Sweepers 1: Prologue

               A man and a woman sat at the opposite ends of a table in a room with drawn shades. Raindrops struck the other side of the window. Water pooled at the base of the woman’s chair, dripping off the coat she still wore.

               “Do you want something to drink?” The man said.

               “You’re nervous,” said the woman.

               The man shook his head. “It’s just hospitality. “

               “No, you’re nervous.”

               The woman was reclined in her chair, hands beneath the table. The man noticed this, and his own hands shook slightly. He glanced at her, making out a blank expression in the dim light. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then began speaking again. Throughout it all her face did not change.

               “I guess… To the point?”

               The woman did not say anything.

               “Well, that’s why you came here-“

               “Yes, to the point.”

               The man’s expression shifted into a restrained scowl. His hands tightened. But the woman merely gazed on, her expression as impassive as it had been when she walked in. It did not change when the man raised an index finger and conjured a small flame at its tip.

               “How big can you make it?”

               “I’ve made one as big as a soccer ball. I think I can do bigger, but it’s not safe.”

               “What else?”

               The man blinked. “What else?”

               “Is this it?”

               “Well, yeah.”

               The man looked at the flame, which expanded slightly, casting light into the room and illuminating nothing which he wished to see. He killed the flame in an instant and placed his hands on the table.

               “You’re qualified for Sweeper work.”

               “Sweepers? But… But they throw rocks, or float a foot above the ground, or punch as hard as I do.”

               “So, you’re saying you’re overqualified.”

               “Look, I’m just saying. I can do more than most of them.”

               “The people you’re placing yourself above prevent felonies as a night job. Are you claiming you’re capable of more than that?”

               “I’m saying theoretically, right?”

               The man’s words hung in the air long enough for him to understand them, and he sat in silence until the woman spoke.

               “Look, our base pay is given out on an honor system. There’s nothing stopping you from taking that check and staying home. But before you go out, ask yourself if this is something you want to do.”

               “It’s a living, right?”

               The man said it thinking he would chuckle. He did not.

               “So, what are my hours?”

               “Operate as you are able. If someone dies and it was not done in self-defense, we will find out. If we find out you’re doing a good job, you get more money.”

               “How will you know?”

               “We will. Don’t worry about that.”

               “I am worried about that.” The main raised his hands slightly. “Are you watching my house?”

               “From this point on, yes.” The woman leaned forward in her chair. “As we would watch anyone who could burn down a city block.”

               The man’s mouth hung open. He looked at his hand and felt the warmth running through his fingers. He felt-or perhaps imagined-a surge of power and curled his fingers into a fist. In one fluid motion the woman stood up and donned her coat. “You know the terms. Expect the first check in the mail shortly.” She walked out, her shoes tracking water across the floor as she headed out of the room. The front door closed before the man stood up, and by the time he had opened the door to look outside the woman had disappeared into the rain. The man hung in the doorway until he noticed the rain building on the door frame, whereupon he closed the door.