A violent buzzing set itself about the room. Out of the pile of sheets in the center, a hand reached out to silence the alarm. Slowly, Michael Shore rose from the cluster of bedding and set about folding up the sheets neatly in the corner. He had to go job hunting again today. Only a few months ago, he had been a private army’s top pilot instructor. Now, with the mercenary force he had served in dissolution, he was jobless, and mercenary pilot didn’t shine too well on a resume. It didn’t show up on his resume at all, actually, but that was a separate problem. In this overpopulation job market, someone who couldn’t account for the past twenty years of their career didn’t look too great.
He turned on the old TV he’d had for the past thirty years and listened as the broadcast continued on the UN summit being held today. It had been all over the news for the past week, and now it just seemed to Michael to be blown out of proportion. He only really kept up with it because his daughter was excited about it as a translator. I must be a terrible father, he thought. After all, he didn’t even know what other languages she spoke anymore.
As he always did, he ensured that his cigarette box was secure in his jacket before even getting ready. He then headed to the bath, filled with water from the night before. He scrubbed himself clean thoroughly before rinsing off and draining the tub. After it was fully drained, he set about drying the tub with a hand towel. While he dried, he overheard the woman on the news talking about the possible prospects of the summit: social reform, counterterrorist action, financial security… It was all the things that had been promised to be resolved in the last five summits. Nothing was getting better. The economies, governments, and terrorism threats all across the world were only getting worse every day. Mercenary armies had done what they could with the terrorists, but the various sponsoring countries refused to let them inside their borders.
Michael rose and turned to the sink, where his toothbrush and toothpaste were smartly facing the east wall. He picked them up and carefully placed a measured dab of toothpaste onto his toothbrush. He then brushed his teeth in a clockwise motion, going in order of tooth number and ensuring he reached every part of each tooth. When he had finished, he rinsed the toothbrush and his mouth and repeated the process twice more before carefully flossing twice. He rinsed his mouth with mouthwash after each floss and added in one last rinse for good measure when he couldn’t remember if he had done so after the first floss.
After he finished his hygeine routine, Michael deftly placed each item back into its original place, marked with a border of waterproof tape. He then moved back out into the bedroom, where he checked his jacket for his cigarette box again. The woman on the television was introducing the delegates now. He wondered if any of them were named Bob or John. Probably not, he decided. Michael then went about putting on his clothes, which had been carefully ironed the night before, right down to the socks and briefs. He made sure at each step of the way that everything was properly aligned. When he had finished donning his garments, he moved over to the kitchen, where he had slow-cooked a beef stew overnight. He poured the stew carefully into a plastic container before taking the slow cooker to the sink to be thoroughly washed. After he had washed and dried the cooker, he put a lid on the container, ensuring it was the lid properly matched to the small tub.
Once the food was properly sealed to Michael’s satisfaction, he placed it carefully into the bottom left corner of his lunch box, into which he also put a banana, an already-baked potato, and his required utensils, tightly held together with a rubber band that matched the color of the lunch box perfectly. After his lunch box was zipped and placed flush with the edge of the counter near the door, Michael went into his refrigerator and grabbed the tub marked for April 1st. He set the tub on the counter three inches from the stove and closed the refrigerator as he read the slip of paper taped atop the lid of the tub.
As described on the paper, Michael pulled out a small skillet, set the stove to 15 degrees past the medium mark on the dial, and opened the tub. Reaching inside, he removed a small cube and unwrapped the wax paper around it. Taking the cube of butter, he placed it exactly in the center of the skillet and began to count to two hundred in two-second intervals. When he had, he removed the baggies of chopped ham, bell pepper, chive, tomato, and potato, carefully emptying the baggies onto the pan in that order and placing the empty baggies neatly atop one another directly opposite the tub. After counting to thirty, he pulled out the small cup of beaten egg and poured it onto the seared ingredients. He finished his omelette and folded it neatly into a traditional napkin fold on the small, square plate he pulled out of the tub. He turned off the stove as he set the plate on the counter where he picked up the baggies, wax paper, and cup. While it cooled directly next to the warm stove, Michael took the baggies, wax paper, and cup to the sink, where he washed them all for reuse and dried them with a dish cloth.
Removing the fork from the tub, Michael picked up the plate and ate his breakfast neatly. Upon finishing, he pulled out the final item: a cup of orange juice, carefully measured and sealed in a plastic container. He drank the orange juice and washed and dried his remaining dishes, placing each item back into the tub and placing the tub in its place inside the cabinet, where it would sit until the 23rd, when he would prepare for May 1st’s breakfast.
Now satisfied with his morning routine, Michael double-check the status of all his switches and knobs, triple-checked his jacket for the cigarette case, and donned the jacket. Walking to the door, he reached into the countertop bowl and retrieved his phone, keys, and wallet. After placing them all in the appropriate pocket, he checked one last time for the cigarette box and grabbed his lunch box. He opened the door and was a
bout to flip the breaker switch to his peripheral electronics and lights when he heard the following words on the television, no longer in the woman’s familiar voice: “Ladies and Gentlemen of these United Nations of Earth, I come to you on behalf of the Empire of Thorlinthia.”
Michael Shore dropped his lunch box and pulled out his phone, his fingers automatically punching in the number he thought he had forgotten long ago. It rang twice before he heard, “Hello? Who is this?”
Sounding almost mindless, Michael said, “Lieutenant, this is Mickey. The Phoenix is rising.” A quick tumult could be heard over the phone. Then scraping and a clatter as the phone was picked up again.
“Confirmed, Mickey. The Hummingbird is ready. Pick me up at the planned location in one hour. Lieutenant out.” Just like that, the conversation was over. Mickey placed the phone into a random pocket, pulled out the breaker, and retrieved the small key from inside the small hole behind it. He picked up his lunch box and ran out the door, slamming it hazardously behind him, ignoring the sound of breaking glass as his bowl fell off the counter and sprinting down the stairs to his car. It was time. Phoenix Day had come, just as the Lieutenant had told him when they met five years ago. All Mickey could think about was his daughter, who was currently in the world’s most dangerous location.