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jaggedwolfAgent Park is 35 years old when he gets transferred to Project Sentinel.
It irks him. His work had become as natural to him as a well-practiced dance - he knew all the steps, and how to best maintain the appearance of following the Republic’s lead.
This assignment is nothing more than a painted target on his back. Not an opportunity to rise, like some of the other chosen idiots seem to think, but rather a clear marking of who will take the blame if all of this fails.
He schools his face into an expression of neutrality, thanks his superiors and moves offices within forty-five minutes. Adjusts the carefully chosen wedding photograph on his desk as he considers which of his contacts might still think him useful. Goes home to Shelly and says nothing of work as they eat dinner. He isn’t permitted to, and even if he was, he has no interest in doing so. Seems unnecessary as long as he still has the job.
The new project goes fine - it’s a new dance, but the Republic is consistent enough that he gets back to his old routine, keeps some previous contacts and makes some old ones. It’s nice.
Then the other Violet Liu survives. Frustrating. She is a simple loose end that should have been snipped away, leaving him free to pursue other, more predictable cases, but instead those responsible for the Iris have left him with the remains of their shoddy work.
If trying to decipher the haphazard decisions and aliases of an unexpected smuggling ship wasn’t annoying enough, he then gets assigned a junior agent. He looks through their file and crinkles his nose in annoyance. A 22-year old who had just graduated? Had to be the relative of someone important. He crinkles his nose in annoyance again when he finally meets them.
They’re earnest.
A terrible quality to have in these times, and more to the point, it’s a quality he instantly resents. It suggests a kind of sheltered past he has little sympathy for.
Still. They’re a remarkably quick learner, and as their hours get longer with each day the Rumor escapes their grasp, he gets accustomed to McCabe. Answers some of their less-relevant questions. Even the ones about Shelly, albeit with carefully filtered truths. Getting fond of someone is no excuse to give them leverage over you - he’s already made that mistake once.
He should have predicted General Frederick’s visit after Hefizah. He’s lost the pattern of the dance somehow, in the whirlwind of this case, and one step out of beat is all that’s needed. He always knew that.
Any protesting would be pointless. He doesn’t look back as he follows orders and leaves. Catching a last glimpse at the photograph on his desk wouldn’t accomplish anything, he rationalizes. He hears the squeak of the chair as McCabe turns back to their work, the hesitant typing.
He likes to think he’s prepared them well.
It irks him. His work had become as natural to him as a well-practiced dance - he knew all the steps, and how to best maintain the appearance of following the Republic’s lead.
This assignment is nothing more than a painted target on his back. Not an opportunity to rise, like some of the other chosen idiots seem to think, but rather a clear marking of who will take the blame if all of this fails.
He schools his face into an expression of neutrality, thanks his superiors and moves offices within forty-five minutes. Adjusts the carefully chosen wedding photograph on his desk as he considers which of his contacts might still think him useful. Goes home to Shelly and says nothing of work as they eat dinner. He isn’t permitted to, and even if he was, he has no interest in doing so. Seems unnecessary as long as he still has the job.
The new project goes fine - it’s a new dance, but the Republic is consistent enough that he gets back to his old routine, keeps some previous contacts and makes some old ones. It’s nice.
Then the other Violet Liu survives. Frustrating. She is a simple loose end that should have been snipped away, leaving him free to pursue other, more predictable cases, but instead those responsible for the Iris have left him with the remains of their shoddy work.
If trying to decipher the haphazard decisions and aliases of an unexpected smuggling ship wasn’t annoying enough, he then gets assigned a junior agent. He looks through their file and crinkles his nose in annoyance. A 22-year old who had just graduated? Had to be the relative of someone important. He crinkles his nose in annoyance again when he finally meets them.
They’re earnest.
A terrible quality to have in these times, and more to the point, it’s a quality he instantly resents. It suggests a kind of sheltered past he has little sympathy for.
Still. They’re a remarkably quick learner, and as their hours get longer with each day the Rumor escapes their grasp, he gets accustomed to McCabe. Answers some of their less-relevant questions. Even the ones about Shelly, albeit with carefully filtered truths. Getting fond of someone is no excuse to give them leverage over you - he’s already made that mistake once.
He should have predicted General Frederick’s visit after Hefizah. He’s lost the pattern of the dance somehow, in the whirlwind of this case, and one step out of beat is all that’s needed. He always knew that.
Any protesting would be pointless. He doesn’t look back as he follows orders and leaves. Catching a last glimpse at the photograph on his desk wouldn’t accomplish anything, he rationalizes. He hears the squeak of the chair as McCabe turns back to their work, the hesitant typing.
He likes to think he’s prepared them well.