Rogues of Overwatch, Page 3

  Chapter 2- Employee Expectations

  Intense shivers rattled Mark’s legs. The bullets may as well have pierced the wall, letting the water wash him away for the deathly cold that coursed through the pit of his stomach to the tips of his fingers. Whyte. Oliver’s boss. The one who had funded Mark’s former employer Rooke and brought that man quivering to his knees, before Rooke had lost his mind and initiated the attack on Golden Springs. And the only person that scared Mark stiff, making him feel like an insect about to be squashed underfoot.

  He had expected to run into the man soon but thought he would have a chance to avoid him. Or at least prepare, a chance to steel his nerves so as not to display any weakness before the man.

  Oliver tugged him along, brushing his fingers along the wall and chatting Mark up. “I’d ask you to lead, Mark, but either way, it’s the blind leading the blind.” He grinned at his joke and tilted his head to the woman. “This here’s Valerie. Don’t think her rude if she doesn’t say hello. As you can see, she’s not all there at the moment.”

  “She-she doesn’t have a head,” Mark said, gawking at her. Her neck rotated to the left. He snapped his mouth shut and turned away, afraid that she could tell he was staring.

  “Yeah, she’s a lazy one. Couldn’t be bothered to stop watching TV.” Ahead, there was a lounge and general chatter inside. Oliver led Mark in and presented him to the small group of mercenaries, talking above the large, loud television. “Here he is!” He shoved Mark to the center, abandoning him to the silent stares of all.

  A couple of people were in a corner, huddled around a thin woman rocking on a stool and biting her thumb. All in all, she was more shaken than he was. Off to the side, leaning against a cabinet, a bald man glared at Mark. The outline of his body faded in and out, as if he was a projected image and not really there.

  Roy sat at a table near the door, sipping a soda, his shockingly blue eyes drifting to Mark for a friendly acknowledgement, then back to the television. The headless body walked over to the sofa in front of the television and plucked a head off the cushion. She reattached it to her body, examined Mark quickly, and sniffed the air disapprovingly. Then she plopped back onto the sofa, kicking up her feet.

  “Well don’t everyone greet him at once,” Oliver said, scratching his shaved scalp. He held Mark by the shoulder and allowed him to lead. “Okay, you’ve already met Roy.” He pointed in a general direction at the door.

  “How’s it going?” Roy asked. Without the winter gear, he looked pretty average, with curly raven hair, a clean-cut face, and a courteous smile that would be more at home in an office than surrounded by mercenaries. Up close, what struck Mark besides the eyes were his thick, bushy eyebrows. Roy waggled an orange soda from the mini-refrigerator next to him, but Mark declined.

  “No need to be shy, Mark,” Oliver said, staring to the left of Mark. “We’re all BEPs here.”

  Mark was surprised. Biologically Enhanced Persons? “All of you?”

  “Yup,” Oliver said. “Roy puts on a pretty impressive light show.”

  Roy slurped his soda and said, “I’ll show you later. I need to be in the sun for it to really work. Whyte should be out soon enough.” He pointed at the set of double doors next to the television. “He’s on the phone with Emeryl. He’s on his way here.”

  “Oh, Emeryl’s out of jail?” Oliver beamed. “Man, why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  “Just found out as soon as you left to fetch Mark,” Roy said, polishing off his soda. He belched and there was a flash of white light in the back of his throat. “Whoa, sorry. Excuse me.”

  “Alright. C’mon, Mark. Got to introduce you to the rest.” But Oliver stayed still, waiting for Mark. The boy looked at Roy, who nodded to Valerie on the sofa.

  After they approached Valerie, Oliver reached out, checking the top of her head. She slapped his hand away. “Quit it.”

  “You’ve already met the lovely Valerie,” he said, teasing her and ruffling her hair. She spun around and swatted his side. Chestnut locks framed a round honey-gold face.

  “Yes, we’ve met. Good-bye and let me watch my show,” she said, flicking her wrist in a twirl and waving them off.

  “She can detach herself,” Oliver said. “Neat, huh?” He leaned down, talking in her ear instead of at Mark. She chewed on one of her locks, grinding it in her teeth. “Any part really, while she retains control of it.”

  Valerie spat out the lock and ripped off her hand. Like her neck, her wrist’s stump was completely sealed. Mark jumped back, unsure what to think. “Happy now? Or do you want another example?” Holding her detached hand in her other one, she used it to pull off her nose, leaving a blank space of skin behind. Then she tossed the hand and nose on the sofa and pulled off her head again. “Would you like me to put on an entire act?” She held her head high in the air. “Do a little Shakespeare?”

  “No, no. I’m guessing he’s seen enough. Right, Mark?” He didn’t answer. Mesmerized by this bizarre display, his mouth had remained open.

  “Yoo-hoo, Mark?” He snapped out of his stupor and glanced between Valerie and Oliver.

  Valerie tossed her hand onto Oliver’s head, where it thwacked him on the top of his noggin with its fingers. “Ow,” he said. The hand leapt off, and Valerie stuck it back on her wrist, flexing and twisting it around as if nothing had happened.

  The bald man was introduced next. Upon closer inspection, Mark realized that the fading outlines were actually hazy wisps of smoke. The man was not resting on the cabinet but had merged into it. Black smoke circled and pushed out from the point of contact with his back and the cabinet. Some wafted to his chin, pretending to add hair to a chinstrap beard.

  “By the smell, I’d say this is Lionel,” Oliver said. He swept his hand through Lionel’s shoulder. The shoulder broke apart and re-formed immediately. “Guess I just spoiled what he can do. Or what he is.” Lionel frowned, shooting daggers at Mark. Oliver seemed to already know this. “Don’t mind him though. He always looks like he’s passing a stone around everyone. It’s all smoke to scare you.”

  If looks could kill, Lionel’s sharp scowl would’ve gutted Oliver deliberately slowly, savoring every moment. “Keep it up, laughing boy,” he said under his breath. Mark was quite relieved to have Lionel’s eyes off of him, and he guided Oliver to the last set of people.

  The woman rocking on the stool was shaking off all the comforts and assurances from the man and the other woman beside her. “I just know it. He’s going to get rid of me. That’s why he called me here.”

  “He called a general meeting for all of us,” the man next to her said. He rubbed her back. He realized that Mark was standing there and beckoned him closer. “Speaking of which, this is Mark, the kid he was telling us about, Frieda.” He glanced at Mark, his shifting eyes begging for a little help.

  After Valerie and Lionel, Mark was too happy to step forward for someone not annoyed by his presence. “Hey.” Frieda looked up, her eyes swollen like golf balls. Then her gaze bounced about the room to everyone and everything. She focused on nibbling her finger, chewing the left nub of her nail. Her cheeks sagged with worry, and she kept running hands through her blond hair, pulling out strands until she looked like she had rolled out of bed.

  Oliver felt for a chair and lowered himself into it carefully. “What’s got Frieda all spooked?”

  “Her last assignment,” the other woman said. “She thinks Whyte’s got it in for her.”

  “He does! There’s no other explanation.” Frieda swapped one fingernail for the next. “I’ll be fired.”

  “Oh, he’ll do much worse than that,” Lionel chimed in, smiling for the first time. His mouth wavered like the rest of his body, and black wisps filtered through his teeth. He spoke with a wheeze, like a wad of ash clogging most of his throat. “Unspeakable things.”

  “Can it, you fart cloud,” the guy said. Mark coughed to cover his laugh. Lionel went on smiling and watched the double doors.

  Before Oliv
er could introduce the other two members, Whyte opened the doors and entered. In person, he was not as tall as Mark had imagined. Outlined fully in the light did nothing to diminish his intimidating presence. The air in the room changed, and everyone adopted a sober attitude. Even Oliver, more or less.

  Whyte tugged the sleeves down on his white suit and tightened the knot in his tie. His deep, dark eyes appraised everyone. His streaked black hair was tied back into a ponytail, and a well-trimmed beard completed the ensemble. He seemed to embody the very image of opulence and wealth, a man of high status in the world that commanded respect.

  But beneath those eyes lurked a side Mark knew very well. The side that had merely snapped at Rooke, thus transforming him into a pleading coward who prostrated himself like a worm before this man. A cunning, vicious part of Whyte that Mark hoped to steer clear of. He shirked into the corner of the room, but unfortunately Whyte spotted him.

  “Markus Bell. How nice of you to join us.” He gripped Mark’s hand firmly and crushed it, giving a short shake. “It’s good to meet you in person. Allow me to introduce myself properly. I’m Roland Whyte,” he said, holding out his arm and offering him a place on the sofa. Valerie switched off the television and scooted over for Mark. “Everyone, this is Mark, who you might remember from the unpleasant business in Golden Springs. He decided to stay onboard with our group. A wise decision, I might add.”

  Knock, knock. Emeryl rapped on the open door to the hall. He approached Whyte, who greeted him. “Speaking of which, here’s another one from Golden Springs. Welcome back. How was your trip?”

  “Fine, sir,” Emeryl said. Mark noticed that his right hand was missing its middle finger. “Glad to be out of jail.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” He turned from Emeryl to Mark. “This is Mark. You might remember him from Golden Springs.”

  Emeryl snapped his fingers. “Oh, right. The one with Finster and Heather. Glad you made it out.”

  “Thanks,” Mark said. Emeryl appeared to have come straight from jail, wearing a heavy five o’clock shadow, his long, ratty hair a disorderly mess.

  “Please, if you’ll take a seat, we can begin,” Whyte said. Emeryl sat next to Mark and Whyte faced them all. “I didn’t call this meeting solely as a ‘meet and greet.’ As most of you are aware, Golden Springs put a damper on our operations. We had to lay low these past few months because of Rooke, and it has cost a great deal of time and money to sort it all out. Not to mention Rooke Pharmaceuticals’s operations being all but shut down for the time being.”

  He paced in front of the television. “Now, Rooke’s breakdown was no one’s fault but his own. We will be vigilant about who runs our companies in the future. However, there is one thing we could’ve prevented, and that was Rooke’s exposing himself as the leader behind the attack.” Whyte stopped and looked down at Emeryl. “It was supposed to be carried out covertly, yet Rooke broadcasted his message all throughout the city. Why?”

  Emeryl cleared his throat. “We had to do something. He already had a speech set up, and we were spread thin over the city. People kept trying to escape, and we couldn’t contain them all for long by ourselves.”

  “And the fact that he had a speech ready didn’t raise any alarms?” Whyte asked.

  “He claimed that his involvement in it was already known, that the BEP Division was coming after him.” Emeryl licked his lips. “There wasn’t any reason to doubt him at the time, sir. They did come after him. A large group of them left to raid one of his factories.”

  Whyte nodded. “Okay. I think I’m following your logic on this. Except that we’ve covered up our involvement in incidents like this before and we could’ve again. We could have held onto the company. A pharmaceutical company, especially one as large as Rooke’s, is very useful to have.” His voice rose and Emeryl squirmed in his seat. The others in the room lowered their heads, trying not to catch Whyte’s eyes. Mark followed suit, watching Whyte’s pace quicken.

  “Now,” Whyte said, faking a laugh, “now, at best, Rooke Pharmaceuticals will be liquidated. None of his behavior prompted you to question him or check the SN91 canisters?”

  “Like I said, there wasn’t any reason to doubt him then. We were short on people and needed to maintain order any way we could. And we were focused on containing the people and preparing for the FBI,” Emeryl said lamely, clasping his hands.

  “Yes, and you did as well as could be expected, given the circumstances. And you stayed silent after your capture. You and all your people didn’t give up on us or on Overwatch. That’s why I pulled a lot of strings, to free both you and them. That kind of loyalty is invaluable. The rest of your team should arrive within the week.”

  “I appreciate it,” Emeryl said, relaxing. “I want to get back out there.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Whyte pointed to Emeryl’s hand. “You lost more than just the fight.” The mercenary held out his four-fingered hand. “Given how you handled the Golden Springs fiasco, I’m going to equip you with something to help. An enhancement, so that when you run into the person who caused that, you can take them down.” He helped Emeryl up and showed him the door. “Head to medical room #18. Dr. Curry is waiting for you. And Emeryl?”

  “Yes?”

  “I trust you’ll be more careful and there will be no more mistakes?”

  He nodded. “None, sir.”

  “Glad to hear it. I’ll drop by later to see how you’re doing.” Emeryl thanked him and left. Then Whyte turned to Mark. “Loyalty is very valuable to have, Mark. I treasure that and expect to receive it from each of my employees. If you’re loyal, you’ll be taken care of.”

  Before Mark became too antsy under his eye, he turned his attention to Frieda. “Loyalty and honesty. Two of the principles I demand.” He tilted Frieda’s head up and sighed. “What happened on your mission out there?” As she opened her mouth, he held a solemn finger to her lips. “Tell me the truth this time.”

  She deflated. “I ran into a BEP agent.”

  “And initiated a firefight with him in broad daylight?”

  “No! No!” She shook her head, her body shaking on her stool. He grabbed her shoulder firmly, steadying her. “No, I tried to follow him. I thought if—”

  “If you captured him, you could discover the BEP Division’s base,” Whyte finished. He knelt down to her level and squeezed her shoulder. “That would be wonderful, plucking that particular thorn out of our side. What happened?”

  “He caught onto me,” she said.

  “Were you following too close?”

  “No. I don’t think so.” Whyte didn’t seem convinced at her answer and sighed. “I managed to blow him back into an alley,” Frieda said, “but he fought his way out.”

  Mark raised an eyebrow and looked at Roy, who mouthed, “Wind powers.”

  “He called over a couple of cops. I had to shoot one and take the other hostage,” Frieda continued. “And I shot the agent. I wasn’t sure if he was dead or not. I hightailed it out of there with the hostage. Left him in a car by the road. I heard the agent was in critical condition, and then this morning, they said he died.”

  Whyte stood up and massaged his forehead. “So, not only did the agent catch onto you, you started a fight in public, which ended with a dead cop, an agent who died this morning, and your face plastered on the news. That about sum it up?”

  She hung her head in shame. “Yeah,” she whispered.

  Whyte took a few moments, composing himself and wiping his face. “I see. I see.” He raised his head to the ceiling and puffed out a weary breath. “I’m glad you were honest. For now, you’re on inactive duty until further notice.” He gave her a stern look that said they would discuss the rest of her punishment later.

  “You see, Mark?” Whyte asked him. The boy jumped in his seat and tensed up. “I’d rather have the truth than lies. Lies waste time and money. It breaks my trust. There can be no efficient employee-employer relationship without trust. I need to trust that you will be honest with
me, and in return you’ll earn my trust and I’ll be honest with you.”

  He walked behind Mark and rested his hands on his shoulders, pushing him into the sofa. “Can I trust you to be honest with me?”

  Mark’s tongue grew fat in his mouth. “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” Whyte clapped him on the back and pulled him to his feet, shaking his hand. “Welcome to the family.” Oliver and a few others politely applauded. “Guess I’ve lost my lucky seven advantage,” he laughed, looking at everyone. Whyte escorted Mark out of the lounge. “But I believe Mark here will make up for it. Don’t you think so?”

  “Yeah!” Oliver said, wobbling when he stood. Roy held his hand and led him out the door. The rest started to file out as well. Frieda urged her two friends on, wiping her eyes and promising that she was fine. Whyte waited off to the side for everyone to exit.

  “Oh, there is one other thing I expect my employees to have,” Whyte said as Frieda, and then her friends left last. “You know what that is?” Mark shook his head. “Competence.”

  Whyte grabbed Frieda by her throat and shoved her back into the lounge. Then he opened a panel next to the door, exposing a control box and various buttons. He slammed a large yellow button labeled EMERGENCY SEPARATION, and the metal door snapped shut, trapping Frieda by herself.

  She screamed, “No!” into the small porthole on the door and beat her fists on it “No! No! Please!” A thicker, windowless door slid shut over the first and there was a loud chunk! The floor beneath them rumbled and what sounded like several locks clicked.

  “As long as you prove yourself useful and perform your job as well as can be expected, I’ll forgive the occasional slipup. Otherwise…” Metal shifted on metal beyond the door, and there was a sudden whoosh of water from the outside, as if something was ejected. Frieda’s protests gradually faded, followed by absolute silence. Mark shuddered and moved closer to Oliver.

  “Looks like we’re back to our lucky seven,” Whyte said. “Valerie, call Communications and tell them to ignore the emergency beacon. Also, order a new office and lounge.” Valerie moseyed down the hall to an intercom and asked for Communications. “Now, how about a tour?” Whyte took the lead and the others followed. “Welcome, Mark, to Overwatch Headquarters.”