The chamber was empty. The safety was on. Was that glue? Yes. Mark pressed the ejector, but the clip didn't budge. It was glued too.

"It's only a formality, you understand. We couldn't actually have guns going off in the lab. Far too expensive if something were damaged." Mark gave the man a skeptical look. “I understand, but listen, they’re nerds. Geeks. Wimps. Just having a big guy like you walking around in a uniform carrying a gun is more than enough to keep everything kosher.”

Shrugging, Mark holstered the pistol. “At least I won’t have to worry about anyone trying to be smart by taking it away from me.”

“Ah, see, a silver lining. Trust me, son, you won’t be needing a gun in there. You’re more likely to die from boredom or being crushed by something falling on you. These people make a lot of money, but the presence of an armed guard can dissuade them from thinking they might make more by stealing something to sell on the black market.”

Mark was nodding, he got the point. “I understand, Doc.”

“Oh, I’m not a doctor,” said the man in the disheveled suit. “I’m just HR. I’m not even allowed in the labs, which suits me just fine.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair under the eyes of the new security guard. “Look, it’s creepy in there. I got a tour my first day, and I’ve never been back, and I don’t want to go back. Sometimes I get the heebeegeebees just being in the same building. I try not to think about it. You’re the eighth guard this year. They told me to make sure it was someone with experience this time.”

“Well, you couldn’t have made a better choice then, sir.”

“I expect so. Feel free to make yourself comfortable in the lobby. The door across the way is the break room and bathrooms. Hatfield will be along shortly to show you around. He’s ex-military like you. I suspect all the guards will be going forward.” He said this last absent mindedly, having already dismissed Mark from his concerns.

The lobby was large and quiet except for the tapping of Mark’s shiny shoes, echoing through the space as he crossed to the break room. The squeaking door seemed strange in so modern a building, and Mark cringed instinctually at the sound. He was relieved to find the cafeteria empty. Rows of tables and chairs stretched across the room that must have been 40 feet deep, and half again as long. A variety of vending machines filled the wall to the left, and a long counter, divided by a half dozen fridges, covered with dozens of microwaves, holders filled with plasticware, and several coffee makers took up the wall to his right.

Weaving through the mess of chairs he entered the men’s bathroom on the opposite side of the room. Mark used a urinal then stared at his clean-shaven face while washing his hands. Could your own face be so unfamiliar? It certainly felt strange to see himself beardless. The thought crossed his mind for the thousandth time that this job would be good for him. A quiet lab where the worst that could happen was a chemical spill for the janitors to clean up.

While certainly not exciting, it would get him out of the house, make him interact with people. People he didn’t have to worry about shooting. There was the squeak. Had those janitors never heard of grease, or were they just too busy cleaning up chemical spills? Straightening his tie Mark left the bathroom.

A man with white hair and mustache nodded from the doorway, “You must be Emerson.”

“Aye, sir,” came the automatic response.

“Navy?”

“Marines.”

“Self-propelled sandbags.”

“MARSOC.”

The older man raised an eyebrow. “It may sound quaint, one serviceman to another, but I appreciate your service. Glad you didn’t overdose on lead before retirement.”

Mark half smiled and nodded, “The feelings mutual.”

“Come along then, Devil Dog, I’ll show you around your new AO.”

Hatfield held the door and Mark went through, asking, “And which branch did you serve in?”

“Army. Engineer Corps. Served most of my time overseas. Iraq, Afghanistan, Venezuela, Korea. I imagine I was following your trail," he held up his hands to poker-faced Mark and smiled, "I know, need to know. And I don't. The last decade was in So-Cal. Retired about five years ago but couldn’t keep still. I’m guessing that’s why you’re here too.”

“Aye, sir.” The man seemed to be chuckling silently, giving Mark an amused look. It only took a second for Mark to realize how quickly he had returned to old habits. “Hatfield, is it?”

“You can call me Jeremy.”

“Mark,” the younger man said, extending a hand, which the older shook with a firm grip. They had tap-tapped their shiny shoes across the lobby and now stood before the metal detectors.

“That’s the employee entrance. The door behind them is one way only unless unlocked,” he continued, pulling a keyfob that was attached to a retractable keychain. “They can get out, but they’re only allowed in when one of the guards is on duty. We’re through here,” he said moving towards a side door with a sign that said “Security” on it. The lock made a loud beep in response to the fob, and they entered the office.

“This one’s yours,” Jeremy said, with a metallic bang as he slapped the closest locker, door open. “Bring your own padlock. I’d suggest keeping one of your uniforms in here, fresh, and a full change of clothes. Sometimes you can really get to stinking, or have something spill. It’s only happened a couple of times to me.”

On the wall opposite the lockers was a row of monitors. Mark counted twelve and noticed that the images were rotating at regular intervals. “Need those much?” he asked, nodding in their direction.

“Not usually. It’s a pretty quiet post. Once or twice we’ve had to check the recordings to see where missing things had gone, but there’s never been any real trouble. Which is good, because it’s not the most reliable system.”

“Seems state of the art to me.”

“Oh, the equipment is fine, as is the interface, but there’s some kind of bug or other. Sometimes a camera or two will go completely black. Only seems to happen on the night shifts though.”

Mark looked skeptically at Jeremy. “I know how it sounds, but I’m not hazing. IT’s given up on it altogether, says there’s no reason they can find. Probably a bug in the software. Like I said, though, it’s never been a problem. In any case, the camera system will make more sense once you get the layout of the labs.” He continued to the back of the office where another door was marked “Security Personnel Only”.

“No metal detector for us?”

Patting the holster on his hip Jeremy smiled. “They have to believe it for it to work.”

“But if there’s never been a problem, and the eggheads are well paid, what’s the worry?”

“Insurance policy. Literally. Having armed guards on site reduces the costs of insurance dramatically. We get paid a lot less than they save on having all this equipment insured against theft, damage, etcetera.”

Mark nodded. “Makes sense, but I still don’t like it.” Jeremy opened the door to the back, and Mark followed him into a corridor with one-way glass. The entrance tunnel beyond the metal detectors was on the other side. “I mean, it just feels wrong to carry a gun that can’t fire. Makes me nervous. What if I did need it?”

Shrugging, Jeremy unholstered his pistol casually. Mark was surprised when he pulled back the slide to show the chamber to Mark. “I don’t like it either.” Inside the chamber was a bullet. Rubber round. Jeremy winked at him, then holstered the pistol again. He must have brought his own pistol. One without glue.

A wave of relief that surprised Mark ran through his muscles. He hadn’t realized how tense he had been. At least one of them was armed. He shook his head and reprimanded himself mentally. This wasn’t enemy territory. There wasn’t going to be anyone shooting at him. Too long with a certain level of self-defense had made him accustomed to being able to respond to force with ultimate force. He wouldn’t need that here.

They had reached the other end of the tight corridor and another door with another maglock on it beeped to the keyfob. Jeremy turned the handle then looked back at Mark. “Ready?” Mark nodded confidently. “No, you’re not. No one’s ever ready the first time.” He pulled the door open.

Mark emptied the bag onto his bed. “What’s all this, hun?”

“Just stuff I need for work,” he mumbled opening the pack of rubber bullets.

“They don’t even provide you with your own ammunition?”

She was looking at him incredulously. He gave her a confident smile back, to calm her. “Not enough.” She rolled her eyes and walked out of the room. Mark felt a shiver go down his spine and found himself wishing he was loading real bullets into the clips.