Agent Armstrong - Villa Of The Weapons

Jethro packed up his shower gel, running his fingers through his sweaty, walnut-coloured hair. Fuck, that hurts. He’d been feeling the sunburn for hours now, but it seemed to be getting worse every time he moved. At this point, his neck had taken on the colour of a ripe paprika and started to peel. And all that trouble simply because he‘d forgotten his sunscreen in England! He pulled his towel out of the black plastic suitcase, taking up most of the floorspace between the beds. It was still moist from when he had foolishly dropped it onto all of his clothes after the morning shower. The sun stuck in the thin, elevated clouds, while slowly illuminating the fouth day of the youth research camp – which actual designation Jethro hadn’t been able to remember for longer than a half day. His Roomie, Jack Webber, laid still as a corpse in one of the lower beds and read a book. Jethro had only heard him speak twice so far, not including necessary forced answers, rarely exceeding one syllable. He was skinny and it was a miracle, that he’d even managed to cope with the last four days’ tasks. Jethro laid down his glasses next to a near empty bottle of what looked like ice tea, the brown-ish liquid barely still covering the bottom of it. Lost in thought, he walked through the corridor. Take a left, short straight, second door on the right. Five minutes later, he came, shivering but mentally present, out the shower. 17:27 O’clock. Got three minutes ‘till the meeting. If that’s not what I really need right now! He shuffled into his room, threw his towel back where it had been and incompetently stuffed his dirty clothes into the laundry bag. Just as he was to leave, the British co-coordinator glanced into his room, her fingers tight around the door sill, only letting her head and upper body stick out, as if that disturbed his privacy less than just standing like a normal person. „Hi, Jethro, I was just going to remind you of the meeting that’s about to start in a minute or two.“ No shit I know, please just fuck off, thank you. „I’d be happy if you added a little to the conversation, you know, just tell us your stance on what you’ve learned so far. Baxter said he’s looking forward to you guys’ opinions.“ He absolutely fucking isn‘t. Guy’s not got any feelings, besides limitless confidence. Josie, the annoyingly polite and childish woman, left the room. Jethro decided to wait a little before going, so he’d not have to walk with her. When he did enter the classroom-sized room, his roomie was already sitting with his iPad, working, fully concentrated, on their essay. Jethro hadn’t even realised the boy hadn’t been in the room after he’d left the shower. James Cameron, the boy with the strictly combed hair from somewhere in London, sat right next to him and whispered corrections in his ear, which Jack silently acknowledged – probably. Jethro took a seat. A young Italian woman that looked to be in her early twenties was knelt down, her elbows suppoting her on one of the way too low tables at the other end, which led to quite a bit if whispering amongst the boys’ tables. Bloddy annoying woman. Type of person to invent introduction games! „Three minutes, everyone!“, Baxter Coleman barked.

The next hour was spent presenting what they had learned and what they’re expecting to happen in the coming days. Getting to hear all of these recaps made Jethro realise where he was. He’d been anticipating this project for weeks and now he was finally here. Nothing but vacation, nature and a little relaxation. And he’d be able to prove his ability to come clear alone, without his parents surveilling his every move.