“Sir, please introduce yourself to the team.”

Frank stepped forward. “Of course. My name is Benjamin Franklin Stein,” he said, but his words were returned with silence. “I-I … I am your new unit chief.”

The brunette man stared into the crowd. There black, glassy eyes stared deeply into his soul and he stared back. An overwhelming feeling of dread began to pervade his body, and the pressure of the increasingly inky atmosphere pressed down on his chest with the vice grip of a senile Night Hag.

He maintained the staring contest, is hazel eyes locked on theirs, until a small voice interrupted the silence. “Daddy, what are you doing with my toys?”

Frank froze, turning to face his daughter, Ewa, without making eye contact. “Nothing sweetie …”

She stared up at him with disbelief, one eyebrow raised, before lifting her toys of her bed in once arm full. Frank's sister, who had been watching with amusement, entered the room as Ewa left. "You're going to do fine," she assured. "Over thinking it will only stress you out."

Frank nodded in agreement, still not sure. "Thanks Violet … I just want to make a good first impression"
With a sigh, Violet told him: "Hurry up, or you'll be late. That, my dear brother, would not make a good impression.

Frank checked his watch tentatively, eye widening. In a panic, he kissed her cheek as he rushed past, mug in hand, and waved goodbye to his daughter from the comfort of his Impala. The drive to the address he was given wasn't as long as he expected. It was, surprisingly, located toward the center of the city; not so secret for a secret base. Parking his car along the side of the road hesitantly, he walked up to the building and notice, with puzzlement, a sign above the door that simply said "Library". With caution, he entered the building and made his way to the checkout counter.

The librarian, a man with dark hair and silver roots, looked up at him with an eyebrow raised. "Mr. Stein, I assume?"

"Y-yes sir. That would be me."

The older man stood up gracefully, leading the way through a small corridor to a room in the back. Along the walls were boxes upon boxes of newspapers dated decades back. There were two large book shelves; one that held pristine text books and another that shelved a variety of books that the outer library didn't have room for.
"If I may ask, what might I call you?" Frank asked carefuly.

"Call me boss. Everyone does."

"Boss" led the other man two the shelf of text books, pulling out a law book to the far right and reaching inside the space between the other book and the wood of the shelf. The wall swung open slowly, and Boss held his hand against the books to prevent them from falling. Before them was a dark corridor of stone steps. Frank took the first step down the scarcely lit room, looking behind him to make sure the older man followed. Soon, they reached the bottom of the small staircase, and were confronted by another dusty room filled with books, files and more newspapers. Once again, Boss led them to a book shelf, this time pulling out an old copy of Frankenstein's Monster.

The dull looking man held up the book, waving it near Frank's face with a trace of amusement pulling at his lips. "Just for you, Mr. Stein." Frank chuckled, rolling his eyes slightly. How clever, he thought.

Once again, the man reached into the small space, and when the wall opened like a door, it was a smooth transition with little sound. Another set of stairs lay before them, but these steps were constructed with roughly textured metals, and the walls were no longer brick. With wonder in his eyes, Frank walked along the metallic corridor. "So," he began. "Will I meet the team?"

"Yes, Mr. Stein. But first, you should know a bit about them. Follow me."

Boss led him once again, this time to another, more obvious door. He opened it, and inside was a room unlike anything he had ever seen. There was a bed, a side table and lamp; but the walls were lined with neatly filed stacks of book. What books couldn't fit on the shelves were stacked in every corner of the room. "There have to be hundreds of books in here!"

"Indeed," agreed Boss, nodding. "This is the room of our little genius – seventeen-year-old Gerard Simpson. Born and raised in Manchester, he truly is like a young Sherlock Holmes."

They then left the room and crossed diagonally to another. Inside this room was much different than the homely room of Gerard Simpson. There was no bed, just black cot with no sheets or pillows. In the middle of the room was a metal table covered in neat stacks of files which were worn as if read over a thousand times. The most striking feature of the room, were the walls. The walls were shiny and silver, with the exception being a wall made completely of quark material. This wall was covered in tacks and string, connecting images in a complex pattern; the scene was like something out of a crime show. Even more interesting, were the other two walls, which were lined with weapons. Guns – rifles, pistols, even a minigun. Blades, from a simple dagger to a machete, to a newly sharpened katana. It was wondrous, if a bit terrifying. "Ryusaki "Reid" Aoi," Boss introduced. "Twenty years old – assassin turned friend. He has a kill record of 1,500 and has been killing for eighteen years."

"Since he was twelve?!" Frank found himself contemplating the future of his little girl. She was an innocent nine-year-old, and in three years she would be the same age as some high functioning sociopath was when he killed his first person.

Ignoring his comment, Boss continued. The next room was so simple it was almost sad. The floor was carpeted, the bed was small and simple. There was a small wooden table, which had a large stack of books. "Does... Does this room belong to a blind man?" Frank questioned, noting that all the books were in brail.

"Jethro Barry. He is a behavioral profiler and our professional interrogator. Blind since he was born."

A silent Moving on was evident, and they continued to the second to last room. This one was also quite simple. A warm bed, wooden floor and a single shelf of books. There was a small line of weapons on the wall, but nothing like Ryusaki's. Beside the wall, a worn out punching bag. “Valerian Petrov. Twenty-two. Born in America to Russian immigrants, Valerian has a strong sense of justice. He acts as a coordinator to the team, leading them and fighting alongside them. He is especially strong in hand-to-hand combat situations.”

Finally, they made their way to the last room. “Robin Barry, eighteen,” said Boss, before opening the door. Inside, the room was more like a laboratory than anything. It was no smaller than the other rooms, but felt cramped due to the abundance of technology. Three screens on the far side of the room, just above a desk of neatly kept files and two small laptops. Although the desk was extremely neat, the rest of the room was by far the messiest of the five. There were wrappers scattered around the floor, and the sheets were dirty with crumbs. “Ms. Barry is our technical analyst, explosives expert and medical examiner. She also does forensics, on and off the scene. In our line of work, those things are rarely necessary, but she is very handy in the science department.

“Barry?” Frank questioned. “Is she related to Mr. Jethro Barry?”

Boss was silent for a moment, contemplating. “Yes,” he finally said. “Although not by blood.” That was it. He didn’t elaborate. After a few more seconds of awkward silence, Boss began again. “It’s time for you to meet the team.”

Frank’s stomach turned with every step he took through the hallway. This morning, he was nervous, but now that he knew the kind of people he was working with, he not only felt the pit of anxiety deepening in his heart, he felt self-conscious. These were all spectacularly intelligent, resourceful and strong people; much younger than he. Standing next to them, he would seem like a fool. The walk continued for another few minutes, before they stopped. A door stood ahead of them, old and wooden. Taking a deep breath, Frank stepped forward – past Boss – and opened the door. He was going to make a good impression.

Stepping over the foyer, back straight eyes forward, he was met by a surprising scene. The room was much like a lounge for teenagers, which he supposed some of them were. It was larger than the bedrooms, but smaller than he suspected. In the center of the room, a tall, dark skinned man was arguing with a blonde haired Ken Doll. The light haired man spoke with a slight Russian accent, so he assumed this must be Valerian. The man he was arguing with so profusely had green eyes that were glossed over and unseeing. Jethro. Behind them, sat a young woman on her phone, rolling her eyes at them. She was pale, and had red lips that pursed in annoyance. She was thin, and had freckles; very pretty. Shockingly, however, she didn’t have any hair. Most definitely Robin. Then, in the far left corner, a very young man with his nose in a book. His eyes moved so quickly, it was hard to believe he was actually reading. Frank guessed this was Gerard Simpson, the young Sherlock. Last but not least, beside him sat a small man. He had long red hair, pulled back in a knot on the back of his head. He was pale, with almost white gray eyes, staring uninterestedly down at his hands. He was taking apart a pistol leisurely, as if he’d done it a thousand time. Frank could almost guarantee that if he asked this man to take apart and put back together that very gun as fast as he could, he would do in the blink of an eye. This was certainly trained assassin, Ryusaki “Reid” Aoi.

Frank coughed awkwardly, and the entire room went silent. Valerian looked toward him, and Jethro stood up straight to here better. Robin looked up from her phone, uninterestedly, while Gerard tore his eyes from his book to stare up at him nervously. Just as Frank suspected, Ryusaki put together his weapon in a matter of seconds, before looking up at the new unit chief without emotion.

Valerian’s face began to turn a light pink, and he glanced away awkwardly. In a matter of second, however, he had regained his poise and stared dead on into Frank’s eyes. “I apologize sir,” he said. “We became distracted, weren’t able to make a good first impression as we’d hoped.”

Frank straightened, looking straight at him with determination. Silence. Then, the silence was broken by his own laughter. After a few seconds, Frank smiled; “It’s a pleasure to meet you all, I am your new unit chief, Benjamin Franklin Stein.”

As he expected, there were a few giggles at his name. “Wait… Your name is Franklin Stein? Like, Frankenstein’s Monster?” Robin asked, laughing.

Jethro also stepped in, saying “And your first name is Benjamin, so you are called Benjamin Franklin?”

Frank smiled, “My parents had a sense of humor. Most people call me Frank.”

From there, it was hardly all business. They were kids, what could he expect? But it was nice, knowing he wasn’t the only one who was nervous. From that day forward, he would be working with the smartest, the strongest and the most dangerous young people in the world; but he didn’t feel insecure. He felt content, respected, like he had just met his new family.