Metal Tables - A sneak peek at my finished Novel (currently working on the editing)
Sebastian looked up at the men sitting across the metal table from him. He’d never seen them before, and his brain couldn’t decide what kind of people they were. They weren’t security guards—guards wore uniforms, but these two wore identical, inexpensive grey suits. They weren’t journalists; he’d met a few, but for some reason, newspapers had only ever sent women to talk to him, and their interest had faded quickly. They didn’t seem like doctors, who typically wore shirts without suit jackets, yet that was the only role he could imagine fitting his situation. The men had been in the room, staring at him for three minutes, clearly waiting for him to speak first. Maybe it was some sort of power play, making him ask the question so they could control the answers.
“I’m not signing the paperwork if that’s what you’re here about,” Sebastian said.
One man showed no reaction, the other leaned forward.
“I’m not sure what paperwork you’re talking about.”
Sebastian straightened at the sound of the American accent. A new clue to the puzzle.
“The voluntary suicide paperwork.”
This did cause a reaction in both men: their eyebrows shooting up, a glance shared between them, and uncomfortable shifting in their chairs.
“But I guess that’s not what you’re here about,” Sebastian said.
“You didn’t sign it?” the man repeated.
“Alright then. That’s interesting. Seventeen and in jail, seems such a waste, doesn’t it, Steve?”
“Yep.” The other man answered.
Sebastian managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he looked at the way that the light reflected off the metal table. If he moved his head slightly, the shades of silver changed. He liked this, but he knew not to do it, as swaying his head would look weird enough that the two men might assume that he was on drugs and tell the guards to search his cell. There was nothing dodgy in his cell, but it was still an invasion of his space, leaving him feeling like ants were crawling under his skin.
“We’ve read your file, Sebastian, quite clever what you did.” Steve pushed forward, giving Sebastian a feeling that there was a script somewhere and it hadn’t started the way the men had expected, but they were going to push forward with it anyway.
“If you want to talk about that, I’m going to need a lawyer present,” Sebastian answered drolly.
“Hmm… guess we should have expected that from a smart one. What did they say his IQ was in those notes?” Steve asked the other man.
“Said 130, moderately gifted it said.”
“Only moderately, hey. I didn’t think the program accepted only the moderate ones.”
“Well, the boss saw him in the news and wanted him.”
Sebastian sighed and looked up at the two men. He didn’t quite understand what game it was they were playing with him, but he appreciated it when people got straight to the point.
The men carried on their conversation as if he wasn’t sitting right in front of them.
“Tried as an adult?”
“Yep.”
“The defence wanted the judge to go easy on him because of his condition, but the psychologist said he knows the difference between right and wrong.”
“Is that right, Sebastian? Do you know that fraud is wrong?”
“Answering that could be seen as an admittance that I actually did commit fraud.” Sebastian pointed out.
“You’ve been found guilty. That’s why you’re in jail.” Steve said.
“I’m aware, I was there.”
“We’re here to offer you a deal,” Steve said, finally getting to the point.
Sebastian sat back and looked at the stripes on the man's tie.
We can offer for you to finish your mandated education at our facility. Then you’d work for our agency, and wewould bring those eight years down to under six for you. You’ve only just turned seventeen, right?”
“Then you’ve got another year and seven months of education left. Which you have to complete. Then four years working for the agency.””
“And what agency are you? “Sebastian asked.
The men exchanged a look.
“An American government agency,” Sebastian stated slowly, looking for more information as to why he was being recruited from the UK.
“Yes, we have discussed the deal with our counterparts over here.”
“You want me to move to America, where I’ll be in a juvenile detention centre?” Sebastian clarified.
“We call it retraining, for our morally corrupted teenagers who need re-educating to become upstanding members of society.”
“And after this re-education, I have to work for you. Doing what exactly?”
“Using your unique skills to gather information.”
“Hacking, basically. You’re spies, and you want me to hack people for you, and if I do that, I get two years taken off my sentence.” Sebastian pushed.
The men exchanged a look and shifted in their chairs. The metal scraped across the concrete floor.
“Not just two years. You will be monitored and will live in our facilities, but after training, you will have supervised freedom. It’s not exactly a prison.”
“Once you’ve passed your exams, you can go to the mall if you wear an ankle bracelet. Tell us where you’re going, who you’re seeing and be back before curfew. Got a few who will do their college degrees through the post and then go on to do post-grad when they finish their service.”
“Look, kid, your parents are dead.” The other one said abruptly.
“Again, I know, I was there.”
“You’ve got no family here. You were tried as an adult. What were you planning on doing when you got out of jail? With an incomplete education and a criminal record? No money, no family, no prospects. Come work with us, and your record will be cleared, you’ll leave after six years with us with a reference, and we even pay you a little and keep part of it saved for you, so when you leave, you can set yourself up.”
“If you leave, you might even like it.” The nameless man added.
The men exchanged a look again.
“We’ll give you time to think.” They said, both standing up at the exact same time.
“You don’t need to,” Seb answered.
“You’re making a mistake, kid.”
“Listen,” Sebastian said, sitting up. “You ask me what my plans are for when I get out of here, but your reaction when I said I never signed the paperwork means you know I was never getting out of here. For the last few months the gaurds and nurses here have bene pushing me to sign up for voluntary suicide the moment I turn eighteen, I’m autistic, I’m a criminal, according to them I will never be anything except a cost to the tax payer and I should do the right thing and allow somebody to kill me with an injection in a nice sterile hospital room. This country wants me dead, so yours wants to manipulate me and use me somehow; it seems better than dead to me. I’m in.”
The two men shared a look.
“Well, I guess you were wrong about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You will be signing the paperwork, just not the type you were expecting.”
