A sleek black suit with no visible model posed with a coffee floating in the space that would make up one hand, while the cuff of the coffee-less hand had a few inches between its fabric and the sheer slab of glass that made up the wall. The coffee rose to the lips of its wearer, tipping over, pouring its contents into the neck hole of the suit. Instead of staining the suit with a dark tint of brown and forming a puddle on the cold concrete below the suit’s own oxfords, the liquid disappeared behind an invisible set of lips.

The bitter aroma of the coffee filled the voidless expanse of Paul’s room to the best that it could. The simple elegance of his mahogany desk beckoned the scent to dance upon its glossy finish. Though the temptation was great, the industrial fans he had built into the ceiling overhead kept the aroma from dancing. Instead, they followed the wind of the fans, filling every crevice and pocket of space from the splintering of wood from the bookcase that stretched across the entire wall parallel to his wall of windows.

Paul’s mahogany desk sat isolated in the center of the room. Handcrafted by Paul himself, the surfaces and angles were crisp and clean save for one part. The top had been the canvas for Paul’s artistic expression, letting his heart and mind guide his hands in the production of a piece to quench his satisfaction had resulted in something unexpected.

Upon looking at the table, one’s eyes are drawn to one focal point etched into the center, a simple interpretation of the Earth. It was easy to tell this is the heart of the piece, all of the other etchings and markings from production birthed from the one point. Below the Earth, the artist chipped a collection of generic people pulling at each other as they tried to climb up the mass to support the sole figure that stood on top. Any true art snob would downplay the design and craftsmanship by saying it is shotty at best but; those who appreciate beauty in a true form will praise the piece as being the closest capture to some innate desire that lingers but, is never named by those who feel it, only those who seek it.

A crackle of static interrupted Paul’s morning coffee, “Sir, teams are moving to their designated positions.”

Paul’s free hand moved to his lapel, holding the thin pressure pad stitched within between his index and thumb, “Acknowledged. Any new update?”

“No sir, the doctor just arrived and is administrating some tests.”

“Understood, are the teams outfitted as I instructed.”

“Yes but sir,” the static lingered as whoever on the other end gathered all the confidence they could to express their concern, “Is it really necessary to have our teams equipped with lethal ammunition?”

The mug in Paul’s hand began to shake from his subordinate’s questioning, “Do you not trust me, cadet?” The liquids leaked over onto Paul’s hand, dripping in one stream to the concrete beneath him.

“Yes, sir,” the cadet provided the answer Paul wanted to hear, and did not dare to let any questioning linger in the air.

The stream of coffee ceased to drip as Paul began to relax from the reinstatement of his authority, saving his oxfords from ruin. He turned to his desk to prepare for the impronto operation, “I didn’t mean to snap at you Sterling. If I’ve taught you anything it is to think-”

“For ourselves,” Sterling’s voice managed to interrupt his superior in a respectful manner. “You have also taught us to have faith in those that lead us. I do have faith in your ability sir, no question about that. May I have the permission to speak freely?”

Paul reclined in his invisible throne behind his desk, “Are the teams still in transit to their position?”

“Yes, Sierra is beginning to repel from above and Hotel is clearing the rest of the suite now. The floors above and below, as well as the floor itself, are clear of all students. The doctor is getting ready to inject the target with the sedative.”

“Good,” Paul rapped his knuckles on his desk three times, causing four massive monitors and a keyboard and mouse to manifest on his desk, “Permission to speak freely granted.”

“Thank you sir, I have this gut feeling that something isn’t right with this operation. I mean, two teams equipped with lethal ammunition for the transport of one sedated student, it just seems excessive to me.”

“It may certainly seem excessive but, I can assure you, that we may very well be under equipped and undermanned for this.” Paul’s mouse cursor hovered on some desktop application and clicked, pulling up the helmet feeds of each cadet on the two top screens. The top left showed the outside of the building as the team began making their descent. The top right showed the basic aesthetic of a domain consisting of nerdy young men.The bottom left displayed each member's vitals, with the only one showing abnormalities of stress belonging to Cadet Andre Sterling.

“What do you mean sir?” The question posed caused his readings to spike for a moment before settling.

“This student is an unregistered abnormal.”

Upon finishing Sterling’s orders, the six members of Hotel Team had set up a choke point at the sole entry and exit point into the target’s room. Hotel-4 and Hotel-5 flanked the molding of the generic wooden door, cladded in the heavy plated issued armor and adorning the university designed Shrapnel Accelerator, waiting for the order to go in and secure the target. The large two piece L-shaped couch was split into two, creating a loose trapezoid forcing traffic to move unobstructed between the two barriers. Hotel-3 and Hotel-1, prompted their issued rifles against the smooth leather of the couch, fixing their aim past the door to whatever hostile target comes their way. Hotel-2 and Hotel-Actual, Sterling, mimicked the stance of their teammates, waiting for Paul’s order to move in.

To be continued...