Sam sat quietly in the conference room.  A large grey table was placed in the middle of the room with large grey chairs sitting all around it.  A projection screen was attached to the wall on one end of the room with a head chair opposite of it.  She tapped a pencil she found on the table and looked up to the clock.  She was a few minutes early, but she didn’t expect to be the first and only person here.  She also knew that Mr. Breaburn was always spot on time, never a second early or a second late.

Sam heard the door handle turn behind her and she turned in her chair to see who was entering.  It was still too early for Mr. Breaburn to arrive.

The fidgety man from the lobby entered the room.  His face turned sour when he saw Sam sitting in front of him.  He started playing with his fingers again and walked around her, pulling up a chair opposite of her at the table.  He sat down and glared at her. 

She glared back at him with equal ferocity. 

After a few uncomfortable seconds he spoke up, “I’m not a freak you know.” 

Sam looked confused, “I never said you were.” 

The man leaned back in his chair, “Yes that’s true, but you were thinking it.” 

Sam set the pencil on the table and raised an eyebrow, “So who are you? Besides scrawny and weird.”  She gave a slight grin at the man.

The man gave a slight grin right back, “Well, for one I know that your name is Sam, Samantha to be precise, and that you joined the Institute four years ago after a most unfortunate incident.  Life-changing, if I might say so myself.”  He scratched his nose in a cool, collected manner, “I can tell you more if you wish.  Your mind is like an open book.”  He turned his hand around and looked at his nails, leaning back in his chair.  A smug look was plastered all about his face.

Sam leaned back in her chair as well.  She scooted her bag closer to herself.  “So you’re a silly psychic then?  That’s nice to have a power that is as useless as yourself.”  She set the trap with a blatant insult.

The psychic’s eyebrows raised at the comment, “Silly? You think reading minds is silly? That’s not the only thing I can do.” 

Sam laughed to herself, “Really, so more silly powers?  If you’re so psychic then, tell me what’s in this bag here?”  

The psychic laughed at the challenge and leaned forward, closing his eyes.  His face started to tighten as he focused in on the bag.  He let out a small breath of air, and continued to concentrate as hard as he could on Sam’s bag.  His bandaged fingers started to tighten into fists.  His face looked even more pinched as he tried to see what was held within the bag.  Finally after a minute, he stopped.  His eyes opened and he focused on Sam.

“I can’t see inside.”  Surprised defeat was well held in his voice.

Sam grinned at her easy win.  Psychics always thought they were better than everyone else, so she relished the chance at putting one in his place, “We can’t always be the best I suppose.” 

Sam got the comment out just barely before the door behind her opened again.  Sam looked at the clock, right on time, like always.

A man with short brown hair entered the room.  He was clean shaven and his suit was pressed and cleaned with the utmost precision.  His face was starting to be assaulted by wrinkles, and it was lit up by his emotionless expression, like always.  He walked to the front of the room near the projection screen. 

He set his briefcase on the table and straightened his tie, “Good day, Sam.” He nodded in her direction, “I see you have met Red.  He’s quite the psychic.” 

Sam turned her head to Red, “Yes, we’ve established that already.” 

Red scowled a little and turned his head to the man, “So Mr. Breaburn.  Why have you called us here? I am busy with some very important research.”  His fingers started fidgeting again. 

Mr. Breaburn opened his briefcase, “We have an important mission for you.  A team effort is required, if you will.” 

Sam placed her hand on her chin and nodded, the one and only reason she liked Breaburn was for his direct manner.  He never tried to spruce things up with boring details, besides that, he could be a prude.  She focused on Mr. Breaburn as he pulled out two folders and slid them to Red and her.  She opened hers up, noticing only a few sheets of paper. 

 “As you see, the mission should be easy enough.  It’s that we need it to be quick and quiet, and we need some people we can trust.  I need this done by professionals.  You two are the best Free Agents we have at the Institute.” 

Sam looked over the first sheet.  There were only a four names on it, with a small bio under each.  Sam’s name was the first.  After her was Red’s.  The third name surprised her, “Agent Flaurence,” she read aloud to herself. 

Mr. Breaburn looked at her, “Yes, an agent of the Institute himself.  He is currently loading up his gear.  He has already been briefed and is ready to go.” 

Sam looked at the last name, “Andrelle Genevieve, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of her.”  Under her bio was ‘n/a’.  “There’s nothing on her either.”

Red took the chance to speak up, “If you listened he said we could trust everyone on the mission.  I don’t think you need to worry.” 

Sam ignored the comment and listened to Mr. Braeburn.

“The mission is to pick up a package at the dock, warehouse 13, marked in the city in your file.  Should be easy to find, and Andrelle will be waiting for you there.  Once acquired, you need to take it the restaurant, ‘The Fall GriGri’.  There you will meet a contact of the Institute. You will stay under his care for the night.  When you are done you will bring the package back here.  Never open it, and never lose it.” 

Sam looked over the papers in the file.  Nothing seemed to have any details about any of the mission.  “This all seems a little vague. Not much detail here.”  It bothered her that there was a lack of information. Knowing is half the battle.  She let out a slight smile at her own thought.

Red spoke up as well, “I have to agree with Sam, even though she is just a grunt for the Institute.” 

Sam rolled her eyes at the comment. “I don’t see why picking up a package is a group job.  Four of us with a simple package, it seems like overkill.” 

Mr. Breaburn slammed shut his briefcase.  Sam could tell he was holding back some anger. “These orders come from the Boss. If you don’t like them, then take it up with him.” 

The mysterious ‘Boss’, Sam knew very little about him and every one she asked knew just as little.  The Boss pulled all the strings around the Institute, probably the most powerful and mysterious man on Earth, or at least Sam thought so.  The Boss used Mr. Breaburn as a liaison between him and all of the Institute’s agents.

“Now if it were up to me,” Sam saw Mr. Breaburn struggling to keep his cool about him in an eerie way, “I would send an Institute hit squad, than a bunch of Free Agents like yourselves, but the Boss wants you specifically.  I was able to get an Agent to look after you. Hopefully that will be enough to not screw things up.”  Mr. Breaburn composed himself and took a deep breath, “Now I have other important matters to attend to.”  Mr. Breaburn picked up his briefcase, gave a slight nod, and left the room.  The two remaining occupants turned to each other and stared for a bit.  Each one knowing that they didn’t like the other. 

Red started to open his mouth to make peace, but Sam beat him to it, “Freak.”

Sam pushed her way through the entrance and out onto the parking lot.  The troop transports were gone and a black SUV was backing up towards Sam.  The doors opened up behind her and she glanced back to see Red coming out of the Institute, holding nothing but a backpack.  The black SUV pulled up next to Sam as the window rolled down and the trunk popped open. 

Agent Flaurence was at the wheel looking out his window at Sam, “Throw your bag in the back and let’s get a move on.  We can get to the warehouse in about a day if we leave now.”  Agent Flaurence put on some sunglasses that completed his façade as a typical agent.

Sam scoffed at the cliché agent getup that Agent Flaurence was wearing and headed to the back of the SUV. 

She looked to Red who was walking up to the trunk, “Shotgun,” he called, throwing his bag in the trunk and turned to Sam, “Called it first.” 

Sam started chewing the inside of her lip, “You want me to sit in the back?  I don’t sit in the back, Red.”

Red gave another smug smile, “Looks like you do this time, Chicky.”

Sam put her long bag into the trunk and stood next to Red.  She stared Red in the eyes.  She inched in close to his face, breathing slightly. She whispered so he could barely hear, “Well? You know what I think?” 

Red gulped and shook his head slightly. 

“You can sit in the back,” She pulled back her arm and punched him in the gut. 

Red bent over in pain.  He coughed a couple of times and spat. 

Agent Flaurence looked in his rear view mirror. He saw Sam punch the psychic; he shook his head.  “Psychics.”  He knew how psychics could be, and they always seemed to get themselves into these types of situations.  He saw Sam getting in to the passenger seat next to him.

She shrugged, "He tried calling shotgun."

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