Storyteller's Universe // Two Percent
Report Card
“Headmaster.”
The samoyed taps their foot impatiently. The almost-corpse comfortably sitting in the middle of the room wrapped in a web of cables remains silent as always. The equipment it's connected to betrays no reaction either, and that is unusual.
“Headmaster.”
The displays of various sizes covering the wall in front of the drying husk continue to print out various graphs and tables, none of which are relevant to samoyed’s interests.
“I’ll come back when you’re in a talking mood. Ping me when you do.”
“Rudy, please…”
The voice eerily resembling that of Salvador Axel comes from the well-hidden speakers all around the room. The displays switch to captioning its own words.
“Agent Rudy.”
“At least call me Axel and let me call you Rudy.”
“We’ve been over this several times, I don’t have time for this. Salvador Axel sits in the armchair right there. Whatever you are is not him. Call me Agent Rudy.”
A moment of silence passes.
“...Agent Rudy.”
“What are the criteria for becoming an agent?”
“If they have less than two percent chance of dying over the course of serving the Contractors as an agent, then students are eligible to graduate.”
“And what goes into these calculations?”
The machines in the room beep, hard drives start whirring. The displays are filled with thousands of variables and formulas.
“All data we have on a given student.”
“And what is the current percentage for Mr. Damon?”
“7.2%”
“Did you know that he cannot read?”
“Unlikely for someone to hide that from us for this long.”
“And yet here I am to inform you that Mr. Damon is illiterate and I’m requesting you to move him off of the field agent training program. He cannot read briefing documents, he cannot read study materials, he cannot write reports from contracts, it’s a miracle he made it this far. Suspend him and his debt until he learns to read.”
The 7.2% displayed on one of the monitors switches to the word “recalculating…” before displaying 11.9%.
“His training is to be continued. It is statistically unlikely for him to be unable to read, our records directly contradict your report many times.”
“He is illiterate.”
“Impossible.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“I do not trust Mr. Damon.”
The Samoyed narrows their eyes, the blue light of the monitors and their buzz are getting on the dog’s nerves.
“Then you do not trust my judgment.”
“We all make mistakes.”
There is a reply here that could hurt them both, yet Rudy bites their tongue and swallows their pride.
“You just don’t let go of anybody, huh?”
“I’m sorry Rudy.”
“Agent Rudy.”
They leave. Salvador Axel and its former self are left alone in the cable-webbed room.