suppressor for the weapon, and a nondescript keycard. Jack screwed the silencer on the weapon, shoved into a holster in the small of his back, dumped the mags and the key in his pocket, ripped off the vest, and pulled on a dinner jacket. The ringing ceased.7

“I’m headed in.”8


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A voice in his ear answered: "it's not in the car?"10

"No, not in the car. that's why I’m going into the house, remember?"11

"Are you sure it's not in the car?"12

"Shut up," Jack muttered, "I’m trying to get into character." He ran through a sting of mutters. The person attached to the voice in his ear heard him run through a repetition of words, “caviar, champagne, platinum, exclusive, private, premium, employee.”13

“What’re you doing?” the voice asked antagonistically, “hypnotizing yourself rich?”14

“shut up,” Jack said, a faint British lilt creeping into his words “it works, alright!”15

“fine, just don’t do that walking through the party, people will think you’re doing a crossword.” 16

There was a gorilla on the lawn. Maybe not an actual gorilla, but no doubt a distant relative, its primate ancestry undeniable, though clad in a tuxedo. The missing link perhaps? Jack stumbled up to him, a drunken wobble in his gait, a cheesy grin on his face.17

“Say old boy, I don’t suppose you might have happened across a loose key ring?”18

The primate grunted and shook his head, almost as though he understood, jack thought. “Alright, well, I’ve got to go on inside now, tootle.”19

Jack stepped around the gorilla/rent-a-thug, when a living barrier of solid flesh dropped in front of him. That bicep looked like a tree trunk! Jack stepped back. 20

“no, honestly sah, if you don’t let me pass, I’ll see to it that your employer knows of it!”21

The gorilla leaned down and put his face very near Jack’s, and opened his mouth to speak. When he woke up, he was bound, and aching miserably, in the back of a very shiny black car.22

Jack hurried across the lawn, adjusting his cuffs, repeating his words, now with the new additions of “superiority, excellence, yacht…” he reached the patio, supposedly imported from some chateau or other in old France. There was a crowd of people sipping various alcoholic drinks from expensive wine glasses and tumblers. Jack weaved through them towards the door. He passed some market trader with a glass of bourbon. Jack turned back and snatched the drink, still full, from a manicured hand. “thank you old chap.” Jack said as he turned back towards the door and continued weaving. He paused at the door and threw back the drink in one gulp, good stuff that, and tossed the tumbler over his shoulder. He thought he heard an indignant squeal behind him as the door shut. He stopped to let his eyes adjust to the darker room, wincing as a burst of vacuous laughter split the air, radiating from what appeared to be a drunk model in a designer dress. Obviously couldn’t hold her liquor. 23

When his eyes had adjusted to the relative darkness, (the chandelier, while massive, couldn’t compete with the brightness or glory of the Sun… but it did try…) Jack scanned the room, hunting for that “perfect” head of blonde hair. The voice in his ear piped up. “can you get me his autograph, maybe a picture?”24

Jack rolled his eyes as he stepped into a shadow long enough to mutter into thin air.25

“Marie, the man is a spy. He’s about to sell a guidance chip to Jonathan Kriegsman, who happens to be hosting this party. I don’t think I should beg the man to honor me with his autograph.”26

“Fine, but it was for my mother.”27

Jack rolled his eyes.28

“Alright, alright, I’ll get the stupid mark to sign, alright? You’re painfully manipulative. Ever thought about a career as a politician?”29

“Ew, that word makes me throw up in my mouth. Speaking of which, why have all these people for a simple exchange. What ever happened to the good old days of dark alleys and trenchcoats?”30

“Marie,”31

“Yes?”32

“Shut. Up.”33

Marie did. Jack swept the room again. The mark wasn’t there. He headed for a staircase. 34

Up a spiral enclosed staircase, jack found a door. Not just any door, this looked like it had been approved for a point-blank nuclear detonation by the Federal Paranoia Commission (that’s a real thing… okay, maybe not, but it should be.) Jack drew the Sphinx, and tested the door. It opened.
He sidesteped into the room, the sphinx following his eyes as he swept the room. it was empty, apart from some furniture. a few wingback chairs that probably cost more than most cars, as well as an obviously antique couch, and a table carved out of marble.35

but most importantly, a door at the far end. and not a blast door this time, but a solid redwood one.36

it was locked. so Jack readied the Sphinx, and slammed his foot into the door next to the bolt. it burst open, and he rushed in...37

38

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Two days later:40

Jack pulled the roadster into a space near the building, a large glass and steel monolith, full of insurance offices, tax assessors, and banks. Across the front was a modernistic steel logo, a the silhouette of a bell tower surrounded by buildings. Jack scanned the card he had been given. 41

“1700 Brookwood drive, Hawthorne Investments,42

VP of Acquisitions, Michael Bolliss.”43

There was no suite number, room number, floor, nothing else, just that. The lobby was bare, modern, consisting of marble, steel, and frosted glass. Jack stared closer at one of the office windowpanes that looked into the lobby. The frosted glass was spiderwebbed with small wires, inside the glass. 44

“oh crap…” jack muttered.45

The receptionist looked up as he approached, her face blank. 46

“yes?” 47

Jack slid the card across the counter wordlessly. She swept it, then looked at him blankly. 48

“I’m sorry, but there’s no such business here. The card must be wrong.”49

“excuse me?”50

“this card is wrong, we don’t have a…” she checked the card, “a ‘Hawthorne Investments’ here.”51

“oh, okay, uh, thanks.”52

Jack walked away. This was bull. He thought back to when he got the card:53

He had been sitting in a café, enjoying his lunch, when an impeccably dressed, though incredibly forgettable businessman sat down across from him. without a word, he slid across a manilla envelope with the card on top of it. Wordlessly he rose and left. Thinking back, Jack couldn’t wrap his mind around the man screwing up with the card. He shoved the thing in his pocket and started for the door. He heard the receptionist typing, and darted to a side door marked “Stairs.” He pulled the thing open and slipped inside, confident he hadn’t been seen. He was about to start up the stairs when he noticed a flaw in the concrete floor of the stairwell. A square flaw. He knelt down and ran his hand over it. A hatch? He flipped out a pocketknife and pried at the seam. The concrete, a thin slab, lifted. He grabbed the edge and slid it away. A small, stainless steel trap door was set into the floor. He grabbed the handle and lifted, revealing a ladder. His curiosity peaked, jack descended the ladder, a wave of suspicion washing over him. the directory in the lobby hadn’t listed a basement, but it seemed there was one. He hopped the last few rungs and emerged into a concrete room, almost a cell. A cell with four lean, snarling men waiting on him. they had batons, and Sigs in their holsters. Jack gulped. Their eyes flashed dangerously. These were far from the rent-a-thugs jack was used to. These men were trim, fit, rippling with a non-superficial type of muscle. Their hair was close cropped, no nonsense. Jack faced them uneasily. “uh… hey guys, i was just uh, looking for the bathroom, and then i saw this hatch and figured 'what the heck?' i mean, it was obviously there for a reason and-"54

They lunged. Jack’s expression hardened instantaneously. All traces of wit gone. The first baton snapped towards his face, whistling with velocity. But faster still, jack’s left hand flashed out, latching onto the right-hand wrist behind the baton, then stepped forward and planted his foot behind the assailant’s, clamped his right hand onto a shoulder, and simply tossed the man, whose expression went from resolution to confusion as his feet left the ground and he slammed into a comrade, sending both of them tumbling. The other two surged forward, batons flickering. Jack sidestepped the first shot, and caught the second one near the hand, slamming his other hand upward into the armpit as he rotated his torso. This man too went flying in a classic judo toss, slamming into the wall. The one still standing tossed his baton away and assumed a martial arts stance, then moved fluidly into a straight legged kick at jack’s midsection. Jack hopped back as the man moved twards him, grinning. 55

“got you now…” the man muttered, until Jack’s hands blurred and he found himself staring down a 9-millimeter bore. Moments later all four were bound and gagged. Jack opened the only door and stepped out into a room full of people, watching the cell on monitors. They noticed him and began clapping enthusiastically. A tall, silver haired man stood up.56

“well done mister O’Brian, and welcome to the campus.”