Project Seven - Chapter 1

Before  there's  any  confusion,  allow  me  to  say  that  this  is  not  my  own  story  to  tell.  Not  at  all.  I'm  merely  the  observer  for  everything  that  happens—it's  been  that  way  for  years.

I've  lost  count  on  how  long  it's  been.  Chances  are,  I'm  not  like  anyone  you've  ever  heard  of.  No  one  truly  notices  me  or  gives  me  a  second  glance,  but  I  don't  expect  them  to.  I  still  perceive,  hear,  and  smell  as  the  average  person  would,  but  I  feel  different.

I  know  I  am.

I  can't  give  a  full  explanation  as  to  why  that  is—that  would  take  too  much  of  your  time.  And  I  don't  want  to  bother  with  my  own  formal  introduction  either,  because  I  think  you're  clever  enough  to  find  out  who  I  am  by  the  end  of  this  story.   Or  maybe  even  before  I  finish  it.

That  aside,  let  me  begin.  I'll  start  with  Alec  Golding.



A L E C

"Who's  hotter?  Black  Widow  or  Wonder  Woman?"

"Black  Widow."

"What?!  What  are  you  talkin'  about?"

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  "She's  on  an  entire  different  level  of  being  a  badass  than  Wonder  Woman.  The  higher  level  of  'badassery'  you  have,  the  more  likely  chance  you  have  of  being  considered  attractive."  After  stating  this,  I  took  a  sip  from  my  water  bottle.

"So  you're  saying  Batman's  hot  too?"

I  nearly  choked  on  my  drink,  and  my  friend  proceeded  to  laugh  obnoxiously  at  me.  "No!  And  Batman  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question.  Look,  Black  Widow  doesn't  even  need  super  powers."

He  frowned,  like  I  had  offended  him.  I'm  sure  I  have,  since  he  is  a  comic  book  fan,  after  all.  "So?  But  think  about  Wonder  Woman's  outfit!"

I  visualized  the  image  in  my  head.  "It's . . . pretty  revealing."

"That's  right."  Jasper  nodded  with  certainty.  "It's  like  a  swimsuit  model  on  a  runway.  With  all  the  curves."

"Wow.  Though  I'm  not  surprised,  you  delve  deeper  into  the  appearance  of  women  rather  than  what  they're  capable  of.  No  wonder  you  can't  hold  a  girl  for  more  than  three  or  four  months."

He  narrowed  his  eyes  at  me.  "You're  a  prick.  No,  you're  the  cactus  of  all  pricks!"

"M-hm."  I  just  nodded  indifferently  as  I  ate  the  rest  of  my  BLT  sandwich.  I  always  knew  I  automatically  won  a  debate  when  he  called  me  a  name.

I  was  taking  advantage  of  my  lunch  hour  by  sitting  in  the  cafeteria  with  Jasper  Hale.  Despite  the  age  of  being  twenty-six—a  year  younger  than  me—he  acts  more  like  a  twelve-year-old  boy  who's  trapped  in  the  body  of  an  adult.  He  may  be  my  best  buddy,  but  sometimes  he's  like  a  fly  that  buzzes  around  your  ear.  One  of  his  specialties  is  making  people  laugh,  but  on  occasions,  that  has  to  do  with  making  a  fool  out  of  himself  too.

After  losing  a  stupid  bet  with  him  last  month,  he  forced  me  to  have  a  marathon  of  DC  and  Marvel  movies  with  him,  so  I'd  be  more  “educated”  in  his  field  of  fanboy-ish  knowledge.  I  was  never  into  comic  books.  Let  alone  science  fiction  or  fantasy.

Jasper  Hale  is  a  semi-tall  guy  with  a  thin,  lanky  figure  and  pale  complexion.  He's  most  noted  for  his  tousled  mess  of  dirty  blonde  hair  which  he  takes  pride  in.  He  has  blue  green  eyes  and  wears  a  pair  of  black  thick-rimmed  glasses.  Because  of  his  personality,  nobody  would  ever  guess  he's  one  of  the  best  operators  of  this  job.

Jasper,  with  his  head  bowed,  was  in  the  process  of  chewing  an  exceptionally  large  bite  from  his  club  sandwich—looking  like  a  chipmunk—when  someone  approached  our  table.  It  was  one  of  our  co-workers,  Faye.

I  grinned.  "Hi,  Faye.  How's  it  going?"

Jasper's  eyes  went  wide  for  a  brief  moment  when  he  realized  it  was  woman  who  he  had  his  sights  on(at  the  moment).  He  also  tried  to  greet  her,  but  it  ended  up  sounding  like,  "Herropf"  and  a  piece  of  his  sandwich  fell  out  from  his  mouth.  Jasper  quickly  covered  up  the  nasty  thing  with  a  napkin,  but  from  the  look  on  her  face,  I  knew  she  saw.

I  held  back  my  laugh.  Faye  always  held  herself  in  a  posed,  elegant  way  and  appeared  like  a  professional.  Jasper  thought  the  mysterious  air  around  her  was  appealing.  Honestly, she  was  out  of  his  league.

Faye  turned  her  eyes  to  me  and  spoke.  "Leon  wanted  to  see  you.  He  has  a  new  job  for  you  in  his  office."

"Already?  Alright  then,  I'll  be  right  there.  I've  finished  my  lunch  anyway."  I  pushed  myself  from  my  seat,  taking  my  empty  plate  and  water  bottle  in  both  hands.  "See  you  later,  Jasper."

I  couldn't  help  but  laugh  a  little  on  the  inside  for  my  poor  friend.  He  always  managed  to  look  ridiculous  in  front  of  a  pretty  woman.  Jasper  just  waved  his  hand,  not  taking  the  risk  that  he'd  embarrass  himself  any  further.  I  walked  out  of  the  food  court  and  discarded  my  trash  on  the  way  out.  Exiting  the  double  doors,  I  was  met  with  pristine  floors  and  an  exceptionally  white  hallway.

I  briefly  greeted  at  least  a  handful  of  people  who  were  walking  past.  I  knew  them  well  enough,  and  this  place  was  always  busy.  I've  never  seen  it  vacant.  And  if  it  weren't  for  the  small  details  of  polished  decor,  I'd  think  this  entire  building  was  a  hospital.

You  see,  I  don't  exactly  have  the  average  type  of  job.

Years  ago,  when  I  met  Leon  by  mere  chance,  “recruited”  was  the  more  appropriate  word  than  “hired”  after  I  became  a  part  of  Emerald.  Emerald  is  an  organization  that  has  strong  ties  with  the  government.  We  scratch  their  backs,  and  they  scratch  ours.

I've  never  been  a  big  fan  of  politics—I  tend  to  leave  the  topic  alone.  But  at  least  this  job  pays  extremely  well.  We,  the  members  of  Emerald,  hide  in  a  shroud  of  secrecy  to  protect  the  public  from  danger  and  prying  eyes.

So  yes,  in  short,  I'm  a  secret  field  agent.

I  truly  don't  mean  to  sound  conceited,  but  I'm  one  of  the  best  Emerald  has.  Leon  Stryker,  our  leader,  has  said  those  exact  same  words  to  me  before,  and  he's  not  easy  to  impress.  Emerald’s  main  purpose  is  to  defend  civilians  from  the  Rebels.  They're  a  group  of  people  who  are  strongly  against  the  government,  and  they  express  their  protests  through  pure  violence.

Innocent  citizens  at  the  wrong  place  and  at  the  wrong  time  have  been  severely  injured—but  in  most  cases—killed.

The  Rebels  came  into  existence  about  forty  years  ago  when  the  government  created  a  new  weapon.  It  was  said  to  be  twice  as  lethal  and  dangerous  as  the  nuclear  bomb.  Nobody  in  the  public  knew  for  sure,  because  citizens  haven't  been  informed  and  they've  never  seen  an  example  of  what  the  weapon  was  capable  of.

Hell,  even  I  don't  know  what  it  does.  But  apparently,  those  who  believed  the  weapon  would  cause  destruction  beyond  repair  became  Rebels.

The  police  force  had  its  own  usual  job,  but  when  they  could  no  longer  handle  the  Rebels  all  at  once,  that's  where  Emerald  came  in.  Agents  of  this  organization  had  to  track  them  down.  When  we  catch  Rebels,  we  hand  them  over  to  the  Chief  and/or  the  Official  of  Emerald  as  well  as  the  government  for  them  to  take  care  of.

The  way  our  cycle  works  in  Emerald  maintains  the   peace  throughout  our  nation.  Bad  guys  go  to  jail,  good  guys  are  rewarded,  and  civilians  are  safe.  Simple.

I  made  it  to  the  top  floor  from  the  elevator  and  walked  closer  the  glass  door  to  Stryker's  office.  His  back  was  facing  me,  so  I  could  see  him  staring  out  the  wide  window  with  his  hands  behind  his  back.  When  I  took  one  stepped  forward,  I  let  the  door  do  its  work.  

A  wide,  green  ray  of  light  briskly  traveled  from  my  feet  and  climbed  to  my  head.  The  door  processed  the  authentication,  and  just  like  always,  the  metallic  voice  presented  itself  from  somewhere  above  me.

"Alexander  Robin  Golding.  Access  granted."

Then  the  glass  door  automatically  slid  to  the  left  so  I  could  have  a  fully  open  path.

Stryker  turned  around  when  he  heard  the  door  open.  When  I  had  first  envisioned  the  appearance  of  Emerald's  leader,  Leon  Stryker  wasn't  the  kind  of  man  I  imagined.  He's  aging  into  his  mid-forties,  but  he  is  physically  strong  enough  to  hold  his  own  fight.

His  figure  doesn't  tell  me  he's  really  muscular,  but  he's  sparred  with  a  field  agent  before.  I  should  know.  I  was  the  one  he  sparred  with  one  time.

Nobody  should  mess  with  Stryker  in  a  physical  fight.  Nor  in  a  verbal  one.  He  has  thinning  hair,  and  the  bone  structure  in  his  face  almost  makes  Stryker  look  gaunt.  His  deep-set  eyes  are  unusually  pale  and  actually  grey.  They  look  metallic.  He  can  easily  appear  intimidating  whenever  he  wanted  to.

Personality-wise,  Leon  Stryker  isn't  all  that . . . interesting.  Sometimes  it  just  seems  like  he's  an  older  man  who's  very  apathetic  and  distant.  If  someone  splashed  hot  coffee  on  his  shirt—not  that  anybody  would  try—I  doubt  he'd  start  jumping  around  like  crazy.  

In  fact,  I  can  imagine  Stryker  only  giving  that  person  an  intense  glare  that  sliced  into  their  soul.  Then  they’d  automatically  want  to  clean  his  tainted  shirt  for  him,  because  his  eyes  could  make  someone  feel  obligated  to  do  so.

"Agent  Golding."  He  gestured  to  the  chair  then  added,  "Take  a  seat."

"I've  heard  you  have  another  mission  for  me?"  I  sat  down  while  he  did  the  same  across  from  me.

"Correct.  But  this  time,  you'll  be  doing  something  different."

I  didn't  verbally  ask,  but  I  looked  at  Stryker  with  a  quizzical  face.  For  ten  years  as  Emerald's  field  agent,  I've  never  had  to  do  anything  different  other  than  catch  the  Rebels  and  turn  them  in.  I  didn't  have  any  idea  what  Stryker  had  in  mind.  I  highly  doubted  he'd  give  me  his  shopping  list.

"I  want  you  to  find  a  certain  girl."

Stryker  had  taken  something  out  from  one  of  the  drawers  in  his  desk.  It  was  a  file  folder  imprinted  with  two,  emboldened  red  words  on  the  front:  Classified  information.  "We're  calling  the  operation  Project  Seven."

I  knew  missions  were  never  called  operations  or  Project  anything  unless  they  were  very  important.  I  flipped  open  the  file  folder  and  skimmed  my  eyes  across  the  information.  On  the  top-left  corner  was  a  small  photo  of  a  close-up  on  a  girl  walking  outside.

Her  name:  Dakota  Ashton;  age  sixteen.  There  were  other  details  about  her,  like  her  height,  weight,  and  birthday.  But  I  didn't  pay  attention  to  that.
I  looked  back  up  at  Stryker,  expecting  an  explanation.

I  said,  "Don't  tell  me  she's  a  leader  of  a  group  of  Rebels . . . ?"

He  shook  his  head,  no.  "Our  information  concludes  she  doesn't  have  criminal  records,  nor  is  suspected  of  being  involved  with  the  Rebels."

"So . . . how  is  she  important  for  this  operation?"

“You  see,  Agent  Golding . . .”  Stryker  entwined  his  fingers  together  on  the  desk,  then  leaned  forward  with  that  same,  old  stoic  expression  drawn  across  his  face.  "This  girl  supposedly  has . . . abnormal  powers.  I  want  you  to  recruit  her  into  Emerald."

At  first  I  didn't  say  anything,  and  it  took  a  moment  for  his  answer  to  actually  sink  in.  I  stared  at  the  Chief  of  Emerald,  but  his  firm  expression  didn't  leave  his  face.  Knowing  Stryker  wasn't  the  type  to  joke,  I  thought  this  was  kind  of  absurd.

"Abnormal?"  I  repeated.  "You  mean . . . bending  spoons  with  the  mind  and  what  not?"

Stryker  nodded.  "More  or  less.  We  don't  know  for  certain  what  'power'  she  may  possess.  But  we've  gathered  evidence  from  strange  inexplicable  events  that  always  trail  back  to  her.  And  your  job  is  to  recruit  her."

I  didn't  like  this.  I  have  my  respect  for  Stryker  because  he's  an  intelligent  person,  and  he  always  knows  what  he's  doing.  But  I  didn't  become  a  field  agent  to  babysit.

"If  you  do,  you'll  be  promoted  to  Official."

My  eyes  widened.  Climbing  up  the  ranks  have  been  my  goal  for  a  long  time  since  I  was  in  Emerald.  I  went  from  being  an  oblivious  rookie,  to  an  almost-useless  trainee,  then  a  successful  field  agent.  And  now  I  have  the  chance  to  be  an  Official.

They're  the  ones  who  get  the  call  the  shots  when  it  comes  to  missions.  Not  only  that,  but  they  have  almost  all  access  to  the  information  that  a  Chief  does.  It's  like  being  the  general  manager  in  a  restaurant—you're  the  leader  to  the  other  employees,  but  the  owner  is  still  above  you  and  you'd  have  to  go  under  their  rules  as  well.  Which  is  completely  fine  with  me.

There  hasn't  been  an  Official  in  years.  Not  since  the  last  one  passed  away  from  cancer . . .

"Do  you  understand?"  Stryker  said.

I  nodded.  "Yes,  sir."  I  didn't  have  much  choice  to  decline  what  he  asked  of  me  anyway.  Stryker  assigned  the  missions  to  the  agents  who  he  saw  fit  to  accomplish.

"Take  this  file  with  you,  and  you  may  start  your  search,  Agent  Golding.  Right  away."

I  stood  from  my  seat,  and  replied,  "Thank  you,  sir."  I  retrieved  the  file  folder  from  his  desk,  stood  up,  then  took  my  leave  from  his  office.  While  I  was  being  carried  down  to  the  main  floor  of  the  elevator,  my  mind  was  battling  itself.

A  girl  with  “abnormal  powers”.  That  is  the  last  type  of  assignment  I'd  think  Stryker  would  hand  me.  And  above  all  that,  it's  almost  laughable  that  he—a  man  with  his  personality—believes  that  type  of  thing  to  be  true.  But  then  again,  the  reward  is  promising.  I  get  to  be  an  Official  if  I  recruit  the  girl.

The  elevator  pinged,  bringing  me  out  of  my  thoughts.  The  door  opened  to  the  first  floor  and  I  stepped  through.  Imagine  a  very  humongous  main  floor  in  a  building  with  activity  that  never  decreased  or  ran  thin.  It’s  very  much  like  Times  Square.  Except  less . . . congested.  There  was  balance.

In  the  middle  of  it  all  was  a  large  print  of  Emerald's  symbol,  which  was  a  waxen,  broken  moon.  It  looked  as  if  it  were  shattering  glass  caught  in  motion.

Operators  were  assigned  to  work  on  this  floor  as  well  as  some  others,  and  there  was  a  wide  holographic  screen  of  a  blank  map  of  the  United  States.  The  red  dots  that  appeared  in  a  city  or  even  a  small  town  every  now  and  again  was  the  system  alerting  us  of  danger—someone  to  catch.

The  field  agents  who  were  specialized  in  disguising  themselves  spied  on  those  who  were  potential  threats  to  the  public.  Once  a  hundred  percent  certain  that  the  targets  were  Rebels,  that  agent  would  let  the  operators  know.

Adjoined  by  the  people  who  were  in  front  of  computer  monitors,  I  easily  found  Jasper  sitting  at  his  desk.  He  was  playing  Pinball.

"Alec?"

I  felt  my  face  fill  with  a  smile  by  the  sound  of  the  voice. "Sonia."

Sonia  is  a  strawberry-blonde  with  long  hair  that  reached  past  her  shoulders  and  brushed  her  elbows.  It's  been  pulled  back  into  a  ponytail  today.  Her  figure  is  slender,  her  height  reaches  my  collarbone,  and  the  best  shade  of  blue  are  in  her  eyes.  She  has  a  beauty  mark  below  her  left  eye.

Sonia  Fruehauf  is  my  girlfriend.
From  her  last  name,  I'm  sure  you  can  tell  it's  German.  She  lived  there  in  Germany  as  a  child,  and  moved  to  the  United  States  when  she  was  seven  years  old  to  learn  her  second  language.  So  she  has  an  accent  weaved  into  her  voice—it  sounds  wonderful.

We've  known  each  other  for  six  years  and  have  been  together  in  a  relationship  for  four.  It  seemed  like  such  a  long  time  ago,  but  she  was  my  temporary  tour  guide  and  trainer  while  I  was  a  newbie  in  Emerald.  Even  after  I  got  accustomed  to  the  place  and  began  learning  under  my  mentor,  Sonia  and  I  hadn't  stopped  speaking  to  each  other.

At  first,  she  seemed  timid  but  independent.  Yet  once  I  started  to  know  her  better,  I  realized  how  much  of  an  amazing  person  she  was.  Gentle,  modest,  and  good-spirited;  yes.  But  cross  her  once,  and  Sonia  gives  you  a  cold  shoulder  with  the  addition  of  a  sharp  tongue.

I've  never  had  to  be  pelted  with  her  ferocity  before,  but  I've  seen  her  figuratively  explode  only  three  times  and  that's  it.  Still,  Sonia  Fruehauf  is  the  most  beautiful  woman.  Through  appearance  and  personality.

"What's  wrong?  You  look  like  you  lost  a  debate  with  Jasper,"  she  said  while  holding  back  a  grin.

I  smiled.  "Not  quite.  But  I  did  win  the  last  one.  It's  just . . . Stryker  gave  me  a  new  job  to  do.  This  time  it's  an  operation.  He's  calling  it  Project  Seven."

Sonia's  eyes  widened.  "He  gave  you  an  operation . . . ?!"  she  whispered,  "That's  great!  Ich gratuliere!”

Using  finger  quotes  in  my  answer,  I  told  her,  "The  thing  is,  I  have  to  look  for  this  teenager  who  has  'abnormal  powers'  and  be  the  one  to  recruit  her."  Her  smile  fell  before  a  silent  "Oh"  escaped  through  her  lips.  She  knew  how  much  I  didn't  believe  in  that  stuff.

"I'll  tell  you  about  it  later,  but  I  have  to  start  the  search  now."

Sonia  bobbed  her  head.  She  tugged  on  her  ear,  a  gesture  we  used  as  a  code  for  ourselves  that  translated  to:  Dinner  sometime?  I  tugged  my  ear,  signaling  yes.  She  grinned,  then  waved,  and  walked  away.

I  went  in  a  different  direction—toward  Jasper—and  tapped  on  his  shoulder.  He  jumped.

"Geezus!!  Why  do  you  gotta  sneak  up  on  me  like  that?"  He  frowned  at  me,  but  I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  not  even  realizing  I  was  being  so  quiet.  "What  kind  of  mission  do  you  have  now?”

"Actually,  we've  got  a  new  operation  called  Project  Seven  and  searching  for—"  I  opened  the  file  folder,  showing  him  the  photo  of  the  girl,  "—her."

"Whoa-ho!  An  operation,  huh? . . . Is  she  a  Rebel?  I've  never  seen  'em  that  young  before . . ."

"According  to  Stryker,  she  has  no  criminal  records.  And  she's  not  suspected  of  being  a  Rebel  either.  I'll  explain  while  I'm  in  the  car."

Without  requesting  for  one,  Jasper  handed  me  an  earpiece  while  he  put  on  his  microphone  headset.  He  gave  me  a  thumbs-up  after  clarifying  they  were  both  working  perfectly,  then  I  made  my  way  out  of  headquarters  and  into  the  parking  lot.

My  car  was  a  Lamborghini  Aventador,  a  sophisticated  vehicle  with  a  glossy  suit  of  black  on  the  exterior.  The  windows  and  windshield  were  both  bulletproof,  and  I  was  proud  to  say  this  car  could  run  up  to  two-hundred  thirty  six  miles  per  hour.  I've  done  my  research  before  buying  the  thing.  I  unlocked  the  doors  to  my  car  then  slid  into  the  driver's  seat.  I  glanced  up,  seeing  my  reflection  in  the  rear  view  mirror.

I  was  staring  at  a  man  who  had  light,  ash  brown  hair  styled  in  a  fohawk  and  stayed  in  place  from  the  layer  of  gel  in  it.  Small,  hazel  eyes  and  a  tan-ish  complexion.  The  five  o'clock  shave  on  his  slightly  angular  face  was  one  of  the  things  about  his  appearance  in  which  he  had  a  love-hate  relationship  with.

That's  me—Alec  Golding.

I  ignited  the  engine  with  a  turn  of  my  key.  Figuring  a  Lamborghini  would  stand  out  far  too  much,  I  used  one  of  Emerald’s  finest  inventions  yet.  I  pressed  a  button  hidden  under  my  seat.  

An  automated  male  voice  from  the  speakers  said,  “Cloaking  device  activated.”   A  translucent  wave  of  nothingness  that  moved  like  rippling  water  traveled  all  over  the  exterior  of  my  car.  “Cloaking  device  complete,”  the  voice  said.  My  car  wasn’t  invisible—it  was  disguised  as  a  small,  dark  Toyota.  An  average  car  nowadays,  so  I’ll  blend  right  in.  

I  told  Jasper,  "The  school  she  goes  to  is  named  Lancaster  Secondary  Campus.  Give  me  the  directions  and  I'll  go  there  first."

"You  got  it."