OKAY

It was Loren Donlon's turn today to interview applicants. The site was the usual, at the second floor of the Westbank Pizza place, which his friend Juan ran.

It wasn't a very popular spot...yet. For this reason alone, Juan thought it would be a good idea to hold discreet interviews. Loren disagreed with the notion, citing that local enemies who knew of OKAY's presence (and who wouldn't, what with all the recent ads that have been popping up all over the nation?) would come looking for them. Juan's rebuttal was that these enemies were either indifferent, too stupidly organized, or were committing more complex crimes.

Juan was once again underestimating the increased ingenuity of the Franchise's enemies. Loren didn't buy it, but rolled with his reasoning anyways, as Juan's reasons usually were clear in hindsight later on, as was almost always the case.

This was an old spot, about a hundred years old, sustained with maple wood and pine scents which Juan and his wife Bianca admired greatly. No one really lived here except for Juan and Bianca on some nights, and Loren on others. Anyone who asked about renting the room would find it off-limits. Only the most respected pizza place customers were allowed in after eating one of everything on the menu - even the ultra hot sauce pizza special.

The lone light source in the small suite, a dangling modernist lamp design, made the brown oak wood glow orange. The room itself had simple composition; two oak wood chairs and one oak wood table near the window; a larger wooden dining table near the open kitchen, which was also incredibly polished; a green couch-futon; a solid wood door outside; and an ivory door to the bathroom.

Loren was dressed plainly tonight, in a white V-shirt and tight-fitting jeans. The sweat from his sunburnt brow, leaking from his buzzcut, came from an emergency Franchise job where he had to prevent a bunch of rowdy hooligans from dumping toxic waste into the local park so that they could make goo monsters or something. Not that they would have succeeded because the toxic solution was so diluted, if that was even possible; though pinning the leader of the gang down with raw wrestling skills gave him an incredible workout.

He came to the second floor spot, meeting the interviewee before he got through the door. They shook hands and sat down. OKAY interview procedures strongly recommended the use of a pen and notepad to scribble interview notes and personal thoughts on. Loren would have none of that, leaving his materials aside on the small wooden table he and this conspicuous interviewee sat at.

"Alright then," Loren said as soon as he sat down. "Tell me how you found out about OKAY."

Mike had opted to arrive early, and ordered a slice of pizza while he waited. It seemed like a strange place to meet for an interview, but he shrugged it off; he had seem much stranger, after all.

Of course, he couldn't just walk into a pizza place and casually order under the guise he'd used to apply, any more than he was willing to show up without said guise. As secretive as they were trying to be, he imagined his interviewer might not appreciate something so painfully obvious. Instead, he has opted for something a tad less conspicuous: a stylish trench coat that fit well against his form - despite his hair being tucked into it - and hung low enough that the cuffs of his slacks barely peaked out, a low-brim cowboy hat, large sunglasses that mostly covered his mask, and dark grey gloves. He did take the gloves off to hold the pizza, of course. Naturally, a fork, intend for some of the messier foods, somehow found its way up his sleeve at some point.

He waited upstairs, where they were to meet, once he had finished his meal. The man who came looked just as unofficial as the pizza place itself - it all seemed rather unprofessional, really - but he supposed that fit well enough. Once they'd entered and shook hands, Mike pocketed the glasses, switched to his nice while gloves, peeled the cowboy hat off from his fedora and fixed the feather, and shrugged off the trench coat. Oh yes, he was most certainly Green Mike underneath it all, and his suit was perfect. The hat ended up off to the side, atop the pen and pad, while the coat was laid over the chair before Mike lounged in it, looking quite at ease for someone in a job interview.

"Mm, how I heard of you? I overheard a complaint from a rather unsavory character, actually. He complained you were somehow ruining his business," Mike said, a light smile ever on his handsome, masked visage. "It sounded interesting, so I decided to do a little research. I couldn't really find much more than your ad though, so I decided I was curious enough to send in an application."

He shrugged. "Honestly, I'm still not even sure what it is you do."

Loren chuckled. "I know, right? A lot of people keep bringing that up. And I know it sounds incredibly corny when we describe what we do for a living, because...because almost anybody can do what we do. It's just that we have enough resources to do what they do ten times over."

He paused, letting a slight gust of wind from the ajar window blow through.

"We help people. It's as simple as that."

He paused again, and another gust shimmied in.

"We're not like, hired killers or anything like that, I swear." Loren stooped forward, tapping his toes pensively. "I am totally serious when I say that the Franchise helps people." His lip curled. "On second thought, yeah, that sounds pretty ambiguous and sounds like a slogan a crime underworld organization would put up, but I don't make the ads, and I don't make major changes to the Franchise's philosophy; I only abide by it.

"Do you understand? If not, that's okay, that's somewhat the Franchise's fault, and I'll be glad to tell you some of the stuff we take on, but we gotta finish this interview before I can do that."

With a chuckle, Green Mike asked, "Is't it the interviewee who is supposed to be the nervous and awkward one, not the interviewer? I mean no offence, of course."

He waved a gloved hand, not a dismissal so much as a "so be it" gesture.

"I can understand and certainly accept the desire for secrecy, though. I'd be a hypocrite if not - after all, I'm quite certain you don't even know my real name, and yet here you are, considering me for a job. Perhaps I should be concerned why you would consider someone with my unfortunate reputation, but..." He grinned, showing a set of perfect, gleaming teeth. "...I'm far too curious to hold that against you. So please, ask away."

"Yes, right, of course. You'll have to pardon my nervousness tonight, I just got back from a really intense freelancing shift. Regardless, let's continue."

Loren sat upright, attempting to relax. "Let's see," he began again, "what is your favorite place in the world to visit?"

"Ah, that explains the sweat, then. Perfectly understandable. They must keep you on a tight schedule."

Even as his interviewer straightened up, Mike rested his chin on his fist, which in turn sat on the arm of his chair. Completely at ease, he considered the question. "Mm, favorite place in the world..."

Various answered came to mind, many of the for different reasons. There were places that made him happy for different reasons, places he found fascinating and beautiful, but many of them seemed far too specific under the circumstances.

"I once visited Venice during their Carnivale," he said at last, musing. "It's an expensive trip, but certainly one worth making. The costumes are absolutely gorgeous, though I won't deny there is a certain eeriness to it all. It all has a rather... magical feel."

Plus, people had more trouble noticing when anything went missing, or knowing who might have taken it. How does one find a thief in a crowd of false faces?

Loren smiled, memories of subduing robo-golems in Venice resurfacing. Keeping the Mafia off his back was incredibly unpleasant, however, what with snitches in the criminal organization controlling said golems. Only he and Louis Reinhardt knew the truth, and the truth was compressed in Italian tabloids, internet urban legends and well-rendered CGI videos depicting those urban legends.

He leaned towards the window, savoring another whiff of wind to cool his sweaty brow. "Just gonna throw this out there: how good are you at getting free transportation, if possible?"

"Can this company not afford to send its employees where they need to go?" he countered, the arching of an eyebrow visible even behind the black mask. Mike shrugged then. "I can find myself free transportation in one way or another, and one form or another when necessary, though."

"Good, then. I'll...just leave it at that." Loren nodded. "We have a lot of resources at our disposal when it comes to transportation, believe it or not. As for what we mainly use to get around, it's...very...complex, I should say. But that's enough from me."

Loren paused to think about the next question, in tangent to utility. "Are you good at scaling walls?" he eventually spoke the exact moment he thought of it.

Green Mike simply stared at the man for a moment, then smiled and chuckled. "You do realize that you are speaking with a master thief, yes? Just to get a few things out of the way..."

He straighten up a little, lifting his face from his hand and leaning forward. As he spoke, his hand gestured in lines and circles.

"Yes, I'm adept at scaling walls and have used multiple methods to do so. I can't climb shear walls with just my hands, after all, nor can I always set up something in advance. I am skilled at stealth in spite of my... perhaps flamboyant attire," he said, gesturing vaguely down his body, "though I will admit I sometimes like to be seen. Dressing like this, though, that should be a given - along with my skill at making escapes. I do occasionally need to fight a little, but I prefer not to, and I'd like it noted that I have never seriously harmed or killed anyone, a feat which I assure you can be very difficult when being shot at. I'm also quite good at getting past various locks, traps, and other defenses."

Mike sat back once again, smiling and relaxed as ever. "So... any questions that can't be answered by pointing to my accomplishments in my chosen field?"

It was all Loren needed to know about the thief's skills, in case free transportation wasn't enough explanation for him. This saved him the time to think of multiple, awkward questions that wasted a few minutes. Visibly relieved, he clicked his tongue to think. "Yeah, I think that's enough explanation for me," he said. "I've only interviewed one or two professional thieves in my career, and neither of them were as competent in the interview. I'm assured, then, that you're a professional. A cut above the rest, alright. That saves me a lot of time."

What to ask, what to ask? After a few seconds of looking towards the window, Loren came up with something. "You've ever come in contact with cursed artifacts or supernatural relics?"

With a slow nod, Mike said, "Thank you. I appreciate the recognition, and I'm sorry you've had to deal with anything less than professional."

He waited quietly for the next question, and raised a brow when it came. Well now, that was a bit more interesting, wasn't it? Green Mike considered, and lightly shook his finger. "Assuming that you aren't just trying to test my sanity... maybe. I never confirmed it or anything, but I do recall having to get rid of this lovely 15th century goblet that I swore kept moving itself around. I'd set it down one place, and it'd turn up in another. I was simultaneously wondering if I was simply going crazy and how they had made it stay put in its case before I, uh... freed it."

Tilting his head upward slightly, he rubbed at his chin and mused, "For that matter, so far as I know, it's stayed in its case since I returned it, too. But! I haven't had to wonder about anything else moving itself around like that."

"Yeah, that's pretty annoying to have to deal with," Loren commented, wondering where he heard that particular legend before. Something about an Italian merchant pouring his own blood inside a goblet before he died, effectively rendering him immortal...he'd have to look that one up later. "Least it isn't funny noises or subliminal, schizophrenic now-you-see-it flickers you put up with.

"What made you ever want to go into a life of thievery?" was Loren's next question, plain and simple. "Out of all the things you could be doing right now, you're stealing things. Why?" It took him a few questions, but Loren was finally warming up to the thief, as though parts of him reminded Loren of his childhood heroes: classy thieves that romanticized the art of burglary, and wrestling heels.

"Indeed. As far as strange things go, I'm sure I got off light."

The next question earned a throaty laugh from the thief, and he nodded. "Of course. I was wondering when that would come up."

He sighed and relaxed into his chair, tapping the arm with one finger as he thought. Much as he'd been expecting the question, he still wasn't entirely sure how he wanted to answer it. In an interview situation, he usual elusiveness was unlikely to be appreciated. It'd be easy enough to lie, of course. If he opted for honesty though, how much should he tell?

"If I'm to be honest, you understand, of course, that I don't want anything I say to leave this room? I rather like maintaining an air of mystery, even to my reasoning."

"Yeah, sure," Loren conceded. "I'm able to not disclose choice sensitive info from interviewees upon request. I'll also add that this room is in no way, shape or form 'bugged' with super secret listening devices or wiretaps. What goes on here stays here."

He stood up and quickly pulled the open window shut, locking it in place with the brass latch. He also eyed the front door; all three locks were in place. Siting down again, he continued, "Though, I'm guessing it's too much of me to ask of a more detailed timeline about how you came about. Again, just disclose to me all that's relevant." Loren sat back, both hands on the desk, folded up. He was half-expecting the truth from an honest thief; perhaps what mattered now was his touted skill. Employers hired because of skill or drive, and Loren hired on basis of skill most of the time. Still, it was nice to hear a good story about how someone got to where they were. Keeping an open mind, Loren tuned his ears to attention and faced Green Mike.

After a little further consideration, Mike finally said, "In some ways, I can't help it. Stealing, I mean. I... may be a kleptomaniac." He chuckled. "I've certainly been described as such often enough, mostly by those who I suspect don't even know what it is beyond a general impulse to steal.

"I consider myself more of a collector. A little of this, a little of that. I have quite the collection by now. And, you know, it's all quite fun - the sneaking, the escape, always leaving everyone baffled... The security alone can be fascinating." The hand that had been fluidly gesturing the whole time he spoke abruptly clenched into a fist, and while he'd maintained a sort of lazy cheer throughout, there was honest excitement in his expression. Then his fingers gracefully released and he was relaxed again. "And of course, it would hardly be proper for a thief all in green to not pay some respect to good Robin Hood now and then."

Loren slowly nodded, taking in as much of Green Mike's motivations as possible. After hearing his explanation, Loren crouched forward to think, eyes looking at other places around Green Mike's face, arms crossed pensively. After a soft grunt of deep thought, he shifted his eyes back at the interviewee and said:

"Your motivations are very interesting; you've flaunted your credentials nicely, too. I gather a person like you is less likely to help out people in a jam than pursue his own interests." He felt more warmed up towards the upbeat aura that this thief exhibited, and so avoided the words greedy and selfish. "Still, you do mention Robin Hood, and if I remember correctly...there was some sort of, what you say, 'criminal asset liquidation' that took place in the United Kingdom, ending up with a dozen crime lords getting arrested. Not long afterwards it literally rained money in West Yorkshire, like around a million pounds. Nobody caught the perpetrator. You're familiar with this case, right?"

Green Mike pretended to admire the slight sheen on his white gloves as his interviewer spoke, smile never fading. He could think of occasions that could easily be used to counter the statement that his own interests came first, but he'd already ruined enough of his mystique, and things were actually easier when no one expected him to help out with anything. Besides, he supposed it really wasn't too far off; being a thief was inherently selfish, after all.

"The comments must have been amusing," the thief said, entirely neglecting to answer the question. "Calling your money 'pounds'. For a long time, even when I knew better, I'd always think, 'Pounds of what? Pounds butter? Pounds of stone? Literal pounds of coins or paper money?' My, that could quickly get heavy."

A vague answer. Loren, though surprised, only sat in attentive silence as the thief dodged the question. Afterwards, assuming it would be best to just assume that Green Mike did pull something like that off, Loren responded: "Well, sure, if you don't want to admit it, that's fine. Not gonna hold it against you or anything. Again, interview disclosure clause."

So it came to this. Loren wasn't even sure what else to ask, knowing that maybe the thief had said just about all he wanted to say.

"I think I've made my decision." Loren looked downwards, tapping his feet. "I think..." He looked up; seeing as though the thief presented himself well, Loren would have to go through the rest of the necessary privacy implementations. "First of all, this is a freelancing job...or rather a contracting job under an organization. You get to work as much or as little for the Franchise as you want, where and when you want. You strike me as a person who values anonymity and skill...well, yeah, duh, of course. You'll have to believe me when I say that we have ways to accommodate your privacy. For example, the Wave Communicator!"

A sudden realization caught Loren off guard, making him raise his eyebrows for a brief second. He paused; without even digging into his pants, he could feel the void in his right pocket where his Wave Communicator was usually secured. Just to make sure, he quickly jammed his hand in the pocket, trying to feel for it. "And if I had it with me right now, I could show you how our privacy policy works!" He put his left hand in the left pocket next.

"Is that was this thing is?"

Green Mike held the device up and admired it with a casual, relaxed smile. A moment later, he held it out for Loren to take back. "I assume you like me, then. I am interested in your privacy policy."