Well, Mr. Jumper had it coming. Good for Sally, I guess she passed that test. Hope she doesn’t hurt too badly.
I love writing scenes where people eat food. There is something primeval and basic sitting around a table or fire and sharing one of the essential elements of life. And communicate while eating. This has absolutely nothing to do with the first adventure of Sally, Ryan, and Moe, called “Teen Monster Hunters”.793Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtJnMdh6OeF
„Teen Monster Hunters“, now online available in print and as ebook.
After what seemed an endless span of time, the door to the gym locker opened, and Agent Black appeared.
“Had fun with the staff?” she asked.
Sally shrugged. “Depends on your definition of fun. Compared to a slap in the face, definitely.” She limped towards Black. In the shower, her little violent escapade had already turned her shoulder and lower leg yellow-blueish.
“That’s all we wanted.” Black did not comment at Sally’s discomfort and obvious pain.
“How is Mr. Jumper?” Sally asked.
“In a bad and extremely foul mood. He will torture his next fighting class. You are already a SIA legend, Sally. Ready?”
“More tests?”
“Yes, the ultimate one. Lunchtime at our site’s restaurant.”
Sally laughed. “How bad can it be?”
“Well,” Ryan started. “I always thought our school restaurant was pretty bad, but trying this…”
“Apologies,” Black raised her hands. “We are a super-secret government organization, but still a federal institution. For some reason or the other, we are associated with the budget of the Department of Justice. And the contractor for the restaurant is the same one who fuels court buildings and jails all over this state.”
“Moe, hungry.”
“I’ll try to get some slices of raw bread to get us through the day,” Sally said and walked over to the counter. “Sir?”
The man in the kitchen had his back to her, rummaging in the sink.
“Sir?”
Again, no reaction.
Sally started to climb the counter, and the man turned around. A big square chunk of body, no neck, unsavory unwashed black hair—a walking hygiene disaster. “What-da-ya think you’re doing?” he grunted.
“Getting food!” Sally said, halfway over, but she stopped. “You give me some bread, or I’ll get it myself.”
The cook stared at Sally.
Sally cocked her head and said “Your food is terrible, and my friends and I are starving. You might not get much opposition from the staff here, but I am only a guest and have nothing to lose. And I know that you are thinking of grabbing one of the big knives from the wooden block over there to defend your food.”
A look in that direction gave the cook’s thoughts away.
“I’ll be faster!” Sally stated with total conviction. “There would be a lot of blood and a finger missing before Agent Black comes to save you.”
The cook, rattled by this fifteen-year-old mafia godfather, gave up, walked to a sideboard, and came to the counter with a loaf of white toast. He handed it over to Sally who returned to the restaurant side of the counter with a “Thank you. Sir!”
She walked back to the table where Ryan and Moe were playing it cool, and Agent Black suppressed her smile.
Sally muttered “I’d like to test my Karate skills against that idiot” and pushed her bounty towards Moe and Ryan.
“That was courageous, Storm,” Agent Black said. “Everyone is afraid of the Slab. No one knows how he got the job. The best rumor says he is a convicted mass murderer who managed to switch identities with the cook in a high security prison kitchen. The cook is now in lifelong solitary confinement, and the Slab made a career move to our outfit.”
“As long he doesn’t apply to a job at Hawthorne High, I can live with that. Better you guys than us,” Sally said, giving the Slab a well-met death stare across the room.
“What’s up for us in the afternoon?” Sally asked, munching.
Black was clearly impressed and also nibbled at a dry toast. “Some physical tests—running, climbing, jumping, push-ups. Reaction time evaluation.”
“Then you better hope that the bread saves our asses and gives us enough energy.” Sally said and swallowed.
“Tell me, Agent Black,” Ryan asked. “Do these tests really mean anything? We are kids, and let’s face it, how many kids have you tested before for your kind of work?”
“That’s classified,” Black said.
“Really? You train kids to hunt monsters and aliens or whatever?”
“That’s classified, too.”
“Ah, the fabled KORS program,” Ryan sat back and started on his toast, too. “KORS” had been one of the acronyms he had caught during their first encounter.
“How do you know about that?” Black said and then slowly put her forehead on the table top. “Montgomery, you did it again. I hate this.” Ryan had trained himself as a mentalist to retrieve information from people who did not want to disclose it.
“You should mark it as one of my strengths in my evaluation. And maybe put it down as one of your weaknesses?” Ryan helped.
“Let me guess, Director Fletcher had let it slip during our first encounter?”
“Yup.”
“All right, gang, I need to rush to my exercise. I’ll be seeing you in a few days when the evaluation results come in.” Black got up. “Someone will pick you up in about fifteen minutes.”
The three Monster Hunters silently ate the dry old bread. The Slab was busy cleaning up, when an electronic lock door beside the counter opened with a buzz, and he came out to collect the unused meal trays of the kids. No words were exchanged, just stares. Finally the door closed again, the electric lock turned red, and the Slab rolled down the steel shutter that separated kitchen counter from restaurant. He made sure it slammed shut with a bang that reverberated for a while. He locked it from the inside, and then the noises in the kitchen stopped, too.
After they were done with the bread, Ryan stretched and looked around and exclaimed “Where is everyone? Did they forget about us?”
ns 15.158.61.54da2
