The Support Group: Chapter 3
It was the clicking that woke her. No, not clicking, typing. Then her head throbbed, and suddenly the tapping of fingers across the keyboard might as well have been the sound of gunshots going oFf, or classical percussion being played in a concert hall. As she rolled onto her side she realized that the hard pillow cooling the side of her face was, in fact, the smooth cold of a concrete of the floor. Clarke braced herself with a shaky hand and pushed herself up to sit, groaning as another burst of pain exploded from behind her eyelids, and a wave of nausea washed over her. The typing stopped, and as Clarke struggled to force hear heavy eyelids open, she heard a voice.
“You vomited all over Anya you know.”
Clarke blinked a few times to clear her blurred vision.
“Wh.. What? Where am I?!!”
Her vision finally clear, Clarke was able to take in her surroundings. The room had no windows, and was only dimly lit by fluorescent tubes, giving the space an eerie, slightly greenish glow. From floor to ceiling, the whole of the space was composed of cold, glossy concrete. A modest coffin locker style bed had been built into the left wall, and every remaining surface in the room, was covered in blue prints and schematics. In the far right corder, a semi-circular desk sat, cramped with stacked paperwork, humming electrical equipment, and computer screens. Just being one of these a tuft of dark hair was just visible. Then, the sound of an office chair swiveling and rolling caught Clarks attention, and a pretty, tan skinned girl emerged form behind the desk.
“Whoa, whoa whoa! Relax! You’re safe.”
The girl paused, waiting to make sure that Clarke had calmed down before continuing.
“ I said you vomited. Twice on the helo ride here, and again, all over Anya, when she was helping carry you in. She’s pissed!”
As confused as she was, Clarke felt embarrassment creep over her. Suddenly she felt timid and modest.
“Oh. I’m sorry…”
The dark haired girl shook her head, grinning madly.
“Don’t be! She’s the MOST uptight, pain in the ass. You should've seen the face she made when it happened. Priceless! Anyway, you’ll find this out soon enough, but this place isn’t exactly comedy night at the Apollo. Watching you blow chunks all over Anya while you were unconscious…. Well, that’s pretty much the funniest thing I’ve seen all year.”
Clarke’s cocked an eyebrow and stared at the dark haired girl, mouth slightly agape. She felt as though she had jumped into this conversation mid stride, and understood none of the context critical to it. Where was “this place?” Who the hell was “Anya?” Her expression must have betrayed how utterly lost in she felt, and a spark of realization appeared in the dark haired girls eyes. She leaned forward, extending her hand, and used one leg to roll herself toward Clarke.
“I’m Raven, by the way.”
Watching her pull her chair towards her, Clarke realized that the girl’s other foot was dragging over the floor like a deadweight. When she looked closer, she realized that the girl’s whole leg was strapped tightly in a brace, extending from underneath her foot, to just below the top of her thigh. The girl clearly noticed Clarke staring at the appendage, and she knocked on the metal supports of the brace.
“Nerve damage. No feeling from the mid-thigh down.”
Clarke shook her head, realizing how rude she must seem.
“Sorry! Oh…”
She reach out and grabbed Raven’s still extended hand, shaking it.
“Clarke. I mean… My name is Clarke. Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”
To her credit Raven smiled generously, shrugging her shoulders.
“It happens. Believe me, I’m used to it.”
Though she knew that Raven had said it to be reassuring, the statement instantly made Clarke feel guilty. For a moment, she shifted her eyes around the room in embarrassment, doing everything she could not to make eye contact. When she finally looked back at Raven, Clarke realized that she’d completely forgotten what should certainly be her primary concern. She still had no idea where she was.
“Raven… Where am I? What is this place?”
Suddenly, it was Raven’s turn to avoid eye contact. She looked around the room, hesitating to answer before she finally raised a balled fist in front of her mouth, and cleared her throat.
“This is my place. I’d apologize for the mess, but frankly this is how it always looks.:
Raven scooted her chair back behind the desk and and then rolled back minute later with a bottle of water and an aspire.
“Here, take this. You look like you could use it.”
Clarke nodded and took the pill. As soon as she washed it down with a swig from the water bottle, she felt her stomach lurch. Clarke shuddered and let out a sickened moaning sound, grabbing her stomach and lurching forward. Raven immediately rolled back behind the desk, grabbing a small waist bucket and rolling back to place it in front of the sickened girl.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey, there blondie. If you’re gonna spew, spew into this.”
Clarke nodded and took the waste bucket in hand, folding it into the crook of her arm. She spit into it, attempting to clear the lingering acidic taste from her mouth, and took a few deep breaths to calm herself.
“Thanks. Actually, I think I’ll gonna be ok. I just… I think my stomach is still a little sensitive. What happened to me anyway? Why do I feel like I just woke up on the bad end of a a pub crawl?”
Raven rolled her eyes.
“That’ll be Anya. She likes to go a little heavy on the tranqs. Some people have a bad reaction. Guess you’re just one of the unlucky few.”
Clarke’s eyes widened.
“Wait, tranqs as in tranquilizers? Why was I tranquilized?! Raven, tell me what is going on!”
Rave sighed and wring her hands.
“Look, you remember meeting Kane right?”
Clarke nodded.
“And I’m sure he gave you some big speech about choices, and options, and then offered you some kind of ‘get out of jail free’ card in exchange for joining the organization he worked for. Is that right?”
Clarke nodded again.
“Ok, well… That is where you are. This, is that organization. I mean, not this…”
Raven pointed around the room.
“This, is my bedroom. But, you are in my bedroom, inside the headquarters of the organization he was talking about. You were tranquilized because that is what they do to everybody the first time they bring them here. This is all supposed to be all ‘secret squirrel’ so, they need to make sure they can trust you before they let you get your bearings.
Clarke glanced around.
“And, how did I end up in your bedroom?”
Raven blushed.
“Hey now… Don’t get any ideas. They put you here because you were sick and I, obviously…”
Raven tapped her leg.
“…am not going anywhere anytime soon. They needed someone to watch you to make sure you didn’t aspirate. So, you know… you’re welcome.”
Clarke nodded.
“Well… Thanks I guess… for not letting me drown in a pool of my own vomit.
Raven smiled.
No problem. I mean, hey, I woke up nauseous, in a strange room once too.
Raven’s expression becomes melancholy then, and for a moment there was a lapse in conversation between the two. Finally, Clarke broke the silence.
“So, can you tell me anything else about where I am, or are you being deliberately vague?”
Raven touched the tip of her nose with her index finder to indicate that Clarke had hit the nail on the head.
“I wouldn’t want to ruin the big orientation speech that Kane has planned. Although, I suppose I wouldn’t be breaking the rules if I told you that ‘this place’ is actually an old World War II bunker that was designed to house high ranking members of government. Right now you’re about a mile under ground. Home sweet home. Try to think of it as summer camp, only awful, and buried underneath the Anacostia river.”
Clarke’s eyes widened in realization.
“Wait, the Anacostia river… Are we in D.C?”
Raven realized her slip and turned bright red.
“Nope! Nope! I’ve said way too much as it is. No more questions for the day.”
She spun back around and, once again scooted behind her desk, where she began typing madly. Clarke was about to press her for more information when the heavy, metal door to the room and a slender girl with the highest cheekbones Clarke had ever seen appeared.
“You!”
She pointed at Clarke.
“Follow me!”
Clarke glanced back at Raven who was staring at her mouthing what appeared to be, “That’s Anya.”
Clarke gulped. She turned back to the slender woman standing in the doorway, who was glaring daggers at her.
“Up! Now! I don’t have all day!”
Clarke was on her feet in an instant and following Anya out the door of the room. As they entered the corridor outside she though she could barely make out the fair sound of Raven shouting tidings of good luck to her.
Clarke trailed behind Anya down the domed, reinforced corridors, and up several flights of stairs before reaching a doorway marked “GALLERY.” Like everything els win the corridor, the door was constructed from heavy steel, and in place of a handle there was a keypad, something one might see on an old payphone. Anya punched in a code quickly, and a metal slat on the door rolled open, revealing a small screen. The screen lit, and Anya leaned forward as green scanner beams combed over her face. Then a loud clanking rang out as the door unlocked, swinging forward slightly. Anya pushed it the rest of the way and pointed a finger into the darkness beyond it.
“In.”
Clarke hesitated. She was more then a little worried what lay waiting for her beyond the door, and had no desire to find out. In spite of herself, Clarke too a cautious step forward, and watched as Anya’s eyes narrowed.
“Come on, Blondie! I don’t have all day!”
She grabbed Clarke’s arm and yanked her towards the entrance, pushing her the rest of the way in, before shoving the door closed behind her. It took Clarke’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light in the room. She could tell she was in some kind of medium sized amphitheater, but it appeared to blu lit only by strips of emergency lights, located below each row of seats.
“Hey!”
Clarke looked down toward the bottom of the theater and saw a tiny cluster of people gathered in the first few rows.
“Hey! Down here!”
“Shhh!”
A second voice scolded the first.
“What’s the matter with you! We have no idea who that is! How do you know they are here to help?”
A third voice rang out.
“Maybe, it’s another recruit.”
Clarke could hear the sounds of shoving and arguing going on bellow her. Slowly, she made her way down the amphitheater steps, using the metal railing for guidance. Finally, she reached the group of people at the bottom, and tried to do a quick head count. Eighty, maybe nine people were lounging between the first two rows of seats. Clarke tried to make out their faces but it was too dark to see much of anything. The sound of hushed arguing continued, growing more intense until suddenly, bright light flooded the room. The entire group squint and groaned.
It took a moment for Clarke’s eyes to adjust, but when they did the first thing she recognized was the man standing on in the circular floor of the amphitheater. There, dressed in the same black suit, was Kane.
“Everyone, please, take a seat.”
Clarke sat, looking around at her companions. There were eight people surrounding her. All of them appeared to be in their twenties, though some were decidedly younger looking than others. The oldest amongst them was a tall, powerfully built young man with curly hair, tan skin, and a smattering of freckles. Next to him was a broad gentleman with dark skin. His hair was cut in the kind of high fade that, to Clarke, seem a clear indication that he had a military background. Just behind the second boy, sat a third, his slender build and curved shoulders slumped in guarded disinterest. He had delicate features, with a slightly curved nose, and hair down to his cheek. Up and to the right of this young man, two girls sat, staring around the room contemptuously. One had dirty blonde hair and fair skin, the other was raven headed, with olive skin and a round face. Just in front of them were two more you more young men, the youngest looking of the group. They sat close together, whispering to one another discreetly, and exchanging suspicious looks. One was tall and skinny, with a messy dark hair, and a hint of a goatee. The other was a shorter, asian boy, with graceful cheekbones and dark, soulful eyes that seemed to give him a permanently thoughtful look. Just to their side, sitting bolt upright, was a short serious looking young man, with the caramel colored skin, and a scruffy beard.
Clarke looked back down at the young man with the curly hair, who had just begun speaking.
“Hey, man! Some of us wanna know what’s going on here. You wanna tell me why I woke up in a bunker this morning?”
Kane nodded.
“A fair question Mr. Blake. By now, I am sure you are all wondering where you are and what you’re doing here. I can assure you, everything is about to become clear. To answer Mr. Blake’s question, each one of you was scouted, studied and suggested for recruitment by a senior members of our organization. You are all here for two reasons. First, each one of you is here because you had no other choice.”
Clarke was reminded of the conversation with Kane back in her jail cell. What kind of people could these other eight individuals be if they had all been brought here under the same premise?
“Secondly, each one of you posses unique talents that have been deemed essential to the mission of this organization.”
The curly haired boy spoke up again.
“And what is so essential about all of us, exactly?”
Kane smiled at the boy and then waved his hand towards a media booth at the top of the amphitheater.
“”Queue the screen please!”
The lights dimmed again, and the beam of a projected shone down form above them. A picture of the curly haired boy’s face filled the screen at the front of the amphitheater, and next to it, a dossier style breakdown of his person. Kane began reciting information off hand.
“Bellamy Augeus Blake: Age 28. Parents: Aurora Blake, no father listed. Mother: deceased. One sister: living. Three time national AAU youth champion in Taekwondo, two time finalist east coast regional junior championships in Brazilian jiujitsu. Black belts: Taekwondo, Brazilian jiujitsu, aikido. Three years at Hargrave Military Academy, attended full scholarship. Dropped out after your mothers death. Full legal guardianship of younger sister at 17. GED at 18, Baltimore Police Academy at 20, SWAT Platoon B at 23. Training in hostage recovery & crisis negotiations. All the best weapons training and CQB schools AND… you managed to raise you little sister and help put her through four years of George Washington University, where she had a partial gymnastics scholarship. Very impressive Mr. Blake.”
The projector clicked again and now the dark skinned boys face light up the screen. Kane continued.
“Wells Coté Jaha: Age 27. Parents, Mariam Jaha née Coté and Thelonious Jaha. Mother: deceased. Father: living; General, U.S. Air Force. Six total appearances world youth chess championships, two under 8, one under 10, one under 12, two under 14. Ten years gymnastics, two regional youth championship appearances. Four years Episcopal High school, Alexandria Virginia. Four years deans list. Four years boy’s variety crew, captain senior year, national title senior year. College: West Point. Intelligence officer training, pathfinders, SERE school, Ranger school, Defense Language Institute. Oh… and you’re fluent in five languages, including Arabic and Russian.”
The screen clicked again, and now the two younger looking boys appeared on the screen. Kane looked over to where they were sitting.
“Monty Green and Jasper Jordan, our most junior recruits. Juniors at Galileo Academy of Science and Technology when you hacked the central database for the city of San Francisco. Two years probation each. Both attended Stanford. Multiple infractions from your university for distribution of synthetic drugs. Both arrested one months ago, for hacking the mainframe of the national security agency. Both facing life in prison before you turn 21.”
The screen clicked again, and this time it was the slender boy form the front row on the screen.
“John Murphy. Parents: Both deceased. Juvenile record…” Here Kane paused. “Extensive.” Profession: Master thief. Suspected in over 50 major thefts with no arrests. Known affiliations with over ten major crime rings. Indicated in what is perhaps the largest art heist in Chicago history, but with no evidence leading to arrest. Skills: lock-picking, safe cracking, repelling, discreet infiltration.”
Kane continued until they had covered everyone in the room accept for Clarke. The two girls, Harper and Emori, had been a communications specialist, and a con artist/renowned pickpocket respectively. The boy with the scruff beard, Miller, had been a weapons expert. When her information flashed onto the screen Kane paused and looked up at her. From the front row she could hear the curly hair, who she know knew to be Bellamy whistle. Wells, the young man sitting next to him, immediately elbowed him in the ribs, giving him a stern glare. Kane cleared his throat, and shot both young a stern scowl.
“And… Last but not least Clarke Griffin, our medical expert.” Kane proceeded to begin giving her biographical information. When he began covering her education, Clarke could hear Bellamy mumble something along the lines of “rich girl” from the front row. Kane signaled to the booth again, and the lights were brought back up. He looked around the room and took a few steps forward, making sure to look each and every one of the nine people in front of his in the eyes.
“Recruits, this organization is one which handles the discreet collection of sensitive information and the neutralization of critical threats.”
John Murphy leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the desk in front of him, and smirked.
“So, this is like the CIA? Is that what you’re saying?”
Kane gave the faintest of smiles.
“Not exactly. You see, if this were the CIA, the government would keep a detailed personnel record on each of you. You’d have files, and a paper trail, and information about you saved in every major government system there is. Now, if this were any other organization that would be fine. However, the people who are administrative in control of our organization need, shall we say, a higher level of plausible deniability when it comes to our activities. For example, let’s say that a military dictator comes to power in a small, Eastern Europe nation. Our government want him deposed, but he is beloved by his nation, which also happens to be our ally. Additionally, the U.S. has active military installations in said nation. We could openly support a coup, but that could loose us our allegiance with the nation in question, and potentially puts our military personnel at risk. Similarly, we could use some of our more traditional, clandestine services to try and assassinate him, but if our personnel are caught, the result is the same. It is in situations such as this, that the United States turns to our organization. Our operatives have no identities, no citizenship, no paper trails, and cannot be linked to any government. We are ghosts, and it is with that in mind, that as of 0800 this morning, all of you ceased to exist.”
The last sentence threw the room into chaos. Frantic questions rang out from the eight young people gathered in the amphitheater stands, and Kane waited for them to calm before continuing. He explained that their deaths has been faked, and their friends and family now believed them to be gone forever. Clarke was informed that the helicopter she had supposedly been transported to her military commission in had experienced mechanical failure, crashing into Lake Constance near the Alps. Unsurprisingly, no personnel had been recovered. Similar scenarios had been used to cover up all of their disappearances. Kane patiently detailed each one to the frantic and furious you people, though Clarke barely caught a word he was saying. She was too busy starring at the figure who had just appeared behind him.
There, in the shadows just off the amphitheater floor stood a beautiful, athletic looking girl with vary brown hair and piercing green eyes. Clarke remembered thought eyes. Those were the eyes that had stared at her through the darkness, during her brief moment of consciousness, proceeding her arrival in this facility. The girl walked forward, tapping Kane on the shoulder and whispering something in his ear. Kane nodded and looked back out over the nine people in the audience.
“It looks like they’re ready to receive you now. Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first day of you new lives. Welcome, to the support group.”
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