Page 48 of Court of Aether and Shadows

What Headquarters?

I must not have been the only confused one, as many of my fellow comrades looked at each other, attempting to grasp this newfound situation.

“Since when did we have a Headquarters?” I overhear Marco huff.

“Who fucking knows,” someone speaks back, trying to keep their voice low. “But I don’t like the vibes of that dude. Smells like trouble and looks like a snitch who’d ensure we all go down at once.”

A few quickly bob their heads in agreement, looking at this man with scrutinizing eyes.

I silently agreed with them and only wondered what he was going to tell us.

Commander Reeves nodded curtly, his penetrating gaze sweeping the room. He must have been in the military for plenty of recognizable years with how his aura projects such resilience. A segreant ready to get us up and running to our stations.

When his eyes landed on me, I felt a jolt of...something.

Recognition? Curiosity?

There was an intensity to his scrutiny that made me want to squirm in my seat. All I could tell was that my instincts didn’t like this man one bit.

Before I could analyze it further, he began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, what I'm about to share with you is classified at the highest levels," he said, his voice a low rumble that demanded attention. "This comes straight from the White House. We have a hostage situation that's been ongoing for years, and it's time to put an end to it."

The White House?

Now this was becoming a bit sketchy because why would the White House know about the Underground and be “fine” with our existence? We worked with the mafia. With some of the biggest and most lethal gang members and crime orchestrators. We were the ones you called to get rid of ABCD before dawn, knowing you had an hour left to complete such a mission.

If the White House knew of our existence, did it mean they supported us in assisting the world of violence and crime?

Heck, were they promoting it?

In a way, I wasn’t too surprised if they were.

No one could deny how profitable it was to promote the families of drug lords and generations of mafia allegiances. I’m sure whenever there was a successful execution, these individuals of power in the Black Market generously gave to the government as a tip.

A little hush money to keep the FBIand CIA off their trails.

Absolutely disgusting, especially with how the increase of child trafficking and kidnapping, in general, have shot up these last few years, but whatever secretly benefited the government, they would continue to encourage without bringing attention to themselves.

“You’re joking, right?” Someone speaks up. “You’re telling me you’re from the big White House. Those preppy fuckers who can barely keep the president safe?”

Another person huffs in dismay.

“Guess we’re all going to jail tonight if you’re here.”

“Silence!” Vincent snaps and gives us all dagger glares. “This is a special request and again, classified. No one else is aware of our existence or interference in the mission that’s going to be intercepted by OUR unit. The Underground was established to aid anyone who requested and paid our hefty price. Whether that’s the greater drug lord of our town or the very President of the United States!”

He scans the room, forcing us to remain silent with his strict declaration.

“Think of this as a special privilege!” Vincent blares roughly. “I’ll be personally assessing everyone’s performance on this. Y’all waiting to pay off your debts or get those promotional opportunities for a big ass suite in this joint, pay fucking attention!”

That seems to wipe away any amusement of doubt on everyone’s faces. The potential of getting some sort of promotion would be nice. Maybe I’d upgrade from the confined cot of a bedroom into something with a bit more square footage.

Or maybe give me my freedom so I can find a way to those lands of spacious intricacy and delightful architecture.

How I missed my dreams now.

Commander Reeves tapped a button on a remote, and images began to flash across the screen behind him.

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