Delilah
Paranoid
"Can you go another round? I will follow you down in Hell"
Delilah Myers stretches painfully to the Foo Fighters song on her mp3 player, the sweet acoustic sounds are hypocritical to the message conveyed but that is what makes the lyrics even more powerful. She can feel herself sleep falling back to sleep to the tune and pulls the earphones away from her head, forcing herself out of the bed.
Almost instantly her side cramps up, grabbing her hip, she jerks herself into the bathroom and lifts her shirt up to inspect her damage.
Two weeks ago she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time on her job, suffering a blow from a criminal in the side. He had been desperate enough to hit a woman in the side with the blunt end of a sledge hammer, breaking her ribs and hip bone, leaving her unable to do anything to stop the mad man from escaping. That is until her lifesaver shot the man three times in his back, making him collapse not 10 feet away from Delilah.
She has been forced to wear some type of brace that kept her from moving around as much as possible but she takes it off at night, against doctors orders, just so she can get a decent night sleep. After putting the brace back on, she slides her other clothes on, a belt buckle with a holster, and her gun.
Even though she couldn't use her gun right at the moment because her injuries have taken her off the job for at least another month or so, it empowers her just to know that she is apart of the law. A constant reminder that she can save lives, help people, and live peacefully in her protective bubble. She was a private investigator, security guard, and police officer, each job used as needed.
The FBI had enlisted her help on a couple of cases, using her petite innocence to lure creeps into handcuffs. They told her she had a promising career at being an undercover agent but at the moment she was lowered to deskwork...hopefully she won't get stuck there forever.
Grabbing her cup of coffee for the day, she drives to work.
***
"I am so fucking bored;" she spins in her chair, taking in the office that was given to her in respect to her position. She rolled her eyes, ass kissers. Grey carpet, big leather chair, double windows, a view she could care less about because she knows she could be out there, playing.
When she got into work this morning, she had breakfast and a pile of work on her desk, no thanks to her secretary. She doesn't want sympathy breakfast; she wants to get out on the field. She's been sublimely trying to get her boss to put her on a case. Any case, she'd happily watch over a convenience store or bank. Just let her the hell out of her caged in office.
"Yo, Cap Cap, any shit going down today?" She yells out the door, seeing Captain Eli Manor practically run by her door, hoping she wouldn't see him. He stops, knowing she will yell louder if he moves on, and turns into her office.
"You just violated me four times in one sentence," he laughs out, "You're simply amazing."
"Violate?" Delilah murmurs, " if I was violating you, I bet that I'd be having a lot more fun."
"Actually I have something to talk to you about," he walks up to her desk and sits down, she smirks, who's the boss now, bitch?
"Yes, sir?"
He rummages through his brief case, looking through files and notebooks until he comes along a blue folder. A blue folder from the FBI. Holy shit!
"Don't get too excited, I am not to proud of this case," he hands her the treasure.
The case file says that she has to investigate the band Green Day, not because they did anything wrong but to make sure they don't do anything wrong.
"What the hell?" Delilah reads, " The government has the right to watch any threats to the United States?"
"They are just a little boy band with big words, I know," Delilah can tell her Captain was annoyed with the idea of breaking the freedom of speech laws, but when the FBI wants it, the FBI gets it.
"It's a waste of time," she says, looking at the pictures of the men of Green Day, "they just want to express themselves."
"The FBI is paranoid," he simply states, "unfortunately, this job will take you way from your desk for six months, an all expenses paid trip to where ever the band goes, high tech equipment for surveillance, and a wardrobe so your identity will be hidden and you will fit in with the wild way of the road."
"Fuck freedom, I want out of here!"
"Do you know how ironic that sounds?"
***
Six hours later Delilah sits in at a sound check for the big band Green Day, ignoring the ear piece hidden under her hair, trying to come up for a catchy name to tell the guys when she is forced to meet them.
Meredith? Rachel? Michelle? Daisy?
She sighs, just trying to get into the spirit. She felt she would be intruding on their rights, but she needed something to do that wouldn't cause her pain and here it was. She hoped.
Looking up from her corner on a bench, she notices the band setting up for their sound check, a few cords played over a couple of times, a feel for the crowd.
Seconds later the drums are rumbling through the stage, a bass quickly
jumping in smoothly. Nothing that good could ever want to corrupt the government, they're just punks with an outlet.
"Don't wanna be an American idiot."
Delilah laughs out, oh this is going to be an interesting six months, quickly moving closer to the stage so she could get a better view of the governments victims. They all look innocent enough, except maybe the drummer.
"What is his name again?" she thinks out loud, a whooshing noise comes in from her ear,
"Billie Joe Armstrong is the leader, the other man is Mike Dirnt, and the Drummer is Tré Cool, learn your shit Mannequin."
"Mannequin?"
"Yeah, a stiffer version of a government puppet," the radio cuts out again, but not before she hears a gruff voice say "sexier, too."
Delilah crosses her arms and decides she is not ready to meet the guys of Green Day yet. If she were just a fan, she would be dismissed, if she were a whore, she would just be ditched. She needed something that she could swing at the men and hope that some of it sticks in one of their heads. She needs to get under their skin if she is going to be doing any deep scrubbing on this case. If it really is a case at all.
'No, I think this is just the government fucking around in someone's business.'
Delilah Myers stretches painfully to the Foo Fighters song on her mp3 player, the sweet acoustic sounds are hypocritical to the message conveyed but that is what makes the lyrics even more powerful. She can feel herself sleep falling back to sleep to the tune and pulls the earphones away from her head, forcing herself out of the bed.
Almost instantly her side cramps up, grabbing her hip, she jerks herself into the bathroom and lifts her shirt up to inspect her damage.
Two weeks ago she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time on her job, suffering a blow from a criminal in the side. He had been desperate enough to hit a woman in the side with the blunt end of a sledge hammer, breaking her ribs and hip bone, leaving her unable to do anything to stop the mad man from escaping. That is until her lifesaver shot the man three times in his back, making him collapse not 10 feet away from Delilah.
She has been forced to wear some type of brace that kept her from moving around as much as possible but she takes it off at night, against doctors orders, just so she can get a decent night sleep. After putting the brace back on, she slides her other clothes on, a belt buckle with a holster, and her gun.
Even though she couldn't use her gun right at the moment because her injuries have taken her off the job for at least another month or so, it empowers her just to know that she is apart of the law. A constant reminder that she can save lives, help people, and live peacefully in her protective bubble. She was a private investigator, security guard, and police officer, each job used as needed.
The FBI had enlisted her help on a couple of cases, using her petite innocence to lure creeps into handcuffs. They told her she had a promising career at being an undercover agent but at the moment she was lowered to deskwork...hopefully she won't get stuck there forever.
Grabbing her cup of coffee for the day, she drives to work.
***
"I am so fucking bored;" she spins in her chair, taking in the office that was given to her in respect to her position. She rolled her eyes, ass kissers. Grey carpet, big leather chair, double windows, a view she could care less about because she knows she could be out there, playing.
When she got into work this morning, she had breakfast and a pile of work on her desk, no thanks to her secretary. She doesn't want sympathy breakfast; she wants to get out on the field. She's been sublimely trying to get her boss to put her on a case. Any case, she'd happily watch over a convenience store or bank. Just let her the hell out of her caged in office.
"Yo, Cap Cap, any shit going down today?" She yells out the door, seeing Captain Eli Manor practically run by her door, hoping she wouldn't see him. He stops, knowing she will yell louder if he moves on, and turns into her office.
"You just violated me four times in one sentence," he laughs out, "You're simply amazing."
"Violate?" Delilah murmurs, " if I was violating you, I bet that I'd be having a lot more fun."
"Actually I have something to talk to you about," he walks up to her desk and sits down, she smirks, who's the boss now, bitch?
"Yes, sir?"
He rummages through his brief case, looking through files and notebooks until he comes along a blue folder. A blue folder from the FBI. Holy shit!
"Don't get too excited, I am not to proud of this case," he hands her the treasure.
The case file says that she has to investigate the band Green Day, not because they did anything wrong but to make sure they don't do anything wrong.
"What the hell?" Delilah reads, " The government has the right to watch any threats to the United States?"
"They are just a little boy band with big words, I know," Delilah can tell her Captain was annoyed with the idea of breaking the freedom of speech laws, but when the FBI wants it, the FBI gets it.
"It's a waste of time," she says, looking at the pictures of the men of Green Day, "they just want to express themselves."
"The FBI is paranoid," he simply states, "unfortunately, this job will take you way from your desk for six months, an all expenses paid trip to where ever the band goes, high tech equipment for surveillance, and a wardrobe so your identity will be hidden and you will fit in with the wild way of the road."
"Fuck freedom, I want out of here!"
"Do you know how ironic that sounds?"
***
Six hours later Delilah sits in at a sound check for the big band Green Day, ignoring the ear piece hidden under her hair, trying to come up for a catchy name to tell the guys when she is forced to meet them.
Meredith? Rachel? Michelle? Daisy?
She sighs, just trying to get into the spirit. She felt she would be intruding on their rights, but she needed something to do that wouldn't cause her pain and here it was. She hoped.
Looking up from her corner on a bench, she notices the band setting up for their sound check, a few cords played over a couple of times, a feel for the crowd.
Seconds later the drums are rumbling through the stage, a bass quickly
jumping in smoothly. Nothing that good could ever want to corrupt the government, they're just punks with an outlet.
"Don't wanna be an American idiot."
Delilah laughs out, oh this is going to be an interesting six months, quickly moving closer to the stage so she could get a better view of the governments victims. They all look innocent enough, except maybe the drummer.
"What is his name again?" she thinks out loud, a whooshing noise comes in from her ear,
"Billie Joe Armstrong is the leader, the other man is Mike Dirnt, and the Drummer is Tré Cool, learn your shit Mannequin."
"Mannequin?"
"Yeah, a stiffer version of a government puppet," the radio cuts out again, but not before she hears a gruff voice say "sexier, too."
Delilah crosses her arms and decides she is not ready to meet the guys of Green Day yet. If she were just a fan, she would be dismissed, if she were a whore, she would just be ditched. She needed something that she could swing at the men and hope that some of it sticks in one of their heads. She needs to get under their skin if she is going to be doing any deep scrubbing on this case. If it really is a case at all.
'No, I think this is just the government fucking around in someone's business.'