Ends and the Means

Link to article: Ends and the Means.


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⚠️ **Content warning:** Contains references to terrorism
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[[span class="time"]]9:34 AM, Office of Director Moose, Site-19[[/span]]
##transparent| ##
The door creaks then clicks. It takes her a minute. There is still so much left to do.

"Good Morning Director Moose."

The voice is raspy, almost tired. She glances up.

"Good Morning. You're Alyssa Shah, yes?"

She can see the hesitation. Her history of wandering has come back to bite her in the ass. Maybe Clef would know how to spin it.

"Yes Ma'am, that would be me. Can I know what this regards?"

"Right where are my manners? Sorry for bringing you in this early. Before we begin, can I ask what you do here?"

Shah stutters for a moment. They can't know. Not yet. It's only been 6 months.

"I'm a Level 2 researcher. Just got recruited a year and half ago."

"Well then, it looks like you've made good work."

Shah stares. She's done nothing of importance to the **foundation**.

"I think you have the wrong file then. I haven’t done anything big."

"The transfer papers say otherwise. Looks like you have a guardian angel over you."

Moose smiles. She was just like her. Always doubted herself. //Who knows, maybe she'll make a name for herself someday.//

"Rea-Really?"

"Yup. Says Research Site-45. Hope you like the beach because you're going to Australia."

"Ok-Okay! When do I start?"

"Looks like you've got 2 days. Better make that flight now."

She can see the alarm in her eyes. Oh it's things like these that make her days bearable.

"Oh! Okay, thank you! Ya-Yeah I need to go pack now. Thank you director!"

Shah makes a beeline for the door. Moose can only laugh in return.

The door clicks again.

----

[[span class="time"]] 15 past 8. Somewhere in Southwark, London [[/span]]
##transparent| ##

A man lays at his small desk. He's been there for 16 years. He'll be there for another 16 more.

The faint hum of the floor is interrupted by a chime of the elevator. A young brunette appears. He hasn't seen her before.

"Sorry, this floor is closed to general employees. You understand, yes?"

She looks too cheery. Her smile askew but not really. It's almost too natural.

"Oh I'm sorry. If you don't mind, what do I need to be here?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that. Company secrets and all."

"Oh, that's a shame. I really wanted **to see the glorious view from here. I hear the sunset is a real beauty. Oh well, I'll get some yogurt from the cafe instead.**

He nods. It's a strange phrase but it pays £17 an hour. Who is he to complain? He holds the door open and lets her in.

"Of course m'am. Have a good day."

The young brunette strolls the halls. It's deathly quiet. The way she likes it. The office is at the end. She waltzes in.

"Good evening Director Ibiza."

"Good evening. Take a seat."

She sits. The office is bare besides the desk, the two chairs, and the oddly green beanbag in the corner. He finally looks up.

“I assume it’s all been taken care of?”

"Yes sir. We've traced the handlers to Morocco, Egypt, and Syria. We just need permission to dispatch a team."

"Well I need to relay that to the higher-ups but sure."

"We've also compiled a list of suspected front-companies. My advice is to strike them all at once. It's a vacuum we can fill."

The old man looks at her again. She can still see the few black hairs of his deep white beard. //Huh. He looks more like Santa Claus than a murderer. Then again, we all look disarming at first.//

"I'm more interested in //our guests.// I take it all gone to plan?"

"Yes sir. Everything's ready. Now we wait."

The old man looks down once more at his screen.

"Good."

She leaves as quietly as she enters. It's deathly silent.
----
[[span class="time"]] 6:41 AM, Downtown Phoenix [[/span]]

The bus shuttles to a stop. She climbs in with the crowd. All the seats are dusty and new at the same time. The fourth row looks good. She only wondered if her new site would have the same breakfast options.

[[span class="time"]] 7:04 AM, Downtown Phoenix [[/span]]

He glances at the watch before he boards the bus. It was fortunate the ad came a few days before he was reassigned. Maybe fate was finally in his favor. Site-300, here we come.

[[span class="time"]] 7:33 AM, Downtown Phoenix [[/span]]

Two twins board the bus near the church. They glance up. They have never been separated before. They went to the same schools and colleges, and worked in the same place. Now they will go their separate ways. The one on the left reassured the other. Site-83 and Site-28 only sat a couple miles from each other.

[[span class="time"]] 7:59 AM, Downtown Phoenix [[/span]]

It was a soft click. Barely audible if you were paying attention. No one did though. The baby cried loudly, the horrible bus music blared, and all four were in their own world.

Then it all fades.

[[span class="time"]] 11:03 AM [[/span]]

We interrupt your broadcast for some breaking news. At 8 AM MST an airport shuttle erupted into a ball of flames. We regret to inform our viewers that no passenger survived. The current death toll is 67 and now over 200 injured. The neo-nazi group "The Base" has already claimed responsibility for the attack.

----

He opens fire.
Bullets fly over him and corpses of his comrades. The stench of death and smoke burn at his throat. Another crash in the distance.
Ten minutes.
Ten minutes is what it took.
In ten minutes he arrived at the gates of hell. He opens fire again only to be knocked down. The pain in his chest only grows and his blood becomes his blanket. He looks upward and only sees two things.
He sees his flag burn bright and the devils look down at him. At least he went down fighting.
It’s what the Engineer would have wanted.

----

Run.
Run.
Now the left hallway, first right, then left, left again. The bunker is a welcome sight.
She's not the only one. Thirty-no fifty huddle together. She prays they don't find them, don't find her. She waits for what feels to be eternity. The noise stops.
Could it be? Did they win? Is it safe?
Then her world shatters. She only looks up to see the Jailers hovering above them.
It's over. Carter wouldn't give two damns about them.

----

The prayer begins.
The greatest story of all time.
The story of good and evil, the selfless and selfish, the perfect and the cursed. The gears behind the pastor grind with horrible beauty. The boy looks up from his mother's lap. Charming paintings cover the ceiling from start to end. He only dreams of being up there one day. To be metal and leave the world of flesh behind, to guide those who need salvation.
He has so much left to do.

An F-16 rapidly approaches. Its heavy wings glide through the air toward a small church located in the center of a desert. So isolated. So alone. So easy to play dirty.
Three bombs drop.
Three bombs detonate.
Three craters remain.
No soul stands.

----
[[span class="time"]] 0█:██, Site-01 [[/span]]
##transparent| ##

He's been here plenty before. It's always the same. The same bleak hallways. The soulless lights above. The ugly carpet below.

He looks left then right. They guide him. They do not speak and he can not see their faces, yet they always lead with utmost determination. He supposes he expects no less from Alpha-1.

They guard the door. He takes a deep breath. Maybe this one will be better than the last.

"Ah you're finally here Director Hoyles! It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Honor's all mine. If you don't mind, how are you settling in?"

"No need to be so uptight director. I'm settling in fine. I just wanted to hear about your department from the horse's mouth."

He sweats a little. It's a trick or a trap. Maybe an execution?

"Ah, I can see your concern, Director. I can assure you I am nothing like my predecessor. In fact that’s why I was appointed."

He allows himself to smile a little bit. A luxury in his profession.

"Thank you overseer."

"Please call me **Eight**. Now I have reviewed your department from the notes of the one that came before me. Internal Communications Department, Internal Personnel Department, Internal Records Management, and Strike Force 11. All of these come under your purview, correct?"

"That is correct."

"However, one thing keeps eluding me. My predecessor wrote that the last department under you was the **Department of Consolidation**. Now here's the thing. He wrote no notes, and for a man obsessed with perfection I find that odd. I then learn that we do have a Department of Consolidation in fact but it falls under the Accounting Department. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes, I understand."

"So please explain to me why I am seeing 30% of your budget going to a department that isn't under your command?"

"It's a simple explanation really. We have two Departments of Consolidation. One comes under us and the other goes to the bankers."

"That doesn't answer my question. Why am I seeing 30% of your budget go to what is essentially a duplicate department?"

He looks at the overseer again. He expects to see eyes of hatred but only receives a curious look instead. Perhaps working under this O5 would be better than the last.

"Perhaps I can explain from the beginning. Would that work?"

The overseer only nods in return.

"The Internal Security Department is rumored to be the 'foundation inside the Foundation'. Our existence is supposed to be secret, unfortunately rumor gets around. Around the same time, long before me, the Director of ISD at the time wanted to switch tactics."

He pauses to collect his thoughts.

"The ISD serves as a defensive measure, and in the most part it still is. However, only eliminating double-agents is just addressing the symptoms, not the root issue."

"I'm guessing this is where the Department of Consolidation comes into play."

"Yes. We wanted utmost secrecy and what better way to keep that than to hide in plain sight? The Department of Consolidation, the accounting one, regularly orders site transfers, conducts audits, allocates money into certain divisions and research, and much more. We decided to ride on their pigtails."

"You do the dirty work, and they cover it. It's genius. You could conduct your operations and it wouldn’t lead back to you. So what does the Department of Consolidation do?"

"We take offensive measures in the simplest terms. We utilize discovered double-agents to lead us back to their source. By weaponizing information, we release it to other divisions to carry out our dirty work. In short, the Department of Consolidation plays everyone off each other."

He can see the gears spinning in the overseer's head. How all the pieces finally fall together.

"Now I understand. However, why didn't you or O5-8 before me write anything about this department? It could prove extremely useful to the council."

He shifts uncomfortably. He can't help but wonder the similarities between the department and Insurgency.

"Our operations are extremely ... unsavory. The last O5-8 believed the Ethics Committee would shut us down if they ever learned of our true extent, but said we were too useful."

"Can I have an example?"

"This week we discovered 4 double-agents, all located at Site-19. One for the Insurgency, one for MC&D, and two belonged to the Church of the Broken God. We arranged their transfers and had them fly on the same day. A couple days before, we slipped an ad for a free airport bus shuttle. They all took that bus along with 50 others. When the time was right we ... we blew it up and had a terrorist group claim responsibility."

"I see. And the results?"

"We uncovered a network of front-companies and churches in North Africa. We leaked them to other divisions and ensured that they were all destroyed within a designated 24-hour frame. All three groups have suffered massive blows in the region and as we speak the foundation has expanded and further consolidated its grip over North Africa."

The overseer leans back and ponders for a moment. He can only assume he screwed somewhere.

"Alright. I'll allow it. If this department has proved even a quarter useful as you said, then I would be a fool to let it be scrapped."

"Thank you for your time overseer."

He stands up, thankful for it to be over.

"Just one more thing. Are you married Director?"

"Um...come again?"

"Are you married?"

"N-No."

"And how old are you?"

"28, turning 29 in November. What is this in regards to?"

A sly smile crosses her face.

"I guess we're both high achievers then. Are you free this Saturday?"

"I am. Wh-What is this for?"

She rises from her seat and walks toward him until their faces are only inches from each other, giving the most dramatic sigh.

"You're lucky I find this all amusing. I'm asking you **on a date**. Don't worry, I'm your age."

The heat rises through him and he can't stop himself from blushing. Her face lights up even more.

"I'll take your silence as a yes. Be ready by 6 PM. I'll pick you up, okay?"

She then struts out of the room and into the distance, leaving him frozen. He has a date with one of the most beautiful and dangerous women in the world. And she's also his boss.

"What did I get myself into? WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR?"

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