posted on Feb, 3 2005 @ 08:00 PM
He woke up at eight in the morning, like everyday, to the obnoxious beeping of his alarm clock. With a tired hand slamming down upon the small
alarm, he had started his day. The same routine, every day, it was some autonomous he rarely even thought he was even doing it while he did it. Take a
shower, brush his teeth, get dressed, make breakfast, and watch the news. Michael had sat down upon the couch in his living room, eating a makeshift
breakfast that was nothing more then a cup of coffee; cream, no sugar; and a granola bar. The news station had just finished covering the president's
speech he had been at the other day, the news report spurred up the humourous recent memories of the two people talking in the alley, and his paranoid
feelings afterwards about it.
...In other news, the Draykon corporation announced that they would be holding a press conference on a new project that would, quote: bring us into
a new age of communication; end quote...
He had no cares about the world of corporate and fiscal business, it wasn't important to him, and thus, he tuned out much of the news broadcast.
The memories of the picture he had taken lingered. And after breakfast, he walked to his room to get the roll. Michael opened the drawer with the
rolls of film inside; one was missing. An older one was nowhere to be found,though the one from the President's speech was still there.
I must've misplaced one...
He thought to himself. Michael took the newest roll and took it into his dark room. It had once been a spare bed room, but since he never had any
guests, it became a perfect dark room. It took awhile to develop the photos, and though all the president's pictures looked fine, he kept focused on
the picture of the two men the picture he accidently took, inthe alleyway. He had an scratching feeling in the brain that it was important, that
paranoid voice in his mind told him that he needed to show his boss this, if for anything, closure to keep the stupid ideas out of his mind. He took
all the pictures with him, slipped on his spring coat, and walked to the door. The bolt lock was unlocked, something that was quite unusual, as he
always had locked it, every night, out of pure instinct. He felt a chill rush down his spine, like a cold set of nails racked his back. Something was
off about the whole thing, the missing roll of film, the unlocked door. He walked out, shook off the feeling, and drove to his work.
The Washington D.C. Daily Newspaper building reflected the newspapers personality perfectly: Cold, industrial, and void of all individuality. From
the outside it looked like an old warehouse, and the inside was no different. Past the open, expansive main room of the warehouse-esque building was
the offices of the newspaper. Though within the main room, the newspaper printing presses gave a loud hum that overpowered even the loudest shout, the
offices we're actually fairly quiet, due to the sound blocking brick wall seperating the two different rooms. Michael had walked through the wooden
doorway of Robert Howel's office. Inside the room was a small reception, old, worn out fake leather seats lined one side of the wall, near the door
that actually lead into Howel's office. the Office and the reception were seperated by a small smoked wood wall with large, fogged out windows,
behind the windows, dirty wood blinds. The Secretary was at her desk, mind unattentive to her job, instead, it was focused on a small color tv set up
on her desk, the screen flashing images of a T.V. soap opera.
Michael had stood there for a few seconds, hoping to obtain a response from the secretary.
"Oh! Hello Mr. Renner, can I help you?"
"I don't know, can you?"
"No reason to be smug...Mr. Howel is free at the moment, feel free to go ahead in."
Michael stepped through the doorway of Robert Howels actual office. It was filled with tin file drawers, lining the wall next to two windows. Howel
was sitting at his desk, paperwork scattered upon it in a haphazard pattern, with a box of empty donuts onto of them. Howel's obvious eating habbits
affecting his appearence. The aged man, within his early 50's, was balding, double chinned, and quite portly.
"Renner, what do you want?"
"I have some pictures for you, they all turned out pretty well."
He handed Howel the pictures of the president he had taken. Howel's stubby fingers ruffeled through the pictures, going through each on, picking out
the ones he liked, and placing them on his desk.
"Good work Renner, these aren't that bad. My Secretary has your paycheck, you can get it on your way out."
Michael had gripped in his hand the picture of the two mysterious men in the alley, clentched between his index and his thumb. He wanted to resolve
his minute paranoid delusions, and so, he spoke up to Howel.
"Uh sir. I was wondering...Do you know who either of these two people are?"
He handed Howel the picture, who's face, when looking upon the picture, changed it's expression in a quite quick manner. The face looked more
serious, and he appeared to become slightly sweated, upon his brow.
"N...no... I cant say I do. But if you'd like, I could hold onto the picture, and see what I could come up with."
"Thanks, but no thanks Mr. Howel, I'd rather hold onto it myself, I wouldn't want to trouble you anyways."
Michael took the picture back, though Howel's hand seemed slightly reluctant to do so. Howel had that more serious expression upon his face even up
to the point Michael walked out of the room, something about the picture had hit a nerve in Howels mind. He took his check from the secretary and
walked out of the building, getting into his car and drove back to his apartment.
He had gotten back a good 45 minutes later to his apartment. He parked it, immediately noticing a black sedan was parked infront of his apartment.
It had no tags, back or front, and it's headlights had that sinister tilt to them. He felt his heart drop within his body quickly as he saw it, a
slight tremble in his step, he walked to his apartment door. He opened it slowly, and his eyes immediately fixated upon three figures within his
living room. Two of them were tall, fit men. Both in matching blackish-blue suits, with pure black ties and a white suit shirt underneath and black
tinted glasses. The third figure hit him like a brick in his mind. It was an old, skinny, frail looking old man with a long white goatee upon his
chin, and a much weighted browned overcoat wrapped around him. It was one of the men from within the alleyway the other day. The man stood up slowly,
speaking to Michael in a calm, though sly voice.
"Mr. Renner, please, come in, we have much to discuss....."