God Save The Queen


The harden walls that surrounded him felt like prison, a prison that wanted to consume him for his action that he cannot even begin to comprehend, but the blooming lights kept him at ease yet uncomfortable to look at. Sitting on a chair next to a metal table, arms crossed, he had an urge to look around the room until the hinges of the door opened and kept him glued on the chair.

It was a woman who appeared at the door and seemed to have carried a folder of some sort. The woman was 6'1 feet, younger, and green eyes that glared at the man sitting. She placed down the folder on the table as she sat down to look at him with content of knowledge. She clicked her tongue and opened the folder.

"So you appear to be a military serviceman yourself. You were recruited back in '84 as and became a Corporal for the 23rd Special Air Service Regiment. You then retired to become a case officer for British Intelligence Service, am I right?"

The man leaned closer and replied.

"Was a case officer. I was transferred to British Security Service since I apparently fit the bill and had experience back at Afghanistan. It was alright over there, but I grew annoyed of the Afghanis' since they barely had any intelligence structure and we had to rely on the Americans at that time."

The woman didn't reply, it was quite clear that his background wasn't as interesting as the second folder that the woman had taken out from the stacked folder. She opened and flipped through the contents of the second folder as the man continued to briefly explain his background.

"I'm sorry— I didn't catch your name?" The man curiously asked for the woman's name.

"No. You didn't." She said as she glanced at him and back to the folder that she opened. "Now, is it Davidson or David?"

"Either of which is fine."

"Okay. Mr. Davidson, I was expecting someone with a more interesting background than what previous candidates have to offer." She adds as she pulled out a document and handed it over to him.

"This document, can you confirm this is your handwriting?"

"Yes, it is my handwriting." Davidson nods at the woman.

"What can you tell me about an incident on the 8th of August 2008?"

"Am I required to—"

"Yes. I simply want to hear from your personal experience than what the documents have provided." The woman interrupts Davidson.

"On that day, I infiltrated a suspected criminal organization working in Afghanistan that had been alleged to profit off of copied-replicas of the British crown to be sold off to the black market. We had the cooperation of the local Afghani government and support from British forces. But at the end we successfully prevented an illegal sell."

"Interesting. Now, what can you tell me about this then?"

The woman then pulls out photographs with stamps labelled as 'classified' on the table facing towards Davidson. He glares at each photography until one particular photo stood him still for a second.

"It .. it was, um, a statue that they've been trying to sell." Davidson leans back a bit and continues to glare the photo.

"Or was it?" The woman fists her hands together and places them under her chin as she squinches her eyes with doubt.

"Let me be honest with you Mr. Davidson, we live in a society that has odd occurrences everyday. People often see or hear things that they should have not, which, I am of course referring to the paranormal.

"What? Hold on. You mean to tell me that the British Government has some sort of secret agency that handles the paranormal?" Davidson scoffs and looks at her with disbelief, but was met with silence from her.

The woman sighed and began to compile back the file into a stack once again. She stacked them back together and places a letter on the table for Davidson.

"My superiors above would like to thank you for accepting the transfer for this department. If you have any inquiries, all will be answered in that sheet in front of you."

The woman stood up, grabbed onto the folder, and walked towards the door that she had walked through earlier.

"W— wait. What department am I being transferred to?" Davidson asked curiously as he grabbed onto the letter and too stood up.

The woman opened the door and stopped to look back at Davidson. "Well, Mr Davidson. Welcome to Monarch Security, or Her Majesty's Military Intelligence Section 13."
