Let's consider some hypotheticals. Let's say you got yourself a master's degree.

Let's say you got a job at a small branch of state government. Let's say you worked

there for the better part of your early adult life. You built everything around that job,

got an apartment, moved in with your girlfriend, had an orange cat with seemingly a single brain

cell. Life is good, right? Hypothetically.

Then comes along this man. Says he works in conjunction with a federal government and

the private sector. The guy reeks corporate, got a suit with a custom cut, no labels on

his clothes, tells us that we're going to be working closely with a small department

that has recently got a boost. Apparently there's a need for expansion and some people

for my branch will be moving on up. Let's say that one of those people is me. Hypothetically.

Alright, I'm gonna stop with that. Sorry, it still gets to me. You can safely presume

that I've changed a couple of details to make myself less recognizable. I gotta get

through the filters. I had moved from Milwaukee up to Superior. Sarah and I tried to make

it work, but she couldn't leave the city behind. It came down to a choice between me and

the rest of her life. They made sense for her to stay. Kind of annoyed me she kept the

cat though. That thing I loved. I started working at the DUC in September of 1998. At first,

I didn't even know what the acronym stood for. It wasn't a matter of secrecy, but they

had these stupid sayings plastered along the walls that people followed to a tea. For

example, Water of a Ducks Back. This was the standard operating procedure. Don't ask too

many questions. Let your questions and worries drift right off. Like Water of a Ducks Back.

They displayed this proudly in the launch room with a picture of a duck peacefully sleeping

by a pond. We worked in collaboration with other agencies in Michigan, Iowa and Minnesota.

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