“Welcome, Agent D3. Please sit down.”
Dwyane Wade closed the door. The chair behind the desk didn’t turn around. “We understand you’re no longer willing to be part of Project AJ2011. It is, of course, your choice, but perhaps there are consequences you’re not aware of.” Wade drew in a breath to speak, took too long.
“Because, D3, while you’re aware of the Project’s offensive capabilities, there are other aspects that are more subtle but equally crucial.” Wade opened his mouth to speak, again didn’t make it.
“The orange midsoles? We knew they wouldn’t be accepted by the League; that wasn’t our intent. The threat of their existence was enough—the knowledge that we were working on things the average player could never get. And you? You were never an average player.”
Wade silently noted the past tense, sat back, let the man continue.
“Your new product has been designed. We’ve added some things you hadn’t thought of. You’re welcome. But due to timing, we were unable to install the full Project AJ2011 systems. So enjoy, Mr. Wade. But be careful.” Wade nodded at the unturned chair, stood up to leave. “Oh, one last thing, Mr. Wade—don’t jump.”