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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Feb 6, 2016 19:13:28 GMT -8
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Feb 6, 2016 19:01:16 GMT -8
feel the light shining in the dark of the night | Alfred realized she was fainting a split second before it happened.
He'd seen many men faint before. It was more common than you'd expect. Movies rarely got these things right. It wasn't just the damsel in distress that passed out. Alfred had seen people pass out from fear, from blood loss, from shock. That had never been the case for Alfred, thanks to thorough training from the government, but he'd certainly seen it happen.
The girl's body went limp as she crumpled. Alfred reached out, scooping her legs out from under her as they buckled. Her head lolled to the side and Alfred took care to make sure her glasses stayed put on her face.
...Well, this complicated matters.
Alfred was drawing a blank on exactly what to do with this girl. He supposed the first step was to get this girl somewhere well-lit and then tell the MI6 to call the police.
She was surprisingly light. Perhaps that shouldn't have been so surprising, given her stature. She was slim, and short. Usually when Alfred dealt with unconscious men or women, they were typically heavier, built of more muscle and taller as well. Oh well, it made Alfred's work easier.
Alfred began to make his way out of the alley. As he walked past Beanie, the man grunted. Alfred gave him another kick to the head for good measure. That should keep him unconscious for a bit. Hopefully the London police responded quickly, especially to requests from the MI6.
The streets were well-lit, their steady light illuminating the cobblestone roads. Why this girl had decided to venture into the alley, Alfred had no idea. It wasn't really his place to judge either. For all he knew they had dragged her in there. It was a good thing that Alfred had come along when he had.
Alfred set the girl gently down on the street, unsure of what else to do with her while he called. There were no benches or seating of the like that Alfred could rest her on, so it would have to do for now. Alfred pulled out his phone and dialed in a number quickly.
“Hello? Yes, this is Jones...I'd like to call in an attempted rape on Bedford Avenue. There's an unconscious man here...yes, I'm responsible for that. You'll send the police? Great. Also...”
Alfred faltered a little as he heard the girl stir. “Hold that thought,” he said into the phone as he crouched down next to the girl.
“Hi,” he said, smiling at her. “You okay? You've been through a lot, passed out...do you need me to take you to the hospital?”
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Jan 9, 2016 0:01:13 GMT -8
feel the light shining in the dark of the night | Alfred needed a drink.
Alfred didn't lose assets often, not even in Kiev. He was always careful, at least in this area. He took time to build his relationships slowly, developing the trust that was necessary for any promising asset. He earned their trust, their loyalty. Not always through his own personality, no, but loyalty could be bought. In fact generally speaking, loyalty was more reliable if bought. Alfred didn't deny that some of the best assets in the CIA had been those who were dedicated to democracy and life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, but most assets were not like that. People who were trying to please you lied to make you happy. People who wanted money from you actually tried to find information worth knowing.
It took a long time to convince people to work against their own government. Several months at the least, but it could expand to several years. What distinguished Alfred in Kiev was his ability to shorten that process, to connect with and create reliable assets for the CIA. At the same time, Alfred actively sought out other ways to gather intel. With new technology, human intelligence was no longer the most efficient manner to gain credible information. Nowadays it was all about bribing people to leave their computers for just a minute, enough time for Alfred to stick a USB in and swipe all the data off of it. Not as fun, no, but just as important. Still, data couldn't replace human intelligence completely. People were sporadic, unpredictable in crucial moments. This was why the CIA was still relevant and hadn't converted over completely to the methods of the NSA.
Alfred grimaced a little to himself. Shot before he could even get the intel. The man, codename Morning, had been sniped. Alfred had thought the area was clear, abandoned really. Their rendezvous was supposed to be a secret. Yet somehow they'd been discovered, and Morning was dead before Alfred had completely registered what had happened. Of course, by then, his training had kicked in and he'd been on the ground, gun in hand, but still.
Alfred had fired after the sniper, but no shot was returned. After a few minutes, when Alfred had determined that the coast was clear and Morning was dead (perhaps, Alfred thought bitterly, they should change his name to Mourning now), he has picked himself up and immediately headed towards the building directly adjacent to them. Alfred was a good shot, and though the possibility of him having killed the sniper was slim, it wasn't simply something Alfred could leave up to chance. He'd hurried up, searching every empty room until finally, he came upon the single traces of a human being: blood, and the absence of dust.
He'd called in the MI6 afterwards. They would examine the blood, see if it matched anyone in the database. There hadn't been any fingerprints at the scene though. Whoever it was had been careful for the most part. And seeing as Alfred had managed to get a shot in (a small consolation for a lost asset he supposed), it made sense that the culprit had fled the scene before cleaning up fully after himself. To be caught in such a scenario would not have boded well for him.
At any rate, Alfred needed a new asset and just as importantly, he needed alcohol. Alfred was by no definition an alcoholic. He generally preferred soda and being drunk never led to anything good in his profession. Of course, that had been Kiev, where Alfred was watching his back constantly. London, Alfred had thought at least, would give him some well-deserved relaxation. Some boredom as well, but Alfred chose to focus on the better parts of London. That was what he'd thought, right until the moment Morning had been shot in the head.
Alfred sighed as he stopped in front of a bar. It was a new place that Alfred had been meaning to test out, though not this early. Desperate times called for desperate measures though. With that, Alfred pushed the door open and let a smile fall easily to his lips. Back in it.
If Alfred paused to think (and he had done this several times when he'd first started working for the CIA), it was somewhat disturbing that Alfred could so easily recover from the death of an asset. He felt terrible, of course. Part of his job description was to get the asset to security if necessary, even at the risk of his own life, and Alfred had failed in that regard. But the other part of Alfred's job was gathering intel, moving forwards with his mission regardless of the costs. So he allowed the memories of yesterday to fade away as he entered the bar.
He'd scarcely taken a step in when an eager voice was calling out. Alfred's head swiveled in the direction curiously at a redhead who waved him down. The man was unbelievably excitable, and though Alfred was briefly surprised, that was soon replaced by a sense of warmth. Alfred worked best when he was surrounded by people, and he found himself filled with anticipation at meeting this bartender. The man babbled off his name, Feli. It was clear he loved the bar, and his enthusiasm was infectious. The smile on Alfred's lips grew wider and it certainly felt more genuine.
“Rum and coke, thanks.” Alfred slid into the seat at the bar, looking at the bartender curiously. He looked young, around Alfred's age maybe. The bandage on his arm caught Alfred's eye...odd. Perhaps he'd been involved in an accident of some sort? Bars were notorious for fights. Alfred couldn't imagine this man in a tussle though...he seemed almost delicate. Too cheery and outgoing, though then again, you never knew.
Alfred glanced around at the bar. It was fairly crowded, all things considered. “So this is the best bar in London, huh? A pity I didn't find this place earlier, seems like you've got a good thing going.” Alfred flashed the man a smile. “I'm Alfred, by the way. You can call me Al if you'd like. Just moved here a little while ago, so maybe that explains why it took me so long to find my way here.”
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Nov 4, 2015 21:10:13 GMT -8
Just gonna ahead and make it official. I'm going to be swamped with college apps until at the earliest, December 15th. Will reupdate this thread when we get to that point. I'll be around on Skype if anyone wants to plot or chat, but won't be able to write much.
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Oct 11, 2015 21:18:49 GMT -8
determination
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Oct 11, 2015 18:25:16 GMT -8
-shoots Aesthetic-
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Oct 9, 2015 16:07:42 GMT -8
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Oct 4, 2015 23:13:06 GMT -8
feel the light shining in the dark of the night | The girl flinched when he touched her, trembling a little as she hastily tried to cover her chest. A wave of guilt immediately swept through Alfred and he let his hands drop to his side. He was still close enough that he could catch her if that became necessary, but he'd forgotten that with the specific nature of this case he shouldn't have tried to steady her. Alfred didn't know her after all, and it wasn't like he was trying to get a person's attention after a traumatic mission.
Alfred recalled the emergency number in the UK, 999. He could of course call someone from the police department directly (he'd managed to make a friend or two), but if this girl fainted Alfred would need a paramedic.
Alfred glanced back at Beanie. It would be shitty if he woke up. Not that Alfred expected much of a fight. The adrenaline was pumping through him still and if Alfred recalled correctly, Beanie would wake up with a bruised jaw and a pounding headache. Alfred was pretty sure he hadn't broken Beanie's knee, but he figured the man would be limping for at least a day or two. Alfred highly doubted Beanie would even consider trying to launch another attack at Alfred, much less a threatening one.
He turned back to the girl instead, who had started crying again. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and pressed into her shoulder. She hadn't responded at all to Alfred's words, which made him a little worried. She should probably sit down...she'd feel more comfortable if they were somewhere more brightly lit...
She wasn't a particularly tall girl, so Alfred leaned down a little so he didn't look as intimidating. “Hey...are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? Do I need to take you to the hospital or something?”
She didn't respond to that either. Why, Alfred wasn't entirely sure. Perhaps she was so overwhelmed by the entire experience that she simply couldn't process his words. Maybe she was still scared that something was going to happen to her. Alfred hesitated. Perhaps if he waited it out? Still, he should really get her somewhere safe and well lit, and away from Beanie, if only because it would make her feel better.
He wanted to call the police as well. That was more complicated though. Alfred wasn't completely sure how sexual assault cases were treated in the UK, but since it looked like they hadn't managed to go through with what they intended, Alfred doubted they could keep anyone detained for long. He doubted the girl would want to go through that either. Not to mention Alfred personally didn't want to undergo any questioning. It was always best to maintain a low profile. It wasn't like Alfred could just leave this scumbag lying here though. He would call communications at the MI6, have them contact the police instead. They could sort it out and that wouldn't risk his position at all. Yes, that sounded good.
Still, Alfred didn't want to do that until he was certain this girl was alright and had put at least a little distance from the scene. He looked back at the girl, hesitantly tapping on her shoulder. That was a less obtrusive gesture, wasn't it? Hopefully she had recovered enough that she could understand he didn't mean to harm her. “Hey...miss. Are you hurt or anything? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Sept 20, 2015 14:19:21 GMT -8
Absolutely! Alfred would love to meet Feli <33
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Sept 19, 2015 20:56:17 GMT -8
Let me take you out for coffee first <33
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Aug 30, 2015 20:49:07 GMT -8
Gonna take a hiatus for at least half of September (might be extended to all of September) while things get settled in. Lots to do senior year + college apps! I'll be back soon hopefully!
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Aug 11, 2015 15:17:28 GMT -8
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Aug 3, 2015 10:34:17 GMT -8
feel the light shining in the dark of the night | Very few things happened by coincidence.
Alfred definitely knew people who would argue that nothing ever happened by coincidence. Now Alfred didn't quite buy into that argument, but from his years working in the CIA, he was certain that coincidences were few and far in between. And although coincidences could be beneficial, they could also be very, very dangerous. Certainly, coincidences had cost much better men and women their lives.
So when the door to the meeting room opened and Alfred turned to see who exactly his new partner would be, his first thought was that he should've known.
Of course. Of course. No shit, Sherlock. Alfred could have smacked himself. That man from the bar last night...oh, Alfred remembered him well. He had a distinctive look about him; he'd recognize those thick, bushy eyebrows anywhere.
Alfred was annoyed at himself. How could he have made such a stupid mistake so early on? Alfred had gone to the bar because that was always one of the easiest way to get intel, to scout out the locals and see if there was anything interesting. He didn't really have to here in England, but he'd gone out of habit. He should've been more suspicious when this man had approached him and bought him a drink. So forward—too forward. Stupid, stupid! Of course the MI6 had sent someone to tail him. This guy was probably laughing to himself at how Alfred hadn't noticed, how he'd been much more preoccupied by...well, by other matters. Like the man's hand on Alfred's thigh (classic move...what an idiot he was!), or the soft teasing and flirtation in that British accent. Alfred didn't sleep with all that many men, but he couldn't help but find this man attractive. He wouldn't have gone home with him (he had work the next day and that was a rather terrible way to begin his stay in England), but Alfred would be lying if he said he hadn't entertained the idea for a little while. It didn't help that the man had refused to give Alfred his name (Alfred now understood why) or told him to meet him back at the bar the next night if he really wanted to know. Alfred loved a challenge. And those last words he'd been left with, the man's breath hot on his ear, fingers suggestively low on Alfred's back...welcome to London indeed. That, Alfred would admit, was hot. Hot and very attractive.
At the time, Alfred had been fairly certain that the man was at least slightly drunk. Now though, Alfred wasn't so sure. He could've been acting it all out and Alfred had fallen for it like the idiot he was. Brilliant.
Yet...
Upon further examination, Alfred found that Arthur Kirkland (whose name he finally now knew) was staring at him as if in shock, a faint redness coloring his cheeks. His hair wasn't fully combed and if Alfred looked closely, yes, the man definitely looked hungover.
A crack of a smile broke into Alfred's expression.
Well then.
What a lovely coincidence.
For a man that was clearly surprised, Arthur managed to compose himself fairly quickly, shaking Alfred's hand firmly and greeting him politely. Alfred couldn't help the bubble of amusement that rose in him as his smile widened. “Likewise, Agent Kirkland. Glad to be working with you.”
The moment Agent Thompson left the room, Arthur's blush increased exponentially, as did Alfred's grin. This was great. Hilarious really. That one encounter had offered Alfred a lot more insight into Arthur's character than any biography or introduction could. It would also make this situation a little more complicated—clearly, Alfred could not actually sleep with Arthur though he was certain that the possibility wasn't far from either of their minds—but Alfred could deal with that. At the very least, it made things interesting.
Arthur cleared his throat, trying to dissipate the blush on his cheeks, though from Alfred's vantage point, it didn't seem to help much. He went on a likely practiced speech about the close partnership between their agencies. Alfred couldn't help but smirk a little. Flexible in a partnership...so neither of us feels restricted by the other's approach. Was that what they were calling it now? Certainly meeting one's new partner after hitting on them at the bar was an...interesting approach.
Jokes aside, they were partners, for better or for worse. Alfred studied Arthur carefully. The man was shorter than Alfred remembered. Fairly young, though that was expected of most case officers. Alfred recalled Agent Thompson's words. A newer recruit of ours...odd way to put it. Thompson had hesitated before putting it that way, as if uncertain that Arthur really qualified as a “recruit.” It definitely piqued Alfred's curiosity, though he supposed that he should leave that to Arthur to explain instead of trying to figure it out on his own. At least, for now that was.
Arthur offered to take Alfred on a tour and the formalities broke as the hint of a smile curved on Arthur's lips. Finally. There was an odd air of rebellion about Arthur that Alfred liked, the way he spoke about the MI6 in a dry self-deprecating humor. It only added to the oddity that was Arthur, the almost natural mystery that he seemed to possess. Arthur had definitely exceeded Alfred's expectations of, as Arthur had so kindly put it, rigid men stuffed in rigid suits. He didn't seem to have a lot of loyalty to the MI6 though, which made his assignment with Alfred...odd. It seemed like a bit of a risk, honestly, which made Alfred question the security of the MI6 if it was willing to let an agent like Arthur tag along with an anomaly like Alfred. No wonder the CIA had been worried...
Alfred pushed his questions aside for the moment to answer one that Arthur had posed to him. “Yeah, I'd like a tour,” Alfred said breezily, his amused grin softening a little. “Even if it is just of rigid men stuffed in rigid suits...all the better to nose around a bit, don't ya think?” He was eager to explore, to figure out exactly how the MI6 was. It wasn't every day that a foreign agent was allowed on the premises of another country's intelligence agency after all. God forbid if the CIA ever permitted it—Alfred knew at least seven people that would go ballistic.
Arthur seemed to relax a little as he continued to talk. The blush had faded from his cheeks, that faint smile tugging at his lips. Alfred liked people's smiles, and Arthur's was no different. Very light, as if it could be whisked away by the slightest touch, which only made Alfred ever so more intent on keeping it there.
As for London... “Well,” Alfred said, picking his words carefully and surveying Arthur to observe his reaction. “Definitely not what I was expecting. Though I don't know about the second part...” aw why the hell not “...what I saw last night had me wanting for more.”
Okay, okay, enough, Alfred would be professional now. He just wanted to see Arthur blush a little bit. And it wasn't that bad of a tease. At any rate, Alfred continued on, giving Arthur a chance to recover. “'Course it's very different from where I've been before. At least London looks a lot more put together. Not as dangerous.” Not as exciting. “But I mean, we'll see. I've only been here a few days.”
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Jul 12, 2015 16:26:38 GMT -8
feel the light shining in the dark of the night | Alfred had already decided that he absolutely hated England.
...Well, okay, not absolutely hated. But mostly hated. Really hated.
...Strongly disliked.
He seriously regretted accepting his boss's offer to come to England. Cooperate with the MI6 a bit, keep them in check, make sure our interests are protected, yada yada. All he'd done in the last two months was try to figure out what the fuck was the difference between the pound and the euro. Or navigate London. Why in the world did they drive on the left side of the street again? He'd worked with the MI6 on a case or two, but they were naturally distrusting of him and he of them. So far Alfred had been rebuked seven times on spelling “colour” as “color” or “grey” as “gray.” Those he could understand. Maybe. But aluminium?
...At least they had cool accents. And Sherlock and Doctor Who weren't that bad.
To be honest, he didn't really dislike England. The weather wasn't wonderful and the food was a little questionable, but it was interesting. People were always interesting and although the agents in the MI6 tended to be a little more stiff and a little more paranoid than his colleagues in the CIA, he'd made some friends. Not to mention he was overseas and abroad and it was fun to explore the little parts of London...
He'd stayed late after work, finishing paperwork on his latest mission. Alfred held a strong distaste towards paperwork, but it was better to finish it now rather than later. The last bus had left the station and since Alfred wasn't used to driving on the left side of roads quite yet, he was stuck walking.
Alfred sighed. England was just...well, England. With his movements now monitored by the MI6, he didn't have a whole lot of exciting work to do. In Kiev, Alfred had had his fill of excitement. Always moving, always gathering intel... Here, Alfred was constantly negotiating, proving that he was trustworthy, that he was a symbol of the U.S. extending a hand of friendship towards the British. An important job, perhaps, but a rather tedious one as well. It felt a little too similar to politics and Alfred was certainly not a politician.
Alfred's mind returned back to the task at hand. He did his own work at night. Learning London, figuring out where the streets went and where, which groups frequented which areas. It was important work, details that one could not learn from a map or through word of mouth. Even if he was told, well Alfred could never understand the nooks and crannies of a city if he never took a step into it. It was a little later than usual now, but the last bus had left long ago and he had to make his way home anyways.
Alfred wasn't intimidated by dark alleyways or hidden streets. He was well equipped to deal with almost anything that could be thrown his way. Preferably not a full gang—that might be a little difficult—but most people Alfred could deal with. Streetfighting was a little messy and Alfred preferred not to engage in it if necessary, but if it came to it Alfred was confident he could take on most people.
Alfred looked up into the sky and sighed. No stars. One thing he'd always been guaranteed in Kiev were stars. London definitely felt safer than Kiev but all of that came at a price.
Then, he heard a sound coming from one of the alleys. Alfred froze in his steps. For about half a second he thought he might have imagined it, but it came again and again. Alfred couldn't really make out what the voice was saying, but it was clearly someone in distress or pain.
He broke off into a run after the voice.
It didn't take Alfred long to locate whoever was making the sound—or rather, where it was coming from. A group of men, crowding in a group, their victim crying out. Three guys obscured the girl from Alfred's view, while another man stood a little out of the group. He was probably the youngest, likely meant to be a lookout, but he was so engrossed in the scene before him and trying to peer over his companions' shoulders that he never even saw Alfred coming.
Alfred snagged the man by the back of his hoodie. The man yelped in surprise, a sound that quickly changed to a cry of pain when Alfred punched him in the face. The man backed away, clutching his nose and cursing.
Alfred wasted no time. The other men began to turn around to their friend's cries when Alfred had grabbed the back of another man's hoody (really, a poor choice of attire) and gave him a hard punch in the gut. The man doubled over and Alfred aimed another blow for his nose, sending him staggering. Alfred swept the man's feet out from underneath him and he went sprawling onto the ground.
Two left, both coming at once. The man on the left wore a beanie, but sadly neither had chosen to wear a hoodie. These two were more alert than the other two (whom Alfred had not knocked out, he was fairly sure, which could pose a problem in a few seconds but he would deal with that when it happened), not to mention taller and more muscular as well.
The man on the right swung for him and Alfred dodged to the side. He stepped onto the man's foot to a satisfying crunch and sharp yelp before Alfred jabbed his elbow just below the man's ribcage.
Before Alfred could rejoice for long though, Beanie slammed into him and Alfred was caught off balance. Beanie miscalculated and Alfred was still on his feet but the momentary delay allowed for a punch to Alfred's stomach. Alfred moved backwards, wincing and grimacing. That was going to bruise.
Alfred went back on offense almost immediately. Everything came instinctually, Alfred's training automatically kicking in. Alfred almost, almost threw a punch towards the man's neck when a small mental note reminded him that this man was a civilian and although what he had been doing was despicable and immoral, death wasn't exactly Alfred's objective.
Instead, Alfred aimed for just under the knee before a swift uppercut to the chin. Then, with equal speed, Alfred struck the man's left temple and Beanie man crumpled before him, out like a light.
Someone was behind him and Alfred spun to face the first man he'd attacked. To his satisfaction, the man's nose was bleeding. The man wildly threw a punch which Alfred easily sidestepped, before he kneed the man right where it hurt. There was a faint whimper and for good measure, Alfred smacked the man's nose again.
Beanie was still unconscious and by now the other three men had backed up. “Just go!” one of the men hissed. The others nodded and ran (or limped) towards the street. Alfred made no move to follow.
Alfred turned back to the girl. She looked like a businesswoman, blonde hair pulled back in pigtails, her blouse partially undone, two violet eyes wide behind a large pair of glasses. She still stood at the wall as if in shock, simply staring at the scene in front of her.
Alfred walked towards her quickly, trying to look as nonthreatening as he could. Surely the experience had shaken her. He had to make sure she was okay though and that she wasn't going to fall over. Alfred put his hands on her shoulders to make sure she wasn't in shock and was looking him in the eye. A second later, he wondered if that was a mistake—she was probably scared and didn't want to have any kind of contact right now—but Alfred wanted to make sure he could catch her if she passed out.
“Hey, you okay?” Alfred asked. Then again, she probably wasn't. “It's okay now. Those guys aren't going to hurt you, okay? You're alright.”
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Jul 10, 2015 23:42:09 GMT -8
feel the light shining in the dark of the night | The MI6.
Alfred wondered how many months his presence here had been in the making. At least half a year, that was for sure. Knowing the CIA, probably longer. There was always another plan, another backup plan, wheels churning in motion, chugging towards preventing (or creating) the world's next disaster. And here he was in the middle of it.
It hadn't exactly been easy to find this place. The directions he'd been given were somewhat baffling. Alfred wasn't familiar with London at all. He'd been making his way through town in the past two days, deciphering the different streets and boroughs and cities (Alfred really didn't understand how London had multiple cities...was he even still in London?). People spoke English here, but it felt completely foreign at the same time. Different customs, different foods, different lanes to drive cars on... He'd been to the bar last night, which had actually felt decently familiar to Alfred's relief. At least until he'd had to dish out the pounds to pay off his tab. Money was always a rather tedious process, but it always was in every new country.
The SIS building looked rather...Taj Mahal-y. Which probably wasn't the right way to describe it, but it did somewhat remind Alfred of a palace. A rather stiffly put together, unpolished palace. It stood out, which was probably the only reason why Alfred had managed to locate it at all. Then it had been a process getting through the gates and the guards, who looked at him suspiciously, probably wondering why the hell an American was trying to get in through the front gates. Someone eventually came out though to bring him in. He'd been hustled in quickly and led to a rather ordinary meeting room. Ordinary, though Alfred was certain that the glass was bulletproof, that the room could be under lockdown within seconds, that awful things had probably happened in this very room and the MI6 had simply wiped off the table and called it a day.
Or perhaps he was thinking too much James Bond. Perhaps it was just a meeting room.
The MI6 agents that had brought him in were stiff like their building. They looked more like bodyguards than agents (and perhaps that was what they were) and they spoke little to Alfred, giving him quick and short replies that left Alfred rather frustrated and annoyed. He hoped that not everyone in the MI6 was this dull or else Alfred had half a mind to get transferred back to Kiev or Pakistan or somewhere interesting. Not that he could really choose that, but a man could dream.
Before Alfred could go back to imagining a future that did not involve sitting at a desk and paperwork though, another man came in. Dressed neatly in a suit, this man looked surprisingly young. In his thirties perhaps. Introducing himself as Agent Thompson, he shook Alfred's hand. The handshake wasn't quite as firm as the ones given at the CIA, but Alfred could see purpose in the man's eyes.
“Glad to see you made it to London safely, Agent Jones. We're glad to be working with you.” Probably false, Alfred thought. All spies inherently hated it when someone else was butting into their business. “The CIA and MI6 have maintained a close relationship in past years, and we hope that this will keep things between our two agencies friendly.” True. The U.S. wasn't exactly a country one wanted as an enemy. It was probably the main reason why the MI6 had agreed to this in the first place.
“You'll be meeting your partner shortly. His name is Agent Kirkland...a newer recruit of ours. If you find it satisfactory, he'll be working with you while you're with us.”
Newer recruit... Alfred raised his eyebrow at this. Odd. He'd definitely expected some old guy who followed the book to a tee, who would never let Alfred out of his sight for a second on a mission, who would report the slightest wrongdoing Alfred made. Someone newer...perhaps... A flash of hope went through Alfred. Perhaps this was someone who would be more willing to bend the rules, someone who wouldn't mind if Alfred took off or did not follow the MI6's orders strictly. After all, Alfred had his own objectives, and if the MI6 went against those...
No, more likely they wanted to have the new guy and the CIA agent together so that Alfred would be grounded and forced to stay out of the action. Or perhaps he was such a newbie that he could not act based on instinct yet and only cared about dotting his i's and crossing his t's. Disappointment filled him then. Such a hopeful possibility, but in the end, just a fleeting one.
Alfred kept his composure though. “I'm sure he'll work out fine,” Alfred said. Already, Alfred was trying to figure out what would be the easiest way to gain the MI6's trust and deal with this partner (or ditch him if it came to it). Whatever happened, Alfred was here for his nation's interests and nothing the MI6 threw at him was going to hold him back from that.
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MADE BY VEL OF GS |
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