Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise

Tom and I are writing a Serial Six Sentence Story: ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘. (If you’re just starting, this link will provide the whole story.)

Previously in our story: (from Tom): ‘Whitechapel‘ and (from us): ‘Slide‘

Prompt word:

OUTLET

‘Audentes Fortuna adiuvat’; consistently ranked in the top 3 tattoos requested by the hopelessly-romantic segment of the post-adolescent male Gen-Z population, Leftenant Custos sneaked a peek at the Vaseline-blurred letters under the clear plastic bandage on his right forearm, anticipation of his friends’ reaction provided all the analgesic he required.

Approaching the midpoint of the graveyard shift in the Live Monitor Nexus facility, the young man sought diversion in the depths of  his cellphone; the thrilling tales of high-tech intrigue and clandestine daring-do the government services recruiter painted on Career Day back in university notwithstanding, Abel Custos was beginning to question his professional trajectory; fortunately by virtue of being young, he was spared the irony lurking in his new, yet very permanent, ink.

Glancing around the vast subterranean complex, active monitors attended by row-after-row of dedicated civil servants, he opened a second window on his display, quickly reducing it to a thumbnail in the lower right hand corner of the screen; it showed, in realtime, a land vehicle and a helicopter both on a heading of east-northeast, their point of convergence the London City Airport.

“Lets agree you are double-checking the track of the two vehicles that we are not tracking and have no interest in, before bringing it to my attention, shall we?”

Watch Supervisor, Colonel Villicus, smiled without humor; as a trainee, Abel Custos wondered if he were the only one raising an eyebrow when the Instructors would refer to Colonel Villicus as Prospero, never, of course, to his face and with an obvious if not fear-tinged deference.

Tapping keys on the controller strapped to his wrist, the supervisor commandeered the primary display, “While we are under orders to direct the local authorities to ignore this intriguing affair of gun battles, helicopters and luxury cars speeding through the streets of Whitechapel,” the older man leaned towards the screen and expanded a satellite feed of a building in the industrial park adjacent to the airport that appeared to be in the process of being blown up, “fortunately for us, we are neither local, nor ‘the authorities’; both men watched the convergence of the SUV and the helicopter on the local airfield.

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