Free Protocol 1337 by D. Henbane Page A

large Channel Catfish.
    “That’s old Nelly, biggest channel cat I have ever caught. I thought for sure it was a state record, but it weighed in at 54.5 pounds. Come to find out, some guy in 1949 caught a 55 pounder. I tried to argue it with the state, about old scales being inaccurate, but they didn’t listen. Caught that monster just north of Mitchell. My wife was sitting on my lap when she hit the line. Knocked my wife flat on her ass, and in my excitement, I was only worried about landing the fish. She later forgave me once she saw this monster on land.” Stratton explains enthusiastically.
    “One hell of a fish SIR!” I say.
    “So you were part of Operation Thunder Clap?” Stratton asks.
    “I am not at liberty to speak about it SIR!” I reply.
    “Well first of all, you can drop the act. I know you are not a real soldier, and I wont even give you credit for trying to pass the part. Reese and I go back decades. On your defense, it will convince the bulk of them that you are some genius invited to an exclusive club. So let us just stick to the story, shall we?” Explains Stratton.
    “Absolutely sir, it is your BBQ, I am just bringing the potato salad.” I say.
    “Glad you see things my way. You have been assigned to Dr. Richard Cox. You are his personal body guard. I have explained to him, that due to the highly sensitive nature of his research, we are assigning him a body guard. You are to go to his office, pronto.” Stratton motions towards the door.
    Upon exiting his office, I am joined by the nice young lady in the blue skirt. She walks me over to the elevator and we descend. The doors open, and she guides me to a room with a placard reading. Dr. Richard Cox. I open the door then step inside.
    I see him from across the room. He has brown eyes, and what remains of brown hair, fitted with large circular glasses. His curly hair is almost out of this world. I can see the years claiming his auburn locks into gray nothingness.
    “Great, the babysitter is here. As if I don’t have enough to do around here, but I get to have someone look over my shoulder.” Cox shoots a smug look at me.
    “Please to meet you too. Should I try to shake your hand or just punch you in the face?” I reply. Cox seems to be taken by surprise. I am very serious about the threat. He reminds me of someone in grade school I used to pick on. The idea of landing a right hook to his jaw would brighten my day.
    “Charming, a nitwit, and a brute. I bet your parents are quite proud.” Cox replies.
    “Well, this is going to be fun now, isn’t it? You talk a lot of smack for a guy whose first and last name could be words for a penis. Should I call you Richard, Dick, Cox, or Dr. Double Dick? I reply sarcastically.
    “The name is Dr. Richard Cox. I didn’t spend a small fortune to be referred to by my surname.” Cox says in an authoritative tone of voice.
    “I will just call you doc. SO... What's up doc?” I have wanted to say that since I was a little kid. I sit down on a lab chair, then slowly rotate my-self around to pass time. Doc goes back to playing with some test tubes and other lab equipment. I wonder if he was born with a pocket protector? I bet his parents were really strict. I can picture him as a teenager watching out his window as the cool kids play games. Always wishing deep down inside they would invite him to play. Instead, he spent prom night organizing his next convention trip.
    A few very long hours pass as I watch him work. It is really hard to pass time when you literally have nothing to do. I finally reach my breaking point. I gotta get goody two shoes over there to start talking. “Got any kids?” I ask.
    “No, I don’t have time for a family. Besides, in my line of work, it is a little tough to get a date. Every woman I have ever met always wants to be just friends anyway.” Doc's admission confirms my theory so far.
    “Well, what do you do aside from playing with beakers?” I ask.
    “I’m a