58 Incentives 1

Alban wasn't sure how many days had passed since he'd been in audience with the President. But he was aware that he'd spent quite a few number of days under some observation of sort.

His memory was sufficiently distorted that he didn't care much about what had happened during that period, all he knew was that he was soon released to do as he pleased after they had stared at him day after day.

Luckily, his memory wasn't so distorted to forget the events that had transpired and once he'd been released he was intent to find his only surviving teammate, Marina.

Before he could do so, however, he'd been quickly beset by more 'Government Dogs' as he'd begun to think of them. They'd been waiting for him the moment he'd been released from what he could only describe as a detention centre.

The two dogs wore polished black suits and wore matching black sunshades, if Alban was the man he was a month ago he'd think the two just had a bad fashion day, but now vividly aware of the rot that called itself a government, one would be hard pressed to convince him that they were anything more or less than uniformed dogs carrying out the bidding of a vile regime.

"What do you people want now?" he drawled, walking past them to find a way into the more urban parts of the rather rural country.

"Sir, we need you to come with us." Said one of the twin dogs.

He scoffed, shaking his head and turning to face the two, "I've just been released out of a detention centre, what crime could I have possibly done?"

"Oh no," the other waving his hand says, pulling out a badge as he did, "We work for with the Ministry of Information and Technology, just like you, sir."

Another thing Alban needed to amend, his job at the Ministry. It didn't sit right with him to continue working in such a system that helped violate possibly every human right listed.

"Again, I ask, what have I done?"

The man clears his throat and a smile graces his lips, "You're a war hero, sir."

A moment had passed and Alban couldn't still process the words he'd heard. Him? A war hero? Perhaps the government knew of his newfound animosity towards them and did this to placate him.

But of course, it wouldn't work.

"I haven't fought in any war I'm afraid, perhaps you men are suffering from a heat stroke in all that black but you must have me confused with some other person." He said, quickly dismissing the comment and moving to leave yet again.

"No, we are certainly not mistaken, sir, you've been awarded the highest military decoration. You have been awarded the title of Hero of the Schelarian Republic as such you are entitled to a list of benefits, including but not limited to transportation." He strictly declared, his arm pointed in the direction of an equal black Mercedes waiting in the corner.

"I am not a soldier."

"You are not required to be one to qualify for the title, sir."

"I don't want it."

"The President insists."

"The war isn't over; we could lose you know?" at this the man flinches, no doubt the thought had travelled great distances in his mind.

"The President insists, sir."

Alban could tell that the man's patience was running out with the way he'd stressed the obligatory 'sir' and so only rolled his eyes. While they'd been bantering he'd given the awarded title thought.

He was old enough to know the massive benefits the title gave its holder; Medical benefits, instant monetary benefits along with a pension that had survivor benefits, tax exemption and reduced rent. Transportation was the least of the rewards the title gave.

And with his intent to quit his job at the ministry, it certainly made a lot of sense to have a constant and reliable stream of income even if it was from the loathed regime.

He rolled his eyes and shrugged, "Fine, you win. Take me to my teammate, Marina then."

"We do not know where your teammate has been taken, sir. But our first stop should be the Capitol to get your documents in order."

Alban scowled at this, it was exactly the opposite of what he wanted, but still, there wasn't much he could do in the wake of his new companion's ignorance so he conceded yet again.

"Where are we though?" he asked, perhaps he could search the hospitals in the area. As far as he could remember, Marina was still severely injured, there was no way she was outside a hospital yet.

"We're in Sava, sir." One of the dogs answered as they got into the car.

Sava? That was quite a ways from the frontlines. What had he been doing in Sava?

"I'm sorry, but do either of you have any idea what I was doing in here. My memory is a bit shoddy."

"I'm sorry sir, we aren't privy to that information."

Third time he'd conceded. Yet again there wasn't much he could do to find out except wait for his memories to return, if they ever did in fact. With a huff he resigned himself to being as equally ignorant as the goons that now drove towards the airport.

***

"Sign here…here too…and here. Thank you very much, Mister Bezara."

Alban groaned as at last the last pile of documents was pulled away from him. He flexed the tips of his fingers, sour from all the signing he'd been doing. His sour fingers had him realizing that he hadn't been in a position to write for such a long time in years, the wavy lines of his own handwriting looking strange and foreign at this point.

"Finally," he sighs, getting out of his seat and turning to the dogs who'd escorted him here, "How polite of you two, busying yourself with tea and biscuits while I suffer."

One chokes a laugh, bits of chewed biscuit blurting out a bit.

"You won't be suffering any longer, sir."

Easy to tell what he meant. As Alban currently stood the richest he'd ever been in all his life.

He rolled his eyes, even though he now stood rich as ever, Alban was a particularly lonely man and his achievements couldn't be celebrated with anyone considered family. Had he been the man he was a month before, he would be quick to call his colleagues in the Ministry his family, but with his newfound enlightenment, he'd be hard-pressed to see them as acquaintances.

This, of course, didn't change anything. His life was still empty, with no one to share the reluctant success he'd fallen upon, no one except…

He looked to the woman who'd overseen the signing, apparently she was the President's personal assistant. Taking a closer look at her as she pulled together the documents, Alban took note of how strikingly young she was, it was unlikely she was anything pasted her early twenties, still, he walked up to her.

"Excuse me, Miss…"

"Call me Mireille," she answers, not bothering to glance at him.

"Ah, yes, Mireille, I was wondering if you'd have any idea where my teammate is, her name is Marina, she was brought in with me albeit injured."

"She would be in a Hospital if that's the case."

"Yes but which one?"

"The National Hospital of course."

"Oh…I hadn't…Thank you, Mireille." He chuckled lightly to hide his embarrassment at not figuring it out already.

"Mhm." She hummed, leaving the room as she'd finished packing up her things.

Sheepish smile still plastered on his face, Alban turned to meet the disgusting grins of the dogs who'd brought him here.

"Someone's got a crush on Mireille huh?"

"Shut it."

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