His bedroom ceiling slowly comes into focus as his brain tries to engage. He’s always suffered from grogginess when waking up—something Phyllis never gets tired of teasing him about—and this time is no different. The problem is compounded by how long and hard he and the rest of his team have been pushing themselves. This was supposed to have been his first full night of sleep in days, and now he’s awake.
The room is small, run down, and mostly empty. The hardwood floors are cracked and rough, faded wallpaper peels away from the walls to reveal chipped plaster beneath, and a single window, heavily curtained, sits above an old radiator that badly needs bleeding. The room is dark: the only light comes from the gap between the heavy window curtains and the window itself, splashing red neon over the top of the hissing, spitting radiator and onto the floor.
The sounds of the city—car horns, people shouting, occasional blasts of music—can be heard beyond the window. The world outside is full of noisy, frenetic life… but the room, and all the others like it in this building, is silent and dark.
Phyllis Tanner and Billy Davison have been partners longer than Jason Kline has known them. They were assigned to his team as a pair, and while they get along well with everyone in the group they are undeniably more effective working together than working apart. If Jason had to choose the most effective member of his team, he’d try to make a case for them being the same person split between two bodies.
The Board Room is nearly empty, save for three figures sitting at the long, center table. One sits at the head of the table—the Chairman, his face shrouded in shadow, as always—while the other two sit at the far end, watching him intently.
The space between them is deliberate, and both sides are keenly aware of it.