The Contractor - Part 2c - by nova

We stopped for a second at the guard post so the driver could show ID,  then he kicked it down the slope and into the garage. I thought he went a little too fast but I didn't share my concern with my escorts. "Serve them right if they ran into somebody" was my thought. They didn't of course.  I would have been surprised if they had. 

We pulled in front of a gate, really a big metal slab, watched over from tinted windows, which opened for us without them doing anything. That was kind of spooky. Inside was enough space for four cars and another gate at the end. We were boxed and the only vehicle in there.  They got out and then got me out and led me to the double doors which also opened like magic.  Bad magic.  The place was creeping me out and the exhaust fans which were roaring didn't help me feel any better. One must have been going bad because it was shrieking  like it was in pain.  A part of mind started wondering if I was going to be beaten.  That was not going to happen I reassured myself. This was the FBI, not some southern small town cops. They were professionals who wore ties and washed their hands after going to the bathroom. 

My little voice was silenced when we stepped through the doors into a room with a counter running the length of one end.   It was very clean and sparsely decorated.  I was led to that by the elbow where a guy who looked like he lifted weights regularly and a woman who looked like she spotted for him waited.  They looked bored. 

Johnson wasn't real good about making conversation as the first thing he said was, "When are you going to get the fan fixed?"  Bored woman answered, "GSA said they would get it done three days ago." She shrugged, an added, "You can't hear it in here anyways.

I heard him mutter, "Fucking GSA."  Then he told Smith, "Check him in and come by before you decide  to disappear for the day." I didn't miss the grin Jones gave Smith as he and Johnson disappeared through a door with "No Prisoners Beyond This Point" stenciled in block black letters on it.  After that it was all about being prepped as a meal for the machine.  That's what it felt like, like I was being processed by and for consumption.  I didn't know it but that was exactly what was happening.