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Chapter Text

“It’s time.”

She flicked the fading remains of her cigarette off the balcony and into the wind, then retreated. She shivered against the chill, wishing she had bit the bullet and bought that gorgeous wool shawl she had spotted earlier. That was going to bother her the entire trip.

“Are we ready?”

“Almost ready.”

“Dress casual. We want to keep a low profile.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The two other agents in the hostel room were dressed as casually as they possibly could, given the circumstances; they blended in well enough, though their mannerisms and language would give them away as foreigners. They could at least conceal their weapons beneath their winter clothing, something she was grateful for. A more tropical destination would not have been so forgiving. 

“2000 hours,” she said, snapping to her wristwatch. “Time to move.”

“Do you really think it’s happening?” one of the agents asked, as though he still had hope it wouldn’t.

“Well.” She sucked in a breath that burned with latent smoke from the disposed cigarette. “We’re about to find out, aren’t we? Let’s move.”

Viper was not normally one to bandy words, especially not with the recent hires. The Valorant Protocol was supposed to be the tip of the spear, and yet she found some of their recent recruits lacking. She understood that the VP’s broader security team could not meet the standard of quality she set for herself and her fellow top-shelf agents, but she sensed a talk with Brimstone was in order after they got back. The two men with her were no blockheads, but there was a certain élan that she felt they lacked.

“We keep to ourselves and take the side route,” she told them, as they threw on coats and scarves and anything else that could keep their features concealed without arousing suspicion. “When we reach the meeting spot, you hang back. I will make contact. If you see something shifty, you buzz me.”

She tapped her wristwatch, where the delicate silent-alarm apparatus was barely discernible from the watch’s band. It was one of the more recent miracles of radianite technology, and she was grateful for it.

They nodded their heads; they understood. They closed the hostel door quietly behind them; the host smiled at them as they left. Viper did not smile back.

Viper was not a diplomat, nor a negotiator for political chess games. She was married to her job and her job was espionage, intelligence, and results, not endless haggling and confab over drinks. To that end, she always hated when Brim tried to force her into the role of negotiation, something she clearly wasn’t cut out for if her experience was a sign of anything. That didn’t stop him, of course, but he at least recognized that her true talents existed in the background where she could freely exercise her skillset without worrying about spilled drinks or faux pas.

And here, in the back alleys of Kabul on a cold December night, she was putting that skillset to good use by slithering from door to door, shadow to shadow, leading her team silently through the urban warren towards the predetermined rendezvous point. The warehouse had been abandoned two years ago and the loading dock was walled in on all sides, making it the perfect place for them to link up before they scurried off to catch their ride to the airport and debrief on the way back to the Protocol’s base. 

“You think they’re actually gonna show up?”

“I think you should stop asking questions.”

“Fuck me.” His unmetered bass voice was like the roar of a shotgun in the silence. “Just thought about what if-”

“Your job isn’t about what if,” she said, snipping him off like a dead leaf, cold and unforgiving. “Your job is to deal with what is. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“No more talking. We move in silence.”

The rookies might not understand the gravity of their engagement here, but Viper certainly did. Viper wasn’t one for talking, but she did read, and she was particularly good at reading between the lines. The information that she had been feeding Cypher was more than enough to confirm her suspicions, but she needed this key link for them to gain anything actionable out of it.

And what if they don’t show up? What then?

Well, that’s a problem for another day, she thought. Don’t worry about the “what ifs”, Sabine. Do your job.

Kabul had so far proven to be resilient in the face of the looming horror of the unknown, though the uncertainty was visibly weighing on its populace. Shops remained opened and streets lit, and taxicabs stuffed with passengers cruised leisurely down broad boulevards lined with pop-up street vendors selling kebab murgh and hot tea in paper cups to any passers-by who were fighting the winter chill. This, naturally, made their job significantly harder, as any suspicious persons would sound the alarm and they would have to abort their mission. Time was of the essence, too; Viper looked down at her watch and swore quietly.

“Alright. We need to double time,” she said, gathering her two escorts close. “Stevens, the map?”

“Right here.”

Kabul’s rapid growth had rendered much of the yellowed paper map irrelevant, but the old city had changed little in the intervening years, and the directions were still fairly accurate. They hit one dead end and nearly ran into an elderly woman out bringing in drying clothes for the night, but escaped any real catastrophe and made it to the rendezvous point with a bit of time to spare.

Perfect. Now let this go off without a hitch.

“Hang back,” she ordered them, by way of reminder. “If you so much as see a sign of movement that’s not our people, you buzz me, then cover me.”

They both nodded. That part of their job, at least, she trusted them to do. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, and the rest of the night would be quiet.

Viper left the safety of her shadowy sanctuary and emerged into the clear night air, feeling the distant warmth of incandescent lights on her skin and bitterly regretting that she had not picked up that shawl. The wind out of the west was cold and promised snow, and standing exposed in the middle of the open concrete did not make her feel any better. Once or twice she swore she saw somebody shift their position in the shadows beyond her vision, but nothing happened; she chalked it up to a stray cat, or a child out past their bedtime and trying to sneak back home without being detected.

Let this go off without a hitch. Please.

She didn’t know who, or what, she could be bothered praying to; nothing had ever answered her before. 

Shuffling footsteps echoed like thunderclaps on cold concrete and she saw two bodies emerge from the darkness, hesitant. They were spooked, and with good reason.

She waved them over, trying to instill confidence in them, an effort which was stillborn given their hesitation. They moved as though they were hares under the fox’s watch, springing out of the shadows and rushing her with shaking knees and heaving chests. One was old, and the other young, and she immediately knew who her translator was.

“We’re safe for now,” she assured him, and with quivering voice he translated that to the older man, who appeared not the least bit relieved by that promise. In rushed Pashto, he whispered feverishly at his companion, who turned to Viper with grim eyes to relay the message to her.

“He says the rumors are true. The enemy is moving.”

“Ask him when.”

The translator turned to his companion and issued a nervous question in similarly rushed Pashto. Viper had picked up a few languages in her globe-trotting days, but this was a new one for her. The apprehension in their voices was genuine and they made no effort to mask it.

“He says it has already begun,” the translator replied, and the old informant muttered a desperate prayer under his breath. “They are advancing now.”

“Then we need to move,” she said, her breath fogging upon her lips as she spoke. “You will come with me. Bring him. We have a flight due out before dawn. If we-”

Her watch buzzed, tickling her wrist. A second later, before she could even register the sensation, a silenced gunshot rippled through the cold air. Then another.

The informant and the translator both fell, striking the frigid concrete with muffled, soft thumps and little more than groans of surprise. Viper barely avoided sharing their fate, ducking and rolling into cover with mere inches between cover and the trajectory of the third bullet. It sliced through the air past her and hit a mudbrick wall behind her with a dull thump. She had delayed the heavy hand of providence once more, at least for another minute or so.

One assailant, at least. Silenced weapon. High ground? All calculations pointed in one direction - she needed to move, and fast. The silence suggested they were watching her hiding spot, waiting for her to make a move, but it also hinted at the possibility that the shooter was repositioning to try and flank her. If they were on the rooftops, and had the elevation over her, her window of opportunity was rapidly shrinking. It was time to move.

She kept a low profile and practically hurled herself into the alley entrance, nearly colliding with Stevens. The two agents had drawn their service handguns but had held back, understanding that an engagement now would be a poor choice of action. She was grateful for their restraint, but they had a long ways to go before they could consider themselves safe.

“We need to move,” she urged them, already back on her feet, suffering only bruises and nicks in her escape. “They have the height advantage over us.”

“Airport?”

“Not yet. Hostel. We hunker down.”

“What about the informant?”

“They’re both dead.”

She had confirmed that with a single, quick look back over her shoulder. Neither of them had moved at all, their lifeblood pooling in dark brown puddles on the concrete. There was nothing to be done for them, now; their key agent, the crux of this entire operation, was taking his last breaths under an ambivalent night sky. The mysterious assassin had scored a clean kill on both counts.

“We ought to leave,” Stevens urged. He was clearly the more nervous of the two; though sharper than his companion, he was unsettled by the sudden episode of violence, and his grip on his service pistol was shaky. 

“We can wait it out.”

“We should get to the airport.”

“No. We wait it out.”

She knew that’s what they were expecting them to do; any amateur would do the same when their cover was blown. But Viper was no amateur, and she was made of sterner stuff, and the situation was not yet out of her control. True, this was an unexpected development; but when had that ever fazed her? It was just a change of plans, and an adjustment to their timetable, nothing more and nothing less.

“We move. Careful. Check your corners.”

They crept back into the warren of alleyways and side streets, the seething shadows no longer offering comfort but tormenting them with the lurking threat of unseen assailants who were two steps ahead and had set up an ambush. Viper could feel her pulse rising into her throat, threatening to choke her, but she suppressed that fear with years of training and a reminder to herself that nobody, so far, had gotten the best of her.

So far. Hubris could be more fatal than bullets. Keep your head on a swivel. Who is there?

It was a cat, scrounging through a trash can and shying away at their approach. A fucking cat. You’re jumpy, like fresh meat after first blood. Still yourself.

The others were even jumpier than she was, but they kept pace with her and avoided fatal mistakes, checking their corners and angles successfully. When they returned to the hostel, she allowed herself just one sigh of relief, then steeled herself for the next step.

“There’s a reason we travel light,” she reminded them, as she began tearing apart the room in an effort to hastily pack. “Ten minutes. Pack everything.”

She snapped to the plain black leather bag that was tucked beside the nightstand, almost invisible against the burnished dark brown wood of the bedframe. Tucked away inside were hundreds of Afghani banknotes alongside the more familiar dollars. She opted to leave the local currency behind as payment, knowing it would be far more difficult for anybody to trace. After all, it would be rude not to pay for their hostel accommodations after nearly two weeks of stay; Viper had standards, and standards included rewarding good hospitality and treatment in turn. She left a hefty tip, in addition to the payment she knew would be owed.

“Are we heading out?”

“I told you not yet,” she said. “We stick around, but keep active. No rest. Three hours, then we’ll strike out.”

Three hours seemed like enough time, given their circumstances. She knew she was being overly cautious, but given how suddenly their operation had fallen apart she wanted to take no risks with regards to their escape route. Their attackers, whoever they were, were clearly professionals; but surely, they would not outwit Viper. Nobody could.

“Stevens.” The jittery, wiry, black-haired man snapped to attention. “You have everything? All of our comms?”

“Tucked away.” He tapped the slim brown briefcase held between his feet and nervously smiled.

“Call in to Brim,” she said. “Tell him mission is a failure. I’ll brief him on the specifics, but I want to…”

As a heavy silence fell around her, and she suddenly became aware of another presence in the room that was not theirs, she realized that she had made a fatal mistake. She had not realized it until now, her calculations limited to the things she knew and understood and had experienced before. She only now realized that much of what she knew and understood had become irrelevant, and experience could only prepare her for so much.

The hostel room felt darker, as though the lights were being slowly dimmed by an unseen force. The air thickened until it became cloying, and her heart hammered in her chest as though trying to escape. Her eyes jumped to the two agents, who were already drawing their pistols and cocking the hammers as though their assailant was in the room with them.

“Put those away,” she snapped. “Don’t make any moves-”

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

“What the fuck is it?”

She wanted to urge them not to panic, but she would be a hypocrite if she did so. As a dark mist manifested beneath the door and curled upwards in the form of writhing tentacles, she also drew her pistol, though she realized it was too late.

The mist exploded, and the tentacles dissipated only to reform themselves around her in the blink of an eye. Her vision darkened and then was blotted out entirely, but she could feel everything about the invasive entity now curling around her wrists and forearms and dragging her to the floor. She kicked and contorted her body in every possible manner to throw it off, but the alien force anticipated her every move and before long she was bound up and helpless in the cold, merciless grip of hateful radiance.

It burned, but not in a way that hurt her. She could feel the cold, slimy chains constraining her wrists but it was not a frigid grip that harmed her skin. It seeped into each and every pore and penetrated parts of her body and mind that she never even imagined were accessible; her vision wavered, as though there were dust in her eyes, and her tongue lolled about fruitlessly in her mouth. She attempted to scream, but all that came out was a wretched gurgle that reminded her of a death rattle and ignited full-blown panic in her chest. She was aware of the two other agents gasping and moaning just like she was, helpless and locked in, and she was also aware that a door was opening somewhere beyond her vision. Her back was against the wall, literally and figuratively.

“I told you not to wait too long.” The first voice was firm, belonging to a woman, her origins unknown. Uzbek? Turkish? Viper had difficulty placing the accent, and she could barely hear as is; her ears rang as though a gunshot had sounded right beside her head. 

“I had it all under control.” The second voice was raspy, baritone, deeper and more confident. “ Mi amiga , you must trust me.”

“Look. They were nearly packed. They would have escaped if we had waited.”

“But we didn’t wait, did we?”

“I call the shots now, Reyna. Good thing, too. They would have beat us.”

The voices were distant, almost inaudible, though Viper felt their presence right beside her. Tightly-laced black boots stood at the tips of her toes, and a figure loomed over her. She was on the floor, pressed up against the wall so tightly by the coiled tentacles that she could not move an inch to see her assailant clearly. She could only look up and see bright magenta eyes illuminating a dark, menacing face.

“This one is wrapped up tight,” the figure said, with a gravelly laugh. “I wonder if she even sees me at all.”

“She sees you,” the other attacker said. “But fear has her locked up tight. She is in her own little hell.”

“Poor thing.”

“She sees such horrors, but it’s all in her head.”

Viper saw more than she ever wanted, but it did not feel like it was all in her head. Visions of a past life that she refused to live again exploded around her, as real as the day she left them. 

There was a heartless home, devoid of warmth, her only escape route the textbooks and essays she diligently studied until she could recite some of them from memory.

A cold handshake and a vellum promise, and nights spent burning herself from the inside out to stay ahead in the rat race. Labyrinths constructed not out of rock and stone, but stoichiometry formulas and micromeritic exercises. A quest not for knowledge in and of itself, but an endless path forward.

Success, translating into a life of cold and sterile labs and equally sterile offices warmed by vigorous bodies and an endless flow of coffee. Violent competition for prestige, paper citations, and dollar bills. A lover’s touch, but had she ever truly been a lover?

A revelation, and a terrible consequence for the whole world. The weight of guilt, followed by betrayal, followed by isolation.

Months in the hotel. Waking every morning to gunfire and a dying cityscape, wondering if she deserved her own personal hell.

A world on fire, slowly dying in a race to the bottom. A chorus of voices crying out her name, cursing her to a fate worse than death, the blame for it all squarely on her shoulders. A hell she could have prevented, if only she had maintained control, or perhaps not made that fateful decision so many years ago…

An unending series of nightmares playing on loop, years boiled down into seconds and repeating over and over again until she wanted to scream for mercy. No sound came out of her mouth but a distant groan.

And now, magenta eyes watching over her. But they were not as cold as their owner’s voice was, and they did not look at her with callous disdain. They were curious, more than anything else, as though they wanted to ask questions that their owner’s tongue dared not speak.

“Siktir. They really did come prepared. They have a lot of equipment, Reyna.”

“Tsk tsk. A shame, really. All for naught.” She kneeled over Viper, and only then could Viper get a clear view of her face. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks were plump, her jawline could cut steel and her hair was perfect as the night sky. She was equal parts beautiful and terrible, in ways that Viper could not find words to express. She was awestruck, and horrified at the same time. She wanted this to be over.

“I have it all,” said the other woman. “We’d best not linger. Come on. Let’s wrap up.”

“So hasty, Fade. Are you the type to kiss and tell?”

“I have standards, vampire,” the other woman sneered. “Unlike you, I do my job without question.”

“So grumpy.” The woman named Reyna smiled, amused by herself. “Where’s the fun in that, now?”

“We’re not here to have fun. We’re here to do what we’re paid to do. Now are you going to help me, or what?”

“If you insist, amiga .”

Viper felt alarm as she watched Reyna withdraw a sleek black pistol from beneath her overcoat, but she did not draw down on Viper - not yet, at least. Reyna nodded at Viper, as though to confirm something, and then disappeared from view, letting Viper steep in her nightmare for a little bit longer. There were heavy footsteps, what sounded like muffled begging, and then two gunshots. Now her ears were really ringing. 

More footsteps, barely audible. 

She struggled against her bonds, but the tentacles held firm, the radiance unbreakable. She was nothing compared to them, just a mere husk waiting for her ultimate fate, which now hovered above her. The purple eyes had an oddly calming effect on her, and served to dissipate the waking nightmare slightly, as though they were the cure for a sickness. She let her body relax, if only because this was the end, and struggle was futile.

“You have lovely eyes,” Reyna mused, kneeling over her. The pistol was pointed at Viper’s head, inches from her. “Pretty hair, too. Would you mind letting me know your name? It would be an honor.”

Viper said nothing, because she couldn’t say anything at all. She squirmed in place, and Reyna nodded, understanding the silent gesture.

“Ah, Fade. Give her a little relief, if you would please?”

“Reyna, quit playing with your food.”

“It’s a simple question. It deserves a simple answer.”

“Just kill her already.”

“Allow me this one courtesy, por favor.”

Viper felt life in her veins again, and the nightmare dissipated fully, allowing her to feel real once more. Her head pounded, matching her pulse, but she could speak and think and turn her head, if only for a few seconds. She decided to use her brief allowance of liberty in the way she thought most useful.

“My name?” 

“Your name, pretty thing.”

“Fuck you.” She spat in Reyna’s face, hitting her right on her gorgeous red lips. “How about that?”

She expected that would be it, but Reyna only smiled, and withdrew the pistol unexpectedly.

“I like this one,” she said, wiping the saliva off her lips with the back of her hand then licking it clean. “She has nerve. I like that, a lot.”

“Well, you got your answer. Now kill her,” Fade urged, restless. “Come on.”

“Do it.” Viper dared her, openly challenging her, knowing this charade could go on. “Kill me. Do what she says.”

“Reyna. Come on .”

But Reyna, who had enjoyed this entirely affair purely for her own personal reasons, only shook her head, pretending at sadness. “No, I don’t think I will,” she said, then stood up. “Fade, if you please-”

“Reyna. Stop.”

“No, I’m afraid I cannot.”

“You’re just going to leave her here? Alive? She’s seen our faces, Reyna-”

“Not yours, amiga.”

“Still. She’s dangerous.”

“Allow me this one little courtesy.”

“I already allowed you one.”

“Then allow me two.”

Fade groaned, which only seemed to please Reyna. She spared one last glance down at her prisoner - helpless, furious, determined to end it here. Reyna only smiled.

“I like her style. I will grant her this,” she decided. 

“Don’t you dare fucking turn away from me,” Viper hissed, but she was immediately silenced as fear gagged her and her bonds tightened again, trapping her with dismal prospects. Reyna leaned over her one last time, offering a menacing farewell.

“I will see you again, pretty thing,” she said, blowing a kiss. “Sleep tight.”

They turned and left, closing the door on the way out and leaving Viper in darkness, howling silently as her nightmare resumed just as vigorously as before. The last thing she saw before her vision darkened was those purple eyes leering at her, beautiful and terrifying. 

Chapter Text

Sleep came to her only in fits and starts, with every attempt at rest disrupted by a nightmare so visceral that the only cure was violently shaking herself awake. Even with her waking eye, she could see the hazy outlines of shadowy figures in the edges of her vision, blurry and barely perceptible but there. She wondered if this was what clinical insanity was like. She imagined she would be better off dead, like the other two.

Speaking of the deceased - Stevens and McIver - their bodies were quickly offloaded from the VLT/R and wheeled away by medical personnel to a compartment in the landing bay, presumably for temporary storage until the Valorant Protocol could construct an actual morgue. They were the first stiffs to ever return from a mission, and everyone from the janitorial staff up to the VLT/R pilots were quite shocked to see the white-clad figures emerge on wheeled stretchers, motionless as though frozen in time.

The only people who remained sanguine about it were Viper and her least favorite coworker, who insisted on visiting her the moment she arrived to the clinic.

“I said I don’t need any more help. I’m fine.”

Her multiple bruises and lacerations said otherwise, but to Viper, that was just the consequence of another day on the job. Sure, two of their agents had gotten killed and her face was now known to a mysterious enemy agency, but… it could have been worse? 

“What is it you always tell me, Viper?” Sage forged a smile. “Policy is the bedrock of our organization? And policy states that you submit to any treatment the medical department deems necessary.”

“I wrote that policy.”

“And I founded the medical department.” She seemed quite thrilled to be reminding her of that, as well as throwing her own words back in her face. “So let’s try this again. I will give you a full physical exam to ensure you are in proper condition…if you don’t have anywhere better to be, that is.”

In bed, asleep, away from you. But Brimstone had yet to summon her to a debrief, and she was firmly in Sage’s clutches, and far too tired to escalate this further. So she grumbled to herself and followed Sage’s every word, putting an unusual amount of effort into sticking to her instructions in spite of her reservations.

“Arms up, now.”

“Look down. Turn your head and cough.”

“Look up. Try not to squint. Your eyes are bloodshot, Viper. Are you getting enough sleep?”

She bit her tongue and exhaled deeply. “I would be, if not for you,” she said, which only appeared to amuse Sage, whose smile was wearing Viper thin at an alarming rate.

“I’m only making sure you are in good shape, Viper. Why do you fight me?”

“Is this all really necessary?”

“Of course it is.” She had an inkling that wasn’t quite true. “If you really need to be somewhere else-”

“Just hurry up and finish what you need to do,” Viper snapped. Time spent with Sage was the equivalent of rubbing her bare face on sandpaper. She imagined the latter would somehow be more tolerable.

Sage, having had her fill of being an unrepentant nuisance, finished her exam and dismissed her without further delay, something she was grateful for. The only thing prescribed to her was “restful sleep and an attitude adjustment”, a directive Viper would happily ignore. She did need to sleep, but there were other matters to attend to first and foremost, and she knew that if she tried to sleep she would only face the same nightmare she had endured on the trip back from Kabul.

As the Protocol’s headquarters were still under construction, she had to take several detours on her way to Brimstone’s office, only souring her mood further. The labyrinth of concrete-lined corridors and grim bulkheads did little to help, and by the time his office door opened to admit her in she was practically steaming. Brimstone only shook his head at her.

“You should be resting,” he said, leaning in and placing his meaty forearms on his desk where he solemnly steepled his fingers. “Viper, if you need to-”

“I know what I need to do, Brim,” she said, mustering as much patience as she could from a depleted reservoir. “We need to talk, first and foremost.”

“You’ve been through a traumatic event, Viper. You can take whatever time you need.”

“I don’t need time. I need to talk. So let’s talk.”

Brimstone sighed. He was always looking out for her when she refused to do so herself - and she did appreciate that. But she would not allow herself to succumb to such weakness when there was so much on the line.

“Viper, are you sure? We can delay this a day.”

“I’d prefer we don’t.”

Brimstone sighed, his steepled fingers now pressed against his forehead. “Alright, then. Have a seat.”

The cream-colored leather-lined rolling chairs, some wacky space-age design, were his personal choice in furnishing. They were at odds with the sterile and practical furniture that dominated the rest of the base. She hated them, and he loved them, and she supposed that was a microcosm of their overall relationship.

“I am guessing it’s too late for us to get ahead of this,” she said.

“You would be correct.”

From beneath his desk he withdrew a folded newspaper and unfurled it before her. She only needed to read the headline to grasp the gravity of her failure:

U.S. REPORTS SOVIET FLYING MANY TROOPS TO AFGHAN CONFLICT; WORLD CONDEMNATION ASKED

“Viper, before you speak, I don’t think the intel would have stopped this.”

“It doesn’t matter. I failed.”

“And what of it? It’s not the end of the world.”

Not this time, it’s not. She knew Brim would find that interpretation far too cynical, but it was her default mode of thinking. If not this time, then what about the next time? Failure was never an option in her line of work.

“So what now, Brim?”

“Well, we’re off the hook on this.” He laughed, as though there was anything about the situation remotely funny. “If the Soviets are rolling, they’re rolling. There is nothing we can do now.”

“Are you going to make me take a week off to recover?”

“Oh, Viper. How did you know?”

She smiled, in spite of her increasingly foul mood. “You’re a predictable man,” she said. “But the answer is no.”

“Viper.”

“Please, do not baby me.”

“Viper, I’m not babying you. But you are not invincible.”

“I don’t assume myself to be.”

“But you act like it.” Brimstone was adept at many things, but fighting back her worst tendencies was one of his hallmark skills. “You just went through an extremely traumatic incident. Hell, you could have died.”

“I almost did.”

She remembered so clearly the way that “Reyna” had held the pistol, its barrel hovering inches from her forehead, considering her life as though it were a game of dice. She was so beautiful, and so terrible. She remembered.

“We do need to keep you close to ground, for a bit. Even if you don’t want to.”

“I’m fine. I can get back in it.”

“That’s not the point. Your identity is at risk. We need time to let this pass. Cypher needs time to rebuild your cover.”

“He works fast.”

“It’ll be at least three weeks. Maybe a whole month. Viper, don’t make me start acting like a manager.”

She stifled a laugh. She knew that line was coming; it was another one of Brimstone’s favorites. He fancied himself not a manager, but a leader, as though there were any distinction in her mind. She knew him as the man at the top, and she was his second-in-command, and anything else was new-age corporate nonsense designed to make hierarchy more appealing. That was the strange thing, though; hierarchy wasn’t supposed to be appealing. It was rigid by nature and it was all too necessary, and anybody who didn’t like it could kick rocks. Organizations survived by doing just that: organizing.

“If you refuse to put me on missions, I won’t go rogue,” she said. “But I can’t promise anything more.”

Brimstone sighed. “I imagined you wouldn’t. I’ve come to accept that’s how things are.”

“The list of work that needs to be done here is not getting shorter, Brim. This is a huge endeavor.”

“I’m aware. I started the damn thing.”

“So then you must know how much I have to do, and that rest comes second.”

“You’re an enigma, Viper. Sometimes I wonder if I should regret hiring you.”

“You can bring that up again at my annual review. For now, I’m off to the range. I need to clear my head.”

“Before you go, rest assured that Cypher is working on whatever information we can dig up on these people.”

“They were professionals. I can tell you that much.”

“And so is he. He will find a lead and track it. We’ll know more about them soon, and we’ll have them on the run.”

“Alright then.”

Her head was practically spinning up a new nightmare as they talked, waiting for her to doze off or even close her eyes to rest. Whatever radiance the enigmatic “Fade” possessed, it had truly taken ahold of her and pulled her into its clutches, no matter how much distance she put between herself and the enemy. Even now, so far away and safe at home, she was vulnerable. 

How is that possible?

She reminded herself that with radiants, anything was possible. So much that had once been beyond belief was now the realm of reason, as a strange new reality unfolded around them.

How did it come to this?

Someone flipped a switch, or a godhead snapped their fingers - and overnight, the world was just a little bit stranger. Now nothing was truly safe or sacred, and every Sunday newspaper headline bore frightening new prognostications of the world’s impending doom.

And the word radiant is on every tongue.

Too many thoughts, too much reflection, not enough action - she needed to clear her head. The best place to do that was the Protocol’s shooting range, which had almost become a second home for her.

Two heavy steel doors hissed open to admit her to the armory and the adjacent shooting range, buried deep near the heart of the complex and built like a fortress. If the biometrics failed to recognize her, this could be a fatal endeavor; thankfully, Valorant was built with cutting-edge technology that was tried and tested, and included its own similarly cutting-edge failsafes. When the project had initially been pitched to her, she almost couldn’t believe that such a thing was possible. Passing row after row of assault rifles, submachine guns, long arms, and pistols neatly tucked in and accounted for, she knew now that such a thing was more than possible.

So fixated was she on her goal of shooting away her worries and drowning out the encroaching nightmare that she failed to notice the doors behind her remained open. Another figure followed her in.

She decided that today was a good day for something heavy. The Protocol was working on designing its own weapons, but the prototypes with radianite-alloy parts were still too unstable; something more traditional would have to suffice. Hefting the M14 in one hand and testing its balance and weight, she found it suitable and grabbed as much ammunition as she could carry. 

This may take a while.

And for a little bit, she was calm and controlled, her finger gently squeezing the trigger each time and her aim hardly wavering. Each shot was calculated, a breath sucked in then exhaled purposefully for each bullet. It took her far too long to notice that someone else was at the range with her, and they had been watching her.

“You’re quite focused, Viper.” Cypher’s voice tore her out of that focus. “Something is the matter.”

“Cypher. You should know better than to spook a woman holding a gun.”

“All too right. I fear I may be hasty in asking this, but is something indeed the matter?”

“What do you think? You read the mission briefing by now, I suspect.”

Cypher was always the first one to have the information; whatever the subject matter, and however secret it was kept, he’d be the first one to tap into it. He was the one who had connected them to their late informant, and he was the first one to suggest that Soviet forces were planning something. His intelligence, as well as his inference skills, were the entire reason that Viper had been in Kabul in the first place. Naturally, she had considered blaming him for her current ordeal - she passed on that.

“Death is no strange thing to a woman such as yourself,” he said, cryptic as ever when he was playing around trying to extract something. “Nor I.”

“Yes, I remember. You think I could forget?”

“Death may unsettle you, but you hide it well. This is something different.”

“I never said I wanted to talk about it.”

“If you’d like me to leave, I can leave.”

“I would prefer that, yes.”

Of course, she would not really prefer that. She was being antsy, in part because she had been caught off-guard, and in part because she had too many questions and didn’t want to impose them on Cypher. But who better to talk to, then the man who always had the answers?

“Brim said you’re tasked with tracking these attackers down.”

“I’ve already begun my work, funny you should say that.”

“I had figured as much. What do you know?”

“Less than I’d like.” He sounded genuinely perplexed, as though he had never expected for his plans to be foiled. “They are an enigmatic group. They hide their tracks well, and low profile does not even begin to describe them.”

Viper scoffed. “They’re radiants,” she said, teasing a new magazine into the magwell of the sturdy M14, which was ready for more action. “They’re used to it, I’m sure.”

“They are just as professional and adept as we are, Viper, by the looks of it. Do not underestimate them. They are not wild beasts.”

“They sure acted like they were.”

The one woman, Reyna, may as well have been. She toyed with her food and reveled in the extreme violence sometimes necessary of the profession, and considered the rules to be mere suggestions. 

Beautiful and terrifying.

“I’m grateful you made it out of there alive, Viper,” Cypher said, sensing the conversation had reached its natural end as Viper flicked the safety on the rifle and leveled it once more. 

“It was pure luck that I did.”

No it wasn’t . It was a deliberate choice. Reyna had refused to pull the trigger, and in giving her the mercy of life had condemned her to hours and hours of torment in the grip of waking nightmares on the cold, lifeless floor, the air sharp with the oxide reek of blood and the sulfurous haze of propellant. Multiple times over the course of the dawn hours she had cried herself hoarse, wishing she could die, but nobody came back to finish her off. The hostel staff had been the ones to find her instead.

“Chance or skill, it matters not. We are better off for you.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better, Cypher?”

He chuckled, amused at the notion. “Would never dream of it,” he said. “But I hope you know you’re in good hands.”

“I know.”

“Merry Christmas then, Viper.”

“Thank you.”

She had forgotten about the holiday. She had been tangled up in raw fear for a good portion of it. That, quite frankly, did not make for a remarkable festive memory. 

He left her be, then, until her magazines were empty and the range delivered her results and she scoffed at them. Her focus had broken and fatigue was taking a toll on her, and she barely felt any better than she did an hour ago when she walked out of Brim’s office, weary and ragged. She didn’t even take the requisite time at the end of her session to clean and oil up the rifle, slamming it back into its cell and throwing the lock on without a second thought. It only served to frustrate her right now, as fatigue was building and with it anger and resentment. She thought about walking out and having a smoke when, on her way out, she ran into the Protocol’s third and perhaps most lively junior member, whose arms were full of various components and scrap metal that loudly collapsed to the floor the moment she bumped into Viper.

“Mein Gott!” The din was so loud that Viper’s ears rang, and twisted pieces of aluminum and bundles of scrap copper wire scattered all over the armory floor. Without a second thought, she stooped to help Killjoy collect them; the German girl was herself in shambles.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry-”

She was on her hands and knees, scraping metal off the linoleum, flushing madly.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even- ach, I didn’t-”

“Killjoy. Relax. It’s alright.”

“It’s…alright? Oh, yes, but I’m sorry…”

She was by far the youngest member of the Protocol, barely in her early twenties and yet with the professional repertoire of a woman twice her age. Having forged a path of bizarre inventions and co-published papers throughout her university tenure, she had found work in some of Germany’s mightiest tech sector frontrunners before the Protocol picked her up. Brimstone had done the ground work on that one almost entirely by himself, such was his interest in her talents. Viper was starting to come to appreciate them, though they came with a strange downside.

“What were you planning on doing with all of this, Killjoy?”

“All of what, now?”

“All of…this.”

She spread her arms to encompass the pile of material Killjoy had now recollected and was once again struggling to hold. Killjoy simply beamed.

“Oh, you want to come see what I have been working on!? Come on, come on then.”

Viper did not necessarily want that, but when Killjoy beckoned it was impossible to ignore the summons. Besides, her appearance had injected her with a bit of much-needed energy; Killjoy brought a certain joie de vivre to whatever space she occupied, no matter how grim and demoralizing it had been prior to her appearance. 

Viper followed her back into the armory, past the rows of well-maintained rifles and dark pistols and into a back room where a few shelves and tool chests had been allowed to languish as the Protocol’s priorities lie elsewhere. Killjoy threw her accumulated junk down on a shelf, flicked on two lights, and unfurled a roll of card paper that was clearly being turned into an impromptu blueprint. 

“So. My room is nice, ja ? I am not complaining. But I’m so… vertrocknet. You understand?”

Viper stood outside the meagre little storage room, quite perplexed. “No, I’m afraid I don’t,” she admitted, a bit stunned.

“I’m dry. My skin is dry. My hair is dry. Waking up to it is torture. Begging your pardon, Viper, I am not wanting to complain about my time here-”

“No. I get it. I get it.”

She didn’t want to say go on , but she knew how Killjoy could easily go off on tangents without even being provoked. It was best for her, and for both of them, to get this moving along.

“Well, I don’t like the dry air. And I don’t want to spend money on…er… einen Luftbefeuchter. You know, to make the air not-so-dry? And so, here we are…”

The blueprint was fully unfurled and every moment of Killjoy’s genius, or perhaps insanity, was revealed with it. She had designed her own humidifying piece, with the final product perhaps barely larger than Viper’s favorite coffee thermos, and requiring half the voltage of the standard consumer product. Killjoy was set on explaining everything, but Viper stopped her before they could get into the weeds.

“Killjoy,” she said, snapping the young German girl to attention. “This is all quite impressive. But let me ask…where do you intend to test and build all this?”

Killjoy’s doelike eyes flitted from Viper to the pile of rubbish and scrap she had gathered, then back to Viper. She swallowed heavily and her cheeks turned red again, flushed like before.

“Well, eh…right here?”

“Killjoy.”

“Nobody else is using it! I found that this was quiet and untouched, and I just-”

“It’s not that, Killjoy. You’re using this puny little closet as a workshop? This cannot be.”

It wasn’t a matter of policy - it was a matter of principle. The Protocol’s best and brightest, reduced to stuffing themselves inside an overgrown electrical cabinet with a handful of tools and bare furnishings? Viper would not settle for that, not if she had a say.

“Well, where else will I go?” Killjoy asked, not sensing where Viper was taking this. “I cannot do this in my room, it would be a-”

“Disaster, yes,” Viper agreed, smiling. “That is why we need to get you a lab.”

“Oh…a lab?”

The emotions in Killjoy’s eyes were quick to turn from one to another: first confusion, then shame, then assuming a defensive posture before they brightened at the mention of such a simple, but promising word. 

“A lab…like yours?”

“I imagine you’d like that.”

“I couldn’t dream of something like it,” Killjoy laughed. “I…have never had my own lab. Do you think I-”

“I will take it up with Brimstone,” Viper promised, knowing this initiative would be best served coming from higher up. “You have my word on that.”

“You…wait? You’re going to?”

“I just said that, didn’t I?” Viper couldn’t help but smirk. Sometimes, Killjoy was all too easy to surprise - even with the smallest gestures. Even now, her eyes narrowed and her bright smile faded slightly, as though this were a ruse and the wool was being pulled over her eyes for it.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Why wouldn’t I do it for you?”

She stammered, her tongue unwilling to go where her mind was racing. She could barely even manage a squeaky thank you , as she clasped her fingers together and flexed them in and out, back and forth as if to calm herself.

“I will not see this Protocol deprive your talent of the faculties befitting it,” Viper promised, which she realized would sound really good written into an email to Brimstone. “I will see to it that we get you lab space started.”

“Will it…be like yours, maybe?”

“Better, even.”

Now, that might be a promise Viper couldn’t keep; but the overall promise, she fully intended to keep. It was a matter of time, and place, and budget, but with a decisive meeting looming and much interest remaining in their activities, none of those things would prove to be too much trouble. She would get Killjoy her space, and she would make sure it was properly outfitted, and she would see the young woman thrive as she deserved to.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You already thanked me.”

“Yes, but…that is not enough, I-”

“Killjoy. Don’t stress yourself. I am happy to do this. Just promise me one thing.”

“Ja?”

“Promise me you’ll start checking your corners if you’re carrying an armful of scrap metal?”

She glanced over at the pile darkly, and nodded. Killjoy, for the third time in ten minutes, flushed a furious shade of bright crimson, and slapped her hands to her mouth and groaned.

“I’m sorry, again, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright,” Viper said, smiling, happy to be teasing her if only a little bit. “I will talk to Brimstone tomorrow. Goodnight, Killjoy. Don’t stay up too late.”

And with that, she left the engineer in peace, flicking the lights off in the rest of the armory for the night and leaving only a tiny pool of bright, sterile light at the back of the room where the engineer began furiously working on her latest ploy.

Chapter Text

A familiar world: wavy beeches and proud oaks, fields of wheat and corn, winding backcountry roads where the pavement writhed under the late summer sun, bequeathed upon the waking world by a sky so blue it might be a celestial ocean.

A familiar field: a rectangular expanse of free-standing grass, hemmed in on three sides by old growth wood and bound on the other by a narrow road overlooked by drooping wires hanging from aging poles where the mourning doves would gather to share their daily gossip and watch the world turn, comfortable within their simple paces.

A familiar house: four walls and a steepled roof, aging shingles betraying the tar-and-chip beneath, great bay windows like enormous eyes surveying a well-maintained yard and driveway. Bright wallboards and siding, the paint flecking away bit by bit, the awnings creaking plaintively and curtains billowing lazily in the summer breeze.

A familiar girl: twelve years old, her raven hair tumbling down her shoulders in long unkempt strands, her forehead creased and her lips marred by bite marks, the price of constant overthinking. In another life, she might be out in that free-standing grass, running free with friends that she pretended she didn’t desperately want. This life was quiet.

She woke up bathed in sweat, head to toe, blinking away the nightmare and wondering if this truly was the waking world. She estimated she had eked out three hours of sleep, maybe four tops. She was used to that, but not when she was being besieged by an endless phantasmagoria hellbent on stealing every last ounce of energy and hope from her.

The nightmare ended as it had begun: at a familiar house, in a familiar field, in a familiar world. 

Coffee was the first thing she sought, before even showering and brushing her hair and dressing herself appropriately for today’s meeting. She was grateful that the empty, clean corridors to the mess hall remained that way and that anybody who was an early riser like herself was not there to interdict her. She filled up a massive thermos and stalked back to her room, bleary-eyed and weary, to shower and dress to the best of her ability.

It was strange to think that Brim had scheduled one of their most important meetings for the last day of the year, at the tail end of the holiday season, but Brim was a strange man. He put schedule and objective first, not out of carelessness but because he was so driven, and to be fair they did all live here and attending a meeting halfway across base was only a matter of a ten to fifteen minute walk. But the principle of the thing drove Viper up the wall.

Really? Can’t it wait until next Monday?

She had tried to argue against him. He simply wouldn’t take no for an answer.

We need this before the end of the year. It shows we’re ready to take on fresh challenges and meet the new calendar with grace and vigor.

His answer was typical canned XO bullshit but she was nowhere near the type of person who could process those words and spit them back at him to debate him. She nodded her head and accepted her fate and wondered just how much she would regret taking this opportunity before the end.

The coffee did at least help to alleviate her Monday morning existential crisis.

It did not help her come to terms with seeing Sage in the meeting room, sitting in her spot at the table.

“What the hell is this?”

No amount of coffee could have assuaged this matter.

“Viper.” Brimstone moved in to defuse the situation before it exploded in front of their guests. “I invited Sage to this meeting explicitly at the request of some of our stakeholders.”

“Do these stakeholders realize she’s not authorized to receive this level of intel?”

“They’re aware. They wouldn’t be here, otherwise. And I have decided that we can make an exception, just this once.”
“Don’t handwave me, Brimstone.”

“I’m not handwaving you. But Sage will attend this meeting. We can discuss this more later. Please, have a seat.”

The assembled guests awkwardly glanced from her to Brimstone and then back again as though expecting her to escalate this confrontation. She recognized some of them, and knew a few of them quite well, and therefore knew this was neither the time nor the place to escalate the matter. Accepting the temporary checkmate, she abandoned the fight and coolly marched to a new seat, placing herself as far from Sage as possible. Sage noticed, and feigned a smile, accepting the undue submission with unwarranted glee that made Viper down the rest of her coffee in one gulp, nearly choking herself on it. 

“I appreciate you all being able to come today. It’s no small thing to fly out to this island, especially during the holiday season.”

The type of man who sat at this table would be, by and large, a man who was used to spending more time on a plane than he did at home. Those who she sat with today certainly were. They were representatives from a variety of institutions nominally supportive of the Valorant Protocol - a CIA agent, a UN special rapporteur, a SALT auditor, a prominent OPEC lobbyist, and many others - who all shared the same goal of assessing just what the fuck is going on in this strange new world they all shared. 

If you’ve come for answers , Viper thought with amusement, as they watched her pick a seat, you may be at the wrong table.

Said table was quite unbalanced - Brim on one side, Sage with him, and Viper and the dozen other guests weighing down the other side. It was not the first time she was the only woman among a court of men, some of whom were complete strangers and others who were far too friendly with her for the morning hour.

“Miss Viper.”

“Roanhorse.” She refused to turn and face him; his breath always smelled like sour cabbage and old coffee. “Were you told about our guest?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t read my messages.”

Garrett Roanhorse found that funny, for some reason; he was an odd older fellow, practically carved out of ivory and forged in an Ivy League tradition that Viper personally found quite repulsive. Nevertheless, he was key for the Protocol’s funding efforts; he also knew Brimstone from “way back when”, though Brim would always refuse to say exactly when that was. Viper tolerated him, if only because she must do so for the greater good of the Protocol. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s get this started.”

Brimstone initiated the meeting the same way he always did, by dramatically clearing his throat and shuffling a stack of papers he brought with him. 

“And we have a number of call-ins about to join us…so I will get us started as they join.”

Brimstone took the lead at these meetings with aplomb, taking great pride in his ability to micromanage and organize two dozen voices at the same table. The intercom-style piece at the center of the table, connected by a dozen gray and blue wires to the cables below, allowed multiple other participants to patch through via phone, something Viper would have never thought possible just a few short years ago. It was another piece of remarkable technology made feasible only by radianite.

And, by extension, you. She gripped her empty coffee thermos and tapped her nails idly on it as the meeting began. The man to her left, who judging by the way he wore his tie was some European intelligencier, found this extremely annoying and began twitching intermittently as she continued.

There was an overwhelming amount of formality, as usual, coupled with boring platitudes and inane reports from stakeholders and associates that Viper couldn’t keep straight in her head. Most of them were only loosely affiliated with the Valorant Protocol, and had invested themselves more so because it was fresh and new rather than out of genuine interest. Viper could spot these types from a mile away; they were primarily finance types, or directly connected to a political party, and thus gave away the game all too easily. She couldn’t help but smile as she listened to them offer reports and updates from their end, one after another, while Brimstone sat and listened with genuine interest on his end. Sage, it seemed, was interested as well, though it was sometimes impossible to tell what her true feelings were.

She’s thinking about me, isn’t she? Wait, why would she? Oh, Sabine, get a grip. You’re just tired and mad that something didn’t go your way. 

She was being petty, but so was Sage. Two can play this game . Sage caught her eye and dared to smile again, a gesture she did not return.

The conversation then turned interesting. Viper turned her full attention to a speaker a few seats down from her, a balding and spectacled man who she didn’t know, but whose authority she immediately respected.

“Brimstone, I appreciate all the work that you’ve done this year.” His voice was cool and level, but contained a hint of latent menace. “With that being said, the conditions of our agreement have not been met.”

“I understand,” Brimstone said, as though he had been anticipating this. “I’ve brought my guest to this meeting today to address this issue exactly.”

“Brimstone, with all due respect, we need solutions.” Another voice, more gruff and demanding, far less patient than its predecessor, from a more heavyset man who had surely once been a brawler. “Our radianite stockpile is exhausted.”

“The inventory is grim,” said the other man, to a murmur of agreement from his peers. “We stand now at just shy of thirty kilos of radianite, across all partner nations and programs. That is a two-thirds reduction over just a few short years.”

“That’s also not counting what we have.” Viper spoke up for the first time since the meeting began. “I manage my laboratory stockpile efficiently.”

“We trust that you do.” The tone of the second, gruffer voice suggested otherwise. “All the same, the current inventory is alarming. We are running dry. And at such a critical juncture? Brimstone, we need-”

“Solutions. Solutions. Yes. I hear you loud and clear.”

He now turned to Sage, who was ready for her time in the spotlight. Her arms were folded politely and she straightened her back, eager to be presenting for a live audience. She nodded at Brimstone, ready as ever.

“We have a solution to present today, one that I hope you’ll find amenable.” He nodded back. The silence in the room was palpable; somebody coughed, and there was a scratchy whisper that Viper couldn’t make out. The attendees on the intercom were dead silent.

“Go ahead, then,” said the first man, who took the lead when none of his peers would speak up. “Give us your pitch.”

“Thank you. I’d like you to meet our Special Medical Officer, codename Sage. Sage, if you’d be so kind?”

Special Medical Officer , Viper scoffed. Yes, she’s special alright. Thanks for reminding her, Brim. She snorted audibly, waking Roanhorse up from an imminent nap. He was none too pleased with that, and made sure she knew of it.

“That was right in my ear,” he grumbled.

“Was not.”

“Well, you still woke me-”

“You should be awake,” she hissed. “You paid how much to fly out here?”

“What’s a few hundred bucks, anyhow?”

She just rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. These meetings normally took too long, but this one felt interminable . She sensed it was only about to get worse.

“Gentlemen of the committee. It is my pleasure to speak with you today. If you’ll give me five minutes, I’ll give you your solution.” Sage spoke as though addressing a packed lecture hall, standing at her spot and projecting her voice in an attempt to come off as grandiose. She only came off as overcompensating to Viper, who was nevertheless listening to her pitch, knowing nothing about it from previous conversations. 

“Radianite has become as key to our world as steel, or coal, or gas. The primary reason for this Protocol’s founding…even the sole reason, one might argue…”

How many times must she have rehearsed this? This was well prepared. Viper felt something uncomfortable stirring in her, though.

“...and to that end, the Protocol remains staunchly committed to continuing to seek this elusive resource, to understand it better, and ultimately to support the noble effort of using radianite to improve and secure our world for a brighter, more peaceful future.”

What a pitch, but you’re in the wrong room. She knew that half of the attendees would find the concept of a peaceful future impossible; the other half would find it loathsome. Yet they remained silent, allowing Sage to continue.

“Where we go from here, I understand, is entirely up to this executive committee. But I must urge you to carefully consider my proposition. As you have established, we are exhausting what little radianite we already have. And we have struggled to find more.”

Struggled was one way to put it. The initial finds, only two years before the First Light, had ignited an insatiable obsession for the strange material as experiment after experiment revealed its seemingly boundless properties. When those finds proved to be singular and millions of dollars in exploratory projects failed to locate a single new deposit, that obsession had turned into desperation.

“I understand that many of you here have your own designs, or represent an interest that has designs on radianite different than what we might share here at the Valorant Protocol.”

Sure do, she knew. She still wasn’t sure where Sage was going with this, though. She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out, either; that odd discomfort was stirring again. She expected something unpleasant to shortly rear up out of her otherwise milquetoast speech, like a fast-approaching thunderhead blotting out the bright horizon and bringing the promise of trouble with it.

“But with our combined knowledge here at the Protocol, I have an approach built on the exact brand of innovation we so desperately need. I will confess to you all now: I am a radiant.”

There were a few whispers in the room, two audible gasps, and at least one man saying something that Viper registered as goddamn two-faced rat. Most remained silent, still intent on listening, though that had certainly caught most everyone off-guard.

“Is she really?” Roanhorse asked that question as though he thought she were bluffing.

“She is,” Viper said. “The only radiant within our ranks.”

“Ah, shame then. She’s real pretty for one of those freaks.”

Thoughtful as always, Roanhorse. She allowed him to snicker at his own comment, which Sage either did not hear or was too busy with her pitch to bother with. 

“Being a radiant lends me not only the powers that I have, but an innate sense that many of you lack. You may find it strange, or even frightening, but your options are few and the solution I give you is one that I will only offer you once. So I ask of you this…”

Here it comes. She knew she was feeling uncomfortable with good reason. Sage was about to request something extraordinary.

“...I wish to pursue an effort to expand the Valorant Protocol’s ranks, but not as originally intended. Our charter left little room for radiant recruitment, and I wish to change that. My bottom line is: I wish to bring more radiant agents onboard, and I believe you will all agree with my rationale as well.”

She was explaining her rationale, not offering any time for dissent, but Viper struggled to listen. She was caught up on those prickly, troublesome words: more radiant agents.

What did that mean? Well, it could only mean that Sage was looking for more radiant agents, duh . But there were so many more implications beyond that, that Viper could not keep everything straight in her head. Sage was offering as many reasons as possible, with little detail offered.

An opportunity for inclusion.

Ability to detect and seek out new sources of radianite.

Need to retain skilled, raw talent and useful powers.

When she had offered all of her reasons, and concluded her pitch, she sat back down again, folding her arms as if satisfied. The silence that followed was incredibly awkward; even Brimstone appeared a bit unsettled. Roanhorse coughed, then farted loudly, earning irritated looks from those around him. 

“It’s a difficult plan to accept.” The first voice, the most calm and measured of any who had spoken thus far, was the first to speak up again. “And I know many of my fellow members on this committee who are attached to this project may find it repulsive.”

He paused, almost certainly intending it to be for dramatic effect, making them wait for his verdict.

“And yet, it may be our only option. Brimstone, have you considered this initiative?”

“I have,” he said.

Another shock for Viper. She felt left out, even betrayed. Why hadn’t he said anything before? Maybe it was too novel of an idea, not yet ready for discussion…or, more likely (she thought), he knew what her reaction was going to be, and had strategically avoided bringing this up until now.

“And what do you think?”

“I would not have brought Sage to this meeting if I did not think her idea had merit. Speaking quite frankly.”

“Brimstone, with all due respect…I speak for this entire committee when I say this is a lot to process.” The second man spoke again - gruff and chafed as ever. “You put this upon us at a critical juncture, and yet it is still a tough pill to swallow.”

“I understand, sir,” Brimstone said. “That is why I ask for consideration at this time…not approval, necessarily.”

“What should we consider, if not approval?”

“The mere merit of the idea.”

“The public would have a field day if they knew about this.” Another voice was chiming in now from the intercom, one with a fierce Southern accent that marked its owner as a dyed-in-the-wool American. “Atlanta was just six months ago. People are still furious about that. What do you think the average John and Mary are gonna say if they find out Uncle Sam’s bringing freaks on his payroll?”

“The public won’t know about this,” Brimstone said, with a wave of his beefy hand. “Simple as that.”

“You and I both know it’s never as simple as that, Brimstone.” 

Now, she was sure that second, gruffer man was someone from Langley - he was the most realistic member of this assembly, besides her. I know that’s the voice of a realist, who knows things tend to go tits up when you least expect them to. Viper was starting to take a liking to him, and would have rather he been invited to sit next to her as opposed to Roanhorse, who was picking at something hanging off of his thumbnail and contributing nothing to the conversation. 

“We will keep this under wraps, given the approval of the committee for action,” Brimstone promised, trying to mollify the dissenting voices as Sage waited in the wings to defend herself. “I have already come up with some plans of action for how to go about this.”

The unhappy American man on the intercom had more on his mind. “It’s not just about the public, Brimstone. I brought up Atlanta. Some of us had that hit a little too close to home.”

“I understand-”

“One-hundred and forty-three innocent Americans dead. Whole wing of a stadium collapsed. And you know who did it? A fuckin’ freak .”

“A terrorist freak,” Roanhorse added, piping up for the first time.

There was some agreement in the room with that sentiment; the story was still fresh, six months later, especially since the radiant responsible for the collapse had perished in the incident and there was nobody left to blame except the radiant population at large, who had become America’s favorite boogeyman overnight. Little wonder, then, why Brimstone and Sage were meeting with such resistance; Viper could understand the sentiment, too.

“Let’s use professional language, gentlemen,” Brimstone chided them, all too gently for the words they were using. “Sage here is a radiant, and yet she has always been a dignified and disciplined leader in this protocol.”

Viper wanted to scoff again. She shot daggers at Sage, but Sage wasn’t looking; she was staring off at some middle space, obviously bothered by the commentary from certain members of the committee. 

“With all due respect,” said the unhappy American, “I’ve never met this Sage before, and neither have-”

“I will vouch for her,” Brimstone interrupted, the first time since this meeting started that he sounded remotely tilted. “I vouch for her. Does that settle you?”

“It does not, sir.”

“Gentlemen.” The first man spoke up again, and stood for the first time, adjusting his glasses as he did so. “We’re getting nowhere. I understand tensions are high.”

“Tensions? These are fucking terrorists we’re talking about courting here. When have we negotiated with terrorists?”

“There is a first time for all things.” The second man, the Langley fellow, spoke up again. Now Viper was sure he was Langley. “It’s a strange idea, but one worth considering.”

“That’s all I ask,” Brimstone said.

“That is all I ask, too,” Sage said, through gritted teeth. “I am ready to implement my plan and follow up with my connections the moment I am able…should I be allowed.”

She said those final words with such conviction, that even Viper was moved; it was clear this was deeply personal for her, something she had never doubted. But there was another ambition at play here, she knew.

“I think we ought to put it to a vote, here and now,” Brimstone declared. “No sense in dawdling. We have no time to waste.”

There was no agreement over that prospect, but Brimstone had a way of strongarming a room full of similarly-aged white men into doing what he wanted, and by and large he was able to gather consent after five minutes of back-and-forth. And when the vote did come, Viper was surprised by the tally that emerged.

Five no. Fifteen yes. Were they really so worried?

Sure, the angry American on the intercom was “hopping mad”, and shared a few choice words with Sage who absorbed them with a straight face. Some of the others did not seem so certain about this path; but they knew their situation was dire, and Sage’s solution was the only one that had been proposed. Radiants to find radianite; radiants to forge a path forward into the future. What other choice did they have?

She was thinking about that as she followed Brimstone after the meeting was adjourned, chasing him back to his office and cornering him before he even had a chance to gather his thoughts.

“Brim,” she said, breathless, as she stepped into his office mere seconds after he. He hadn’t even had the chance to sit down.

“Viper?”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Oh, Viper,” Brimstone sighed, taking his seat. “I was wrangling over that for days.”

“Instead of wrangling, you could have told me.”

“I couldn’t have…”

“How long did you know?”

Brimstone invited her to sit; she refused, preferring to stand over him when she had the chance.

“Tell me. How long did you know?”

“She brought the idea up to me a month ago.”

“And this whole time, you’ve been keeping this under wraps?”

“With good intentions, Viper.”

“It’s not about intentions, Brimstone,” she snapped. “It’s about honesty. You want to talk about team building? Then do this?”

“I know you have your reservations.”

“Especially now .” 

It stung even more, now, that he would even consider going forward with such a plan. After what had happened to her in Kabul, the last thing she wanted was more radiants surrounding her, as unpredictable and dangerous as any of them could be. She shuddered at the mere thought, much less the fact that such a plan had just been overwhelmingly approved.

“I cannot take back my decision, Viper,” Brimstone said. 

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“And I understand why it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No? Brimstone, no. Frankly, I don’t think you do.”

He hesitated, as though on the verge of a snappy retort, then stopped himself, biting his tongue. His lower lip spasmed the way it did when he was trying not to say something offensive, and working to maintain his beloved professional demeanor. Viper let him stew for a little while; after all, why should she take the lead on this conversation? I’m not the one who has something to apologize for.

“I am sorry that I didn’t consult with you sooner,” he said, which was the most she was going to get out of him given the circumstances. “You are a key player on this team. I don’t want to forget that.”

“Nor should you.”

“That said, I hope you will continue to play to your strengths. We will need you now more than ever. I will need you now more than ever.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“What you’re good at, Viper, as always.”

She had to let a smile slip out. He sure knew how to assuage her feelings, even if it was wrapped up in his XO doublespeak and suave mannerisms. She did have her strengths, and Brimstone let her play to those; if that wasn’t going to change, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad?

“I will ensure that Sage is establishing proper guardrails around her recruitment process,” Brimstone reassured her, not that it was much reassurance at the time. “Only the finest and most stalwart individuals will be agents in my Protocol.”

“I’ve never doubted that, Brim.”

“Then will you trust that I can keep Sage on track and roll this recruitment program out without any major incidents?”

She wanted to say yes unequivocally, she really did. But the seed of doubt had been planted, and the soil it lay in was fertile for suspicion and apprehension. She nodded, only to signal to him that he had her assent for the time being. That was satisfying enough for him, at least for this conversation. He withdrew his standard olive branch - a flask of Kentucky bourbon whiskey he kept stashed in the lower drawers of his desk, and two tiny snifters for the both of them.

“My most unprofessional trait,” he laughed, doling out an ounce each and handing Viper her glass. “But I don’t think you’ll complain.”

“Not this time, Brim. But you know I prefer my smokes.”

He smiled. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said, stooping again to the bottom of his desk and returning with a brown paper envelope, neatly wrapped in fine twine. “I just wanted to save it for the right day. Merry Christmas, Sabine.”

It was rare to hear him use even her last name, much less her first. She hesitated, as though the package were booby-trapped, and took it only when he nodded at her to usher her in. She could already feel what it was through the thin sheaf of cardstock wrapping: twin cigars, heavy and rotund.

“Well, now you make me regret being mad at you,” she joked. “Merry Christmas, indeed.”

“I figure if it’ll keep you around for another year, it will be worth the cost,” he said.

“Don’t tell me how much it was.”

“Personal expense. You know I keep my books clean.”

“A little too clean, Brim. I could use this more often.”

“Ha. Don’t push your luck, Viper.”

They both raised a toast to that, and emptied their glasses, and in spite of all the dangerous thoughts and promises of nightmares to come that swirled at the back of her skull like a heady brew waiting to boil over, she appreciated this moment for what it was worth. She did not regret taking this opportunity; not yet, at least, and certainly not today.

“One more request, if I may.”

“I don’t know, Viper,” Brimstone sighed, feigning reluctance. “You’re pushing your luck, again…”

“I’m being serious, Brim.”

“As am I. You know, I’m a serious man.”

They shared a laugh, but Viper was being serious. She had not forgotten her promise, nor would she anytime soon if this can were to be kicked down the road. There was not a man alive who would be able to prevent her from seeing this through, merely delay its passage.

“I ran into Killjoy late the other night. She was traipsing through the halls with her arms full of scrap metal.”

“As she does,” Brim said, dryly.

“Yes, but do you know where she’s taking it all? To a storage closet, Brimstone.”

“Storing it?”

“Don’t be daft. She’s working in the only place she can. She’s being squeezed here, Brimstone. She doesn’t have the space she needs.”

Brimstone understood, stroking his patchy beard as he listened. “Hmm, well. We could fit her into your lab?”

Viper choked back a laugh. “Are you serious?”

“I think we could make it work.”

“My lab is for biochemistry and inorganics development,” she said. “It is hardly suitable for what Killjoy works on. She needs her own space, Brimstone. Don’t make me get prickly about this.”

“I’m not trying to-”

“You rarely try to,” she said, “but all the same, I am going to make sure she gets a space of her own. It is ridiculous that this girl, who you yourself if I may remind you declared her a practical wunderkind, has to work in the dark in an armory closet.”

Brimstone nodded, and his lower lip spasmed again. Maybe he wanted to make a counterpoint; or maybe he just didn’t like the fact that he hadn’t foreseen this issue coming up, and didn’t want to admit it. But he let his lower lip do its thing, and his thinking brain caught up a few moments later.

“I should have anticipated this,” he admitted. “I regret that I didn’t.”

“Regret it or not, the time has come to fix it.”

“Do you have something in mind, Viper? We can find the funds. Don’t worry about that.”

It wasn’t the funds she was worried about; it was approval, and getting this idea moved along into action, and that action taking months and months with no solution on the horizon. That, in particular, was why she wanted to personally shepherd this idea along, and take command of it.

“I’m going to our new European site next week,” she reminded him, something that was a large item on both of their calendars. “I’m going to take her with me.”

“Are you sure about that? She’s only been here for…less than two months, now-”

“I am sure. There will be room there for her, too, if we want to reassign her. But at the very least, I want her to feel included, Brimstone. This will be a big deal for her.”

“Alright then.”

“And while I’m gone? Start finding space for a lab for Killjoy. I’ll be checking in on this when I come back.”

She left it at that - an ultimatum, and hopefully a resolution to come out of it. It was as decisive as she could make it, and she would definitely be checking in the moment she got back.

Chapter Text

A familiar girl, now fourteen years old, her hair shorter and her days longer. She sought little comfort in the familiar house with its aging shingles and worn siding and creaky front porch where two wicker chairs sat overlooking the broad stretch of hot pavement that skirted their property like an unwanted greeting from a gentleman suitor, distant and yet far too close for comfort. From time to time, old cars would flutter by, leaving behind only a cloud of dust and the reek of exhaust, and she wonders about where they were going and what they were doing with their lives.

The other kids at school didn’t trouble Sabine much, but they didn’t bother to approach her with kindness either. In fact, they avoided her at all costs; it was as though she existed in an impenetrable bubble that repelled everything around her. She didn’t mind that. It allowed her to focus on what mattered.

Sometimes, when the winter draughts whistled tenuously through the ever-widening cracks in the old house and the world outside grew dark and distant, she wondered what it would be like to pop that bubble and hold the hand of that redhead girl with the glasses and the freckles that she often saw in the hallways on the way to her afternoon period classes. Sabine thought about her and suddenly the winter draughts didn’t seem so cold, the world not quite so distant and unfriendly. But these were only nighttime ramblings, she realized; when light of day came again, she knew she could never have this.

And so the bubble stayed put, and Sabine liked it that way.

"Willkommen in Frankfurt. Wir machen gerne Geschäfte mit Ihnen."

The pleasant voice over the intercom dragged her out of the nightmare and back into the waking world, where the strands of fear that teased the edges of her vision dissipated, satisfied with their cruel handiwork. She felt aloof, but was jostled into full consciousness when the plane hit the runway exceptionally hard and nearly threw her into the seat before her. She groaned in protest and recoiled, wondering how much she had actually slept on the flight over and how productive any of that rest had been. Her head hurt and her mouth was dry, and she could use a smoke.

“You know, I considered going to school here.”

Killjoy appeared peppy in spite of the long flight and the few opportunities for sleep; she was excited for a chance to travel home, especially on someone else’s dime. She had already unbuckled her seatbelt and was stretching her legs, kicking the seat in front of her and eliciting a muffled curse from its occupant.

“I even toured the local Fachschule, which is among the most reputable in the country.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t end up attending?”

“No.” Killjoy frowned. “They wanted me to have to play sports. Can you believe it?”

Viper snorted. “Athletics are good for your health, Killjoy,” she chided her.

“Good for your health, yes. But it’s precious time in the day wasted, that could otherwise be used for studying and improving.”

“It’s never a waste, Killjoy.”

“Every minute lost is a minute further from your dreams…ach, Scheiße! Can’t this plane unload any faster!?”

Killjoy’s frustration was amusing, and Viper took silent satisfaction in watching her twiddle her thumbs and fiddle with zippers and ties on her jacket, but she was relieved when it was finally their turn to move and deplane into the busy Frankfurt airport, where a chartered private cab was waiting to whisk them away down broad, tree-lined avenues towards the prosperous city’s packed labyrinth of expansive concrete megaplexes and towering, glittering skyscrapers.

Unlike the Protocol’s main base, which remained a well-kept secret, the European site of Valorant’s operations was far more accessible to the public, though it did not advertise itself as such. Nestled between a Deutsche Bank branch and a six-story wealth management office that gleamed brilliantly in the cold winter sun, the squat concrete-and-brick structure was hardly distinguishable from any of the other finance sector stalwarts that dominated the boulevard. The logo even resembled the postmodern, even brutalist icons that had become so trendy for new finance industry upstarts to adopt and plaster on their own buildings. Passerby would barely notice the words Valorant Protocol written in fine lettering beneath the heavy brass logo mounted in the structure’s facade.

The interior, naturally, was nothing like your typical office outside of the front lobby; within was the same warren of steel-reinforced concrete corridors that one would find back at headquarters, only these were even more recently under construction. In some areas, the flooring tile had yet to be installed and packed in, and the lighting was far more sparse in the back of the complex, where a network of storage rooms doubled as security bunkers. 

“It’s not the grandiose picture you had, I bet,” Viper said, as she took Killjoy on an impromptu tour.

“I was expecting something like this, honestly,” Killjoy admitted. “Though…it’s kind of…”

“Dark? Yes, still working on the lighting.” The corridor in front of them was barely lit; the next bare fluorescent was thirty feet ahead, and they had to watch their step as they proceeded and then looped back towards the main entrance. In spite of the shortcomings, Killjoy was happy as a hummingbird in a bed of hydrangeas; as energetic as one, too, forcing Viper to double her pace just to keep up.

“There’s so much space,” she said, as they reached the main corridor again. “Is it all being used?”

Viper laughed. “Frankly, almost none of it is being used at this point,” she said.

Killjoy screwed her face up, as though connecting the dots while not entirely sure she had the right to. “So…so…so that means…”

“Yes, that means whatever you’d like is yours,” Viper said. “I told you I’d get you a workshop.”

“I would love that very much,” she replied, “though, I do not know how often I will be over here…”

“Something to ponder over. For the time being, I think this is a great opportunity for you. Here, meeting room is this way.”

The tour was concluded, and now it was time for the drudgery she had been dreading from the moment she deplaned. No trip to Europe would be complete without an important meeting; Brimstone insisted that there had to be a business purpose, after all, and why just leave it at one purpose? Viper was checking multiple boxes during this visit, and this particular box was the one she was looking forward to the least.

A single conference room had been thoroughly outfitted in the otherwise bare complex, space enough for only a half-dozen people to gather and with sparse furnishings. The room was already half-full at its limited capacity; three men sat on the far side of the table, two in suits and the other in an eclectic combination of military fatigues and dress pants, with a beret to top it off.

“We were beginning to wonder if anyone from Valorant was even here.”

The first man to speak was relaxed, almost aloof, boredom writ along his chubby jowls and in the creases of his forehead. He was so precociously bald that the reflection of the overhead fluorescents off his crown almost made her wince.

“Brimstone would not have let us down,” said the second man, who was a head taller than his bald peer and noticeably younger, as well as kinder. He wore thick-rimmed glasses that had slumped down his nose, and he hastily pushed them back up. “Good to see the two of you. We are happy to be here today.”

The third man did not speak. His eyes were like those of a predatory bird, his facial features were sharp and weathered, and his hair was deliberately buzzed down as low as possible, she noticed as he doffed his beret in respect as he nodded at them. His silent acknowledgement was enough, she supposed, but he seemed… odd . Were there supposed to be three other people at this meeting? Brimstone had only mentioned two…hadn’t he?

“Please, have a seat,” said the kinder man, who extended a hand for a firm shake. “We’ll try to keep this quick, won’t we Art?”

“You know, I always find myself saying that,” said the bald fellow, shaking his head. “These things…well, they tend to run over, don’t they?”

“We’ll keep a tight leash and a short agenda today,” said the other.

He was the first to introduce himself: he was Miklós Manár, a Hungarian career bureaucrat and soft-spoken fellow well-versed in the art of the boardroom, and he was Valorant’s core liaison with NATO. Being the self-described “key to peace and security in Europe”, the organization had been one of the first to express interest in participation with the Protocol’s activities, and had backed that up with funding, legal support, and now a German headquarters for their future operations. Manár was key to all of that continuing.

Bald and brash , as Viper was already calling him, was Art Aulepp, who so graciously described himself as the “future of radian-nuclear weapons and tech” and offered up a laundry list of accolades and university fraternity connections that hardly impressed her. He was a key investor in the program, and apparently he knew Garrett Roanhorse, because of course he did. He was a schmoozer and an unrepentant one at that, and she made a mental note to keep an eye on him if she ever had the misfortune of ending up at a happy hour outing with him.

And the third man at the table was…

“This fine fellow?” Art offered an amused grin, which said fine fellow did not reciprocate. “Why, he’s our one and only French kamarade.”

“I think he ought to introduce himself,” said Miklós. “It’s only polite.”

The aforementioned fine fellow did not appear amused by their antics, nor did he agree with that suggestion. But when nobody else spoke, and he realized the entire room was waiting for him to speak, he sighed and doffed his beret again, offering another respectful nod.

“Julien Rouchefort. French Armed Forces, 5e Régiment de Dragons, Radiant Hunters.”

“Mr. Rouchefort’s specialized task force hunts down radiants and keeps them in line,” added Miklós. “He’s an esteemed soldier with a wealth of experience and skill.”

“Which is why he’s loathe to be here with us in this room today,” said Art, grinning wryly. Julien nodded, rolling his eyes as he did, unamused by the investor’s ribbing. 

“Mr. Rouchefort is perfectly pleased to be here today, just as well as any of us are,” said Miklós, with a rebuking glare at Art. “He is a key member of our team and we are grateful for it.”

Julien nodded, which he apparently did often. Viper had to admit his style was growing on her; if there was any good strategy for surviving these meetings, being sullen and of few words would probably be it.

At least this meeting ought to be brief…right?

Killjoy, sitting beside her and unused to such engagements, was already shifting uncomfortably in her seat, propping her feet up on the midbar under the table and folding her arms like a pouting child. 

“I’d like to get us started with an admission that this European branch is not quite where we’d like it to be at this point in time.” Miklós, looking like the dictionary definition of an administrator, naturally started the meeting in the most banal way possible. “I wish to offer my profuse apologies for the…disorganized state of affairs here today, and the slower progress.”

“No apologies needed,” Viper said, gruffly, handwaving his concerns. “It exists. That alone is a great start.”

“Yes. Well…certain promises were made, and timelines expected-”

“Made to Brimstone,” she said. “Do I look like Brimstone?”

She already found these men tiresome, with one single exception. That exception had barely moved since she’d arrived, and watched her with grim, pensive eyes. 

“Well, we assume you speak on his behalf,” said Miklós, confused. “If not, then…”

“I am authorized to do so, yes,” Viper confirmed, handwaving the immediate concern. “But I don’t need this to be a full conference. Give me the briefing, tell me our objectives, and let’s keep this short.”

Killjoy was silently grateful for that. She was not the only one, either; Miklós, undeterred, pressed on at a faster pace.

“Funding will continue,” he said, “and I’m sure Brimstone will be happy to hear that…”

“He most certainly will.”

“...with that being said, the contributions from the Valorant Protocol may necessarily change.”

Viper felt her eyebrows shift up of their own accord. “And what might they be?”

“Certain space usage terms may change.”

“Miklós.”

“I apologize. I am not used to being so forward.”

“You should get used to it. It suits you better.”

Julien, the taciturn Frenchman, actually laughed. Miklós turned red as a beet, and coughed into his hand to revive himself.

“The powers that be would like to store sensitive documents and keep a small electronic warfare department here,” Miklós said. “ Eventually.” The key word there was heavily emphasized. He seemed to be expecting resistance, which Viper was certainly not wont to give; Brimstone had suggested she push back, but she did not see the issue.

“My only question is why.”

“Well.” Miklós seemed surprised that she did not push back. “It’s a hardened structure, and well-ventilated and cooled. Especially on the lower level. It’s secure for our needs, and our needs only continue to grow.”

“Good place for your workshop, it sounds like,” Viper said, aside to Killjoy, who was growing more and more impatient.

“We will require substantial space, but it won’t be for at least another year,” said Miklós. “I think Brimstone will find those terms acceptable.”

“He’d better, if he remembers who’s footing the bill here,” Art spoke up, also impatient. “We’re putting a decent chunk of my country’s national budget into this effort here.”

“Which may incur some further terms, if I may be so inclined,” Miklós added.

“Yeah, let’s not beat around the bush here, pally. Let’s talk green and get to it.” Art was more direct, but something about that chafed Viper. 

“I agree,” she said, refusing to look him in the eye. “Name your terms.”

“It will be more of a policy…or a directional thing, I should say,” said Miklós.

Viper felt her eyebrows rising again, aloof as they were in this meeting. “You want us to change our policy? On what grounds?”

“We’d like to make sure our goals are aligned,” said Miklós. “These are unusual times. Unpredictable times. Certain courses of action must be maintained.”

“What my friend here is saying,” Art added, with a jab at Miklós, “is that we’d like to see certain results. Weapons, defense items…toys for soldiers, if you catch my drift.”

“The Valorant Protocol must maintain a focus on the necessities of defense.”

“We’re here for the long haul. Things aren’t getting any better.”

Viper did not find their tone too promising. “The Protocol will do what the Protocol must,” she said. “Our needs are aligned. This is not necessary.”

“And what if they are out of alignment? What if things change? Flexibility is healthy.”

Julien spoke up now. For the first time since the meeting opened, and he introduced himself, he spoke real, tangible words - and it was a good, thoughtful question. Neither of his colleagues seemed to think so.

“There is no future in which this continent’s stockpiles are by any means reduced,” said Art, growing frustrated. “We are in a race, and it is one that we cannot lose.”

“Julien makes a good point, though.” 

“His point aside, there is no indication that we will be granted reprieve from our ongoing impasse,” said Miklós, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his noise again as he too grew frustrated. “We ask only that the Protocol continue to support us in our defensive endeavors.”

“A cold war going hot will fry us all if we can’t hop out of the pan,” Art warned. “So let’s be the ones with the bigger guns.”

“Yes. That is one way of putting it.”

Viper didn’t like the way they were pushing her, as though she were a child who could not understand the necessity of such things like defensive posture and mutually assured destruction . She did understand, and she did agree, and she imagined that nobody would understand and agree more than her.

Unusual times. Unpredictable times. Times when a strange woman can spin your head around on your shoulders and plunge you into weeks of nightmares with little more than a flick of her fingers. You prickly boardroom fucks have no idea just how bad it can get.

“I understand and accept your terms,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Unusual times, indeed. The Protocol will ensure it is contributing to our overall readiness.”

The relief in the room was palpable. The men had expected her to be mulish. Miklós and Art relaxed their postures notably; Julien seemed incapable of doing just that.

“Well, that should settle it then,” Miklós said, assured.

“What? No signatures?”

“Nothing official to sign, miss,” he waved her off. “Not today, at least.”

“We hold our word. You hold yours. And a good partnership it will be,” Art said, flashing a smile that she did not return. They were satisfied, though; they shook hands, packed their papers away, and strode out onto the sidewalk and off to their next matter of business, with one exception.

Julien Rouchefort remained outside, standing up against a wrought iron railing that divided the pedestrian side of the walkway from the bike lane next to it. He was just lighting up a cigarette and had his back turned to the entrance to the Valorant lobby, as though leaving the unpleasant airs of the conference room behind. He noticed Viper’s approach, but barely acknowledged her.

“You seem like you have more on your mind than you’re willing to say.” She joined him, removing a cigarette from the travel case she kept in her shirt pocket and flicking her lighter up to it in two deft movements. 

“Usually do,” he said.

“Well, your company’s changed now. You can speak more freely.”

“I had no intention of being here today.” He took a drag on his cigarette and sharply exhaled. She did the same with hers, as though mimicking him perfectly. “I was reassigned. Not my choice, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Why the hesitation?”

“This boardroom life does not suit me. And I don’t think highly of your organization.”

That was surprisingly honest. Almost insultingly so; if she were Brimstone, she might have found that reason for offense. But she wasn’t Brimstone, and she didn’t base her self-confidence and reputation on her life’s work, and instead found herself more curious than anything else.

“Quite a striking thing to say,” she said.

“Mmmhm.” Another drag on his cigarette, and a longer exhale. “Are you insulted?”

“Not yet I’m not.”

“Good.”

“But it still begs the question: why are you here?”

“I told you. I was reassigned.”

“Answer my question.”

Two could play this icy game of impasse, and nobody could play it better than Viper, with her long years of practice. Julien must have noticed that he was in for quite a standoff, for he shook his head, grumbled something in his native language, and extinguished the cigarette on the bare iron railing. 

“My superiors think your people have something to offer, and want us to cooperate,” he said. “Frankly, I think they are wrong.”

“But you’re a good soldier.”

“And good soldiers follow orders. But 5e RD is nothing but good soldiers, and I suspect there is ultimately nothing you Valorant people have to offer us that we cannot provide for ourselves. So adieu, my new friend. Good luck with your endeavor.”

“And to you, dragoon.”

His business concluded, he doffed his beret and nodded at her the way he did, and then went off on his way. Killjoy emerged not long after, looking quite perturbed.

“What was all that about?” she asked, nervously tapping her long fingernails on the iron banister where Viper still smoked.

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing, begging your pardon.”

“No pardon to beg. Just closing words.”

“He made me feel a little bit… unerwünscht.”

“English, Killjoy.”

“I don’t know how to describe it. Just uncomfortable.”

“Hmm.” She could see that. He was broad-shouldered and sharp-jawed, tall and imposing, and had an intense way about everything he did. “I can take you out to lunch if you’d like some fresh air. Clear your head.”

“I think I’d like that, yes.”

Killjoy’s mood improved rapidly as they banished the specter of stuffy boardrooms and exchanged the dismal concrete tomb for the light, airy spaces and Tudor architecture of the city’s Ostend neighborhood, just a few blocks down. The transformation was immediate; the shimmering skyscrapers and expansive banks faded away behind an aegis of oak and beech and it was as though they were in another city, with a whole different crop of people. It even felt easier to breathe here, as narrow cobblestoned streets constrained traffic and therefore reduced noise. It didn’t take them long to find a small streetside cafe and bakery that would fit their needs perfectly.

“Honestly, I thought I was going to die in that meeting,” Killjoy said, dramatically gasping for air and flopping her front half on the table. “It was so…”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Viper gently chided her. “It’s not so bad. It can get far worse.”

“But I don’t want it to be far worse. Men can be so boring.”

“It’s the price of having to take the lead.”

“I just hate how… bellicose they were.”

“What do you mean?”

Killjoy looked as though she didn’t understand the question. Puzzled, she frowned. “I mean…all that talk about…weapons, defensive posture…it’s like they want a war, and they have to pretend they don’t. You know? It all seems so unnecessary. Right?”

Viper met Killjoy’s puzzled expression with an inanimate one.

“Right? Viper?”

Killjoy’s vigor faded. She sensed that her sentiment wasn’t shared. Viper was just trying to find the right words with which to express her thoughts.

“Killjoy. You are young, and inexperienced.”

“Surely, you don’t agree with them. You can’t, I mean-”

“I think they are overbearing often, yes. But that doesn’t mean I disagree with them.”

“You think they’re right?” Killjoy was aghast.

“I don’t think. I know.”

“What do you mean, you know!? They’re madmen,” Killjoy whispered, still aghast. “You know what they say? They say we’re always a minute away from nuclear annihilation. They’re always telling us that, and yet they think this is a way to live?”

“Not just a way to live. The only way to live now.”

Viper had known for some time, but only recently had this philosophy become well and truly cemented in her belief set. It had taken some time but she was now immovable on the matter.

“These men will never see the world the same way I do,” she said, “but we come to the same conclusion by different roads.”

The First Light had changed everything. A measly five years ago, a different world felt attainable. Disarmament and nuclear drawdown were words on every tongue, politicians exchanged handshakes and brief words where previously had only been fiery rhetoric and cold stares, and the iron curtain felt looser and looser. Then something had to change; everything had to change. The world stood on the precipice of something better, and had instead toppled backwards into the abyss. 

“Uncertainty breeds fear,” Viper said, as though explaining the psychology of the human mind to a university student. “And it’s only natural for that fear to spread. It has to be contained the best way possible.”

Killjoy scoffed. “And that’s through what? More weapons? To spread more fear?”

“Our armament and our stockpile gives us certainty. It reassures us.”

“It doesn’t reassure me.”

“We have a duty to maintain our status quo to prevent unchecked fear. The other side certainly will.”

“There is no need for sides!”

“All the same, they exist. And we’re bound to them.”

Killjoy vented her frustrations on the croissant pastry which had just been delivered to her, which she broke into with violent intent. Having thoroughly ripped the pastry to shreds and devoured it, she calmed herself a bit, but the disagreement was still on her mind even after lunch, when they were sipping over coffees and soaking in the warmer afternoon sun. 

“Back when the First Light happened, I was still in die Oberstufe.” She spoke softly, so that nobody around them could hear and find reason for offense or outrage. “We were just high school kids. When it first happened, it was almost dreamlike. Nobody thought it was real. We thought it was a prank being played on us all.”

“Not a unique sentiment,” Viper recalled.

Killjoy managed to laugh. “I remember thinking, ach…superpowers? No way it could be real.”

Viper did not smile.

“...and then suddenly, one day, anything could be real. A handful of people had superpowers, and anything was possible. It was like nothing I ever could imagine, I mean… mein Gott, the opportunities…if we had just played our hand right…”

Viper could feel a churning in her gut, and it was not the coffee. It was the apprehension of knowing how this story ended, and wishing it didn’t. But she said it best herself: the only way to live now. The past was past, and no future could change of any one person’s accord.

“...but then the Hanau incident happened. And overnight, all that hope was gone. Erledigt.”

“What happened at Hanau?”

Viper already knew; it was one of the many intelligence briefings she had received during her final days with Kingdom, and the most significant incident of “VRA” in Germany to date. But she wanted Killjoy’s take on it.

“It was blown all out of proportion,” said Killjoy. “A teenage boy, barely younger than me, got into a fight with his parents. Things escalated. He had an ability after the First Light.”

“Which was?”

“Something to do with sonic projection. He could influence and use soundwaves at any decibel level. But he didn’t know how to actually control them.”

“I see.”

“He just…lost his temper, and the apartment exploded. His dad was killed, his mother remains comatose. Sixty-seven other people in the complex were injured. The very next day, his face was on every newspaper.”

“And they no doubt called him a monster.”

“And worse.” Killjoy nodded gravely. “I don’t want to repeat those words.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But why the hate? He was just a boy. He cried at his trial. They threw the book at him, and there was nothing he could do. Barely younger than I was…”

Killjoy planted her head in her palms, exhausted by her retelling. Viper was still sipping on her coffee, listening intently. She decided there was nothing more to be done about this conversation; Killjoy may not be convinced now, but she would in time.

There is only one way to live now. I am sorry, my young friend.

“Maybe it’s time we go back and start getting a plan together for your workshop,” she decided, setting her empty coffee cup down with a decisive clink on the table. “Until Brimstone gets his act together back home, this place will be your best bet.”

“You still think I can have a spot? Even after everything those…gentlemen…were talking about?”

“Have a spot?” Only then, after all this time together, did Viper manage a smile. “I will make sure you own a spot. Mark my words.”

Chapter Text

It was her eighteenth birthday. She didn’t think it was that special. Neither did many other people, thankfully, sparing her the misfortune of having to appreciate and love herself.

Father had been absent for some time. His final resting place was eight miles down the road, beneath a crooked little tombstone in a crooked little cemetery halfway between Murrinsville and Smith’s Mill. Military accident was the official cause of death; she thought it quite ironic that he had joined the Signal Corps to keep himself safe while away from family, and it was that very same Signal Corps that had ended his life. A drunk 2LT, a few buddies with extra beers, a Jeep ride in the dark. Her father had held on for three days before he succumbed to his injuries.

Mother spent her dwindling days locked in place in a perfectly-round divot in the couch, one eye on the television and the other looking off into an indistinct middle space. She would speak only to tell the dog to ‘stop fucking barking’. She would not speak to visitors. She would not speak to the TV. She would not speak to Sabine.

That was fine. It was her eighteenth birthday, and she had all she needed.

She held in her hand the acceptance letter, cradling it like she would a sleeping babe, protecting it from any who might try to harm her and her ambitions. The familiar girl might endure, but the familiar house in the familiar field attached to a familiar road would fade away into the background now. She imagined she ought to feel a distant sadness at this juncture, where her childhood would similarly fade away and be left behind forever.

She did not. Sabine never felt “sad”. Sadness was weakness, and weakness only served to disadvantage her. She clutched the letter to her chest as she lay in bed and listened to the television downstairs and the crickets outside her bedroom window.

Sudden turbulence jolted her awake.

They were descending, and rapidly.

“Easy there, Viper?”

Cypher, for his part, seemed quite at ease. He had been reading a book this entire time, lazily thumbing his finger over each page and holding it steady no matter the flight conditions.

“Easy enough,” she groaned, feeling things pop in her neck that really shouldn’t have.

“Hey, look at the bright side. At least it won’t be frigid when we get there.”

“Small comfort.”

“Yes. Well, enough small talk. Looks like it’s go time.”

The other agents were all awake and alert: plain-shirted, handkerchiefs around their necks, body armor with trauma plate stuffings tightly cinched around their vitals, dark black fitted pants with holsters with sidearms praying that they wouldn’t be needed, heavy black boots with ridged soles for traction. Each man and woman held their MP5 across their chest, linked to their vest-strap by a thin and sleek nylon sling, and everyone had enough magazines, smokes, flashbangs, and IFAKs to go around. They were prepared for anything.

Go time, Viper. Get up. Stand up. Take the lead again. 

Her head was swimming with the rotting remnants of the last nightmare, one more vigorous and unrelenting than the last few. She chalked it up to the overall lack of sleep she was suffering from; days of this with no relief, each nap a gamble, nights a torturous affair, all leaving her wearied and worn like a cutting edge dulled with sandpaper. Her only consolation was that somewhere in that dream was a shapely face with bright magenta eyes and a veil of ebony black hair, one that transfixed her.

Pretty thing, it had called her. It held a pistol to her head, but she did not remember being afraid.

Call me that again, she begged, but her tongue had no voice. It lolled about uselessly in her mouth, slavish to her base needs, and she could only meet those magenta eyes and beg for a quick death.

“Alright, team.”

The VLT/R touched down with remarkable grace. Their small force fit snugly in the massive craft’s rear transport bay; they could have brought double their number and then some, along with all the requisite gear, but that seemed unnecessary.

“This ought to be simple. In and out,” she explained, something they should already have known from their morning briefing, not twelve hours ago. “Reliable intelligence sources have spotted multiple containers being offloaded that fit the profile of standard containers for both small and large munitions. This is being done this far out from urban areas to avoid prying eyes. We have good reason to believe this is being stockpiled for eventual transport to pro-Soviet factions in Afghanistan.”

“What’s the expected level of resistance?”

“Local. No Soviet personnel are anticipated here. They’re working in the background on this one.”

“Any confiscations?”

“Tag and bag. Local law enforcement will take care of disposal, but we have to assess. As always, anything with traces of radianite gets called in and this whole thing gets a lot more serious. Any other questions?”

There were none, nor should there have been. How many times had she led a mission like this, only with a smaller task force? The only reason for the extra couple of personnel was Kabul; well, and the general heightened state of alert across the globe likely contributed.

“Search, tag, and bag, ladies and gentlemen,” Viper announced, as a warm breeze dashed across her face and scattered the tight, short locks of hair that had gathered at the back of her neck during the relatively short flight. “Let’s keep this simple and get home alive. Safeties off.”

They hit the ground running. The sun had set little more than an hour ago; there remained a tiny rim of pale, rosy pink light on the horizon, and the night was not yet chilly. The VLT/R had alighted at the edge of a farm field, right on the bank of a drainage culvert where scrawny cockerels and plump hens had been idly pecking amid the dust and dirt gathered there by runoff. The birds did not appear to mind the intrusion; after a brief scare, they resumed their activity as four of the Valorant agents held back at the VLT/R and the rest fanned out into the Omani countryside.

This far out from the capital city of Muscat, the lights faded into mere background noise and the black-clad agents melded with the night like shades from the underworld, invisible to any opponent until it was far too late to be seen. They moved in two snaking lines, five apiece, with Viper leading one and Cypher leading the other. The deep drainage culverts that crisscrossed the agricultural landscape outside of Muscat were proving to be advantageous, allowing them to cross multiple occupied properties without detection and get much closer to the target while under excellent concealment. When she spotted the first of the long, slate gray warehouses emerging from the gloom, she signaled for a halt. 

“Cypher.” She called him over with a furious whisper. “How many warehouses?”

He didn’t even need to refer back to his notes. “Three buildings on the lot,” he said. “Only two are supposedly occupied. The back one, farthest back, is where they’re likely keeping weapons.”

“Alright. Let’s branch off here. I’m going left.”

“Then I’ll go right. Don’t have too much fun without me.”

Cypher already seemed to be having too much fun; he giggled, anticipatory, and then with a spring in his step leapt back over into his line and led his agents up the escarpment, over the dirt access road leading back to the warehouses, and into an adjacent field. Viper kept leading her team forward, eyes focused on the warehouses and not averting them for anything.

They stood out like sore thumbs, long, narrow corrugated steel tombs rising above concrete lots in stark contrast to the greenery and open fields around them. The exterior lighting was sparse; only one of the buildings had lights visible inside, and there were no vehicles parked anywhere that she could see. For all intents and purposes, this site appeared abandoned, but Viper knew from past experience that looks could be deceiving. She trusted Cypher’s intelligence, and also trusted that this would end up being an easy hour’s worth of grunt work at most. If anybody was guarding the ammunition and whatever else was being stockpiled within, they would likely prefer to give it up and keep their lives if they were local hires. 

Her head was starting to pound - a sure sign that a killer sleep-deprivation headache was on the horizon. Not allowing it to bother her, she doubled her pace as they approached the warehouses from the back side, skirting the concrete lot along the road and taking the long way around. If Cypher’s team were here, she could not see them; they were that well-hidden, or otherwise delayed.

Don’t think about fail modes. You’re going to start sounding like Brimstone. There were always fail modes; and there always would be. But consideration was for the drawing room, not the field; if she needed to go to Plan B, she knew what she needed to do. It was best not to actively think about it, lest she will it into existence.

Is that what happened in Kabul? No, stop. Don’t overthink it.

There were three doors at the front and back of the warehouse - two personnel exits, and one large middle hangar door. Going through the latter would obviously alert whoever was on site and potentially jeopardize the cleanliness of the mission, so the former would have to do. They were surprisingly unlocked, and admitted Viper’s team one by one into the dark, labyrinthine interior of the facility where they fanned out and began executing seek-and-destroy protocol for enemy personnel. 

So far, all was quiet. But there was much more than ammunition in this warehouse.

Medical kits, blankets, tents, prepackaged rations, mechanical supplies, and even vehicles had all been packed into neat rows and tagged with Cyrillic markings on the outside, which Viper did not understand but had a translator for. Much of it could have explicably been assessed as civilian material, but she knew that was far from the truth. The long crates of rocketry munitions, the pallets stacked with boxes of bullets, and the light armored vehicles tucked away under thick black tarps were much harder to explain away. 

“Lotta goodies here,” one of the agents whispered. “Sure there aren’t-”

“Hush. Hush a moment.”

She turned her eyes up towards the vaulted ceiling of the warehouse, where up on a catwalk she caught a glint of light. There was a network of walkways up there connecting the two sides of the structure, and the office, janitorial, and administrative rooms by extension. One of the rooms had its door ajar; the glint was coming from there.

Fuck -

It was the glint of a scope, catching the reflection of their flashlights.

Fuck!

The gunshot, even when silenced, ripped the quiet of the warehouse apart. Viper had accepted her fate already, but she was not the target; one of her agents a few feet away went down instead with a dull exhale, struck square in the chest. 

Viper leapt over to him and pulled him into cover and then peeked out to assess the situation.

Her team had seen the glint, but had no unified strategy for dealing with it, and gunfire exploded from one end of the warehouse to the other. Viper dropped to the floor, hands and knees, and crawled over to the wounded man, expecting him to be back on his feet within seconds as the round hit his trauma plates.

What she found shocked her - the trauma plate over the right lung had been cleanly penetrated, and while she couldn’t make out the blood on his black shirt, his right breast was thoroughly soaked and his cheeks were growing wan. 

“I’m hit bad, ma’am,” he admitted, groaning, straining to push himself up into her arms. She dragged him into cover, but it was clear the damage done was beyond basic field aid - what should have been a nasty welt and some epidermal tearing was a clean lung shot. 

What the hell could do that? Anti-material rifle? It needed to be a big caliber, but it hadn’t sounded like a big caliber. Big calibers were rarely silenced, on account of practical issues with doing so. Something here did not add up. 

“Stay put and keep pressure on it,” she ordered him. “We’ll get you exfil’d.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He was not a goner, but the situation had turned more serious than she expected. She skipped from pallet to pallet and located her next-in-command, who was directing forward movement towards a ladder and a railed stairwell while keeping up the suppressive fire. Their target still had the high ground, and if he had another shot on them their situation would grow drastically more dismal.

The submachine gun fire crackled off metal rafters and punctured the thin corrugated roof, allowing narrow columns of moonlight to infiltrate the otherwise dark and sealed warehouse. This aided their situation somewhat, as their assailant could not rely on the cover of darkness; he was still up there, though, and another heavy shot rang out to signal his presence. To Viper’s relief, nobody took that particular bullet.

“Farsund.”

“Viper?”

Her next-in-command had parked himself behind a support beam and was tentatively putting shots up-target while issuing orders to carefully move forward. One of the agents had reached a stairwell that had a safe angle from the shooter and was ascending carefully. They were down one, but were hardly at a disadvantage yet.

“Have you seen Cypher’s team?”

“Other side of the warehouse,” he said. “They were late in coming.”

“We need to link up with them and get them up to speed.”

Farsund sucked in a breath. “Lotta open space in that direction, chief.”

“Sure is.” Viper pulled the charging handle of her service weapon and nodded. “Cover to cover. Ready?”

“Always.”

Cypher’s team would have been on the other side of the warehouse’s main aisle, which was relatively clear and also offered a sweeping field of fire for the shooter, especially with the height difference to his advantage. So Viper picked her waypoints carefully, seeking heavy cover and moving to a position that would allow her to minimize the amount of time spent crossing the open, when they did cross over. The gunfire had died down slightly; were they reloading, or did someone think they scored a hit? 

They plopped themselves down against the backside of one of the light armored vehicles, hoping they blended in with the black tarp. Nudging her way around its edges, Viper immediately knew it was a Soviet model; NATO models rarely allowed so many curves and notches in their designs. 

Go figure .

“Have you tried buzzing him?” Farsund asked, as she withdrew again from scouting.

“He buzzed me, in fact,” she said, nodding at her wristwatch. “But there’s no way we can communicate unless we stop firing.”

“Well, I’ll cover you, then break for it.”

“No. Other way around. I won’t have you risk your neck on my account.”

Farsund shrugged. “Suit yourself, boss.”

“You can call me a hardass later.”

The heavy weapon roared again, louder this time as they were closer; something shrieked through steel and aluminum with an awful sound of grinding like the gnashing of great teeth, and then Farsund collapsed against the side of the vehicle, slumping against a tire, a look of shock etched on his paling features. 

“Fuck. Farsund. Sit up. Fuck-”

She could not believe what she was seeing. Was what she was seeing even real? A hole punched clean through both the fore and aft sides of the armored car… there’s no way. Even if it was a lightly armored vehicle, that was 5mm of steel on both sides to break through, as well as internal components and insulation. 

There’s no way. She was hallucinating, from lack of sleep and stress and general discomfort and a host of other problems. That was the answer - and not that this mysterious shooter had a rifle that could shoot two ways through a modern BRDM. 

“It’s not too bad,” she sighed in relief, examining his wound. The bullet had ricocheted during its second penetration and caused a substantial contusion on his left shoulder, where blood was pooling, but she could see no major damage and Farsund was still conscious and cognizant.

“You hold here,” she ordered, helping him sit up. “I’ll cross. Don’t you follow me.”

He nodded. He knew that was unlikely to succeed.

He did open fire the moment she exited her not-so-safe haven and dashed into the open, giving her some momentary cover as she sprinted to the other side. There, nestled among boxes and pallets of ammunition and out of the field of fire, was Cypher’s team.

“Enjoying the show from over here?” Viper grumbled when she made contact.

“Happy to fill in if you’re getting tired,” Cypher chirped.

“Now’s not the time. We’ve got two injuries over on our side.”

“Well then.” Cypher never showed true, genuine concern; but he let it be known when he recognized the gravity of the situation. “How about we pump some more firepower in?”

“We need to keep him pinned. He’s not got a lot of mobility up there, but he does have cover.”

“You get any eyes on him, then?”

“Not really. But I think it’s just one shooter.”

“Ah, only one.” Cypher talked as though this were a mere game of chess, and they were contemplating the next best move. “He is outnumbered and his options are limited. We will have him.”

“I will have him,” Viper insisted, raising her service weapon and preparing to move again. “I’m taking the stairs. Cover me, and get medical equipment over. Farsund is hurt.”

Farsund would be fine. The other agent was hurt far more substantially, but she did not think he would be long for it; his wound was much more grave, and the internal bleeding alone would likely be fatal. She had done what she could for him. 

Out of range, she could easily double-time it to the wall and begin her ascent up the rickety metal-truss stairs that led to the catwalks level. It wasn’t quite a straight ascent, either; the stairs led to a middle level and terminated there, wherein which Viper found herself in yet another storage labyrinth of metal shelving and endless crates. Fully aware that other assailants might be hiding here, she slowed her pace deliberately and kept her weapon levelled as she entered the warrens, struck by just how dark it was here. Very little light was available and she had to navigate by touch and sound, practically holding her breath - a flashlight would have been helpful, but would have given her approach away. She couldn’t risk it.

A flutter of movement, like hair in the breeze brushing something softly, a brief and fleeting kiss. To her right? No, her left; her head was spinning like a top and the darkness began to grow repressive. The gunfire below petered in and out, a reduced tempo now.

The groan of old, undertreated metal under a fleet foot, and the brush of cloth against cardboard. Now she knew she wasn’t alone. But where? There was no way to see.

Something shifted behind her, and then approached closer. She swiveled on the ball of her foot, hoping to catch an intruder in her sights, but it was far too dark to make anything out. All she saw were boxes, and shelves. 

Footsteps. Footsteps? How could she be sure? She couldn’t be sure. A rustle of cloth, a suggestive sigh. Cloth? She couldn’t tell. Where was she going, anyway? In the dark, it was impossible to tell…well, anything…

Hey.

A whisper from beyond her senses, a mile away and simultaneously grazing the lobe of her ear.

Hey. Pretty thing.

She whirled around and fired a shot, and then another, and caught barely a glimpse of magenta eyes and black hair in the light of her muzzle. Reyna was quick, quicker than her bullets - another thing that should have been impossible. She had the shot, she had it!

You had it. There’s no way. Unless she wasn’t there at all.

But you heard her voice.

Sabine, what’s going on?

She pounded after Reyna, following the sounds of footsteps from one end of the labyrinth to the next, but she could never catch up. She was chasing a ghost, one that she swore laughed at her from the darkness before all was quiet again.

When she recovered her senses, she found the other stairwell, and ascended it all the way to the top level of catwalks, where she found the body of the unfortunate agent who had gone before her. A gaping hole had been blown in his abdomen, clean through his trauma plates too, and he had long since expired from the blood loss. 

Impossible. The plates would have been able to withstand anything short of a 20mm round at point blank range, based on Killjoy’s latest designs…and yet, the agent was dead, and the three lower plates in his carrier were shattered and clearly pierced by the impact. 

Impossible.

So much that’s just not possible.

Is any of this even real? Fuck, Sabine, you need to sleep. Or drink more coffee. Or…

The upstairs rooms were all abandoned, too. She swept them one by one, heedless of any danger that might be lurking in them, a bullet with her name on it or a rough pair of hands attached to magenta eyes that wanted to reach out and take her by the throat and strangle the life out of her while calling her pretty thing. All empty, all abandoned.

Not all empty.

In a retrofitted office, which had clearly once been some sort of riser room judging by the exposed piping and PVC ducting, a single artifact had been gingerly placed on the middle of an otherwise bare table. She thought, at first, that it was a trap - a decoy for her to stumble upon and, in her curiosity, fall victim to. But upon closer inspection she realized it was something entirely different. What that thing was, she couldn’t rightly tell.

Two bullets - enormous in size, and with a shaping she had never seen before - had been nestled against each other, points to each others’ rims, and wrapped in crinkly gold leaf that caught a dull gleam of moonlight in its manifold creases. There was no note, nor lettering, nor any context given to explain the meaning or significance of the artifact, but it was clearly meant to be found. What message it intended to share was beyond her reasoning, but she felt an odd affinity for this strange gift, as though she had seen something like it before in a past life. Fatigue quickly kicked in as the warehouse fell completely silent and any efforts to deduce the meaning of the gift were quickly abandoned. Only then did she notice the door at the back of the room, the outline of it dark and barely visible. Her assailant’s escape route, no doubt.

She wondered if this were a gift from Reyna. If so, why? And why hadn’t she killed her when she had the chance? She had myriad chances in that dark, stuffy labyrinth of crates and boxes; and yet, she had chosen to allow the dance to continue. Why?

Viper had no answers, but on the off chance that the bullets in their gold dressing were a gift from Reyna, she pocketed them before anybody could find her. This was something she would follow up on by herself; she had to, if there was even the faintest chance of keeping up with those magenta eyes. 

Chapter Text

Cypher was unusually pensive on the way back home. The adrenaline of the mission had worn off and now every thought was bent towards the two black-bagged bodies at the rear of the VLT/R. They lay there on the cold, studded steel floor like sentinels protecting the passage of those lucky enough to still draw breath. Viper had not even bothered to know their names before their untimely deaths.

In all her time with the Valorant Protocol - now nearly three years - she had only written two reports that contained the words killed in action . Both of those reports had fallen within the span of a mere three weeks.

It’s not your fault, she reassured herself, but actually, it kind of is. And so the cycle of guilt and reassurance tore at her with hooked claws and saliva-slick fangs, wrestling her in and out of a fitful sleep that was marked primarily by the reoccurrence of a certain magenta-eyed terror who seemed hellbent on haunting her every step.

She had not yet decided whether or not that chain of events in the dark amid the shelving had been real. It certainly felt real at the time, and she had even taken a shot at her perceived tormentor in the dark. But a thorough casing of the site after the fighting had ended had turned up no evidence of a second enemy agent; there was barely any evidence for the first, apart from the “gift” that Viper had found.

Speaking of, she still held onto that - she had mentioned it only to Cypher, who had assessed it with his usual dry humor. But as the gravity of the situation sank in, his wit had faltered, and the man more resembled a balloon with all the air let out of it. 

Two more. Two more killed in action. And what do we have to show for it, Viper? Two bullets wrapped in gold leaf. There is some malicious purpose to this.

She let herself slump against the rear wall of the flight compartment and achieved a measly half-hour of genuine rest before nightmares took hold and then she was trapped in the spiral again. When they touched down at base, the first thing she sought was coffee. 

Cypher sought her first. 

“Viper,” he said, his normally chipper voice hoarse. “I wanted to apologize.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Cypher.”

“I don’t make mistakes like that.”

“You didn’t make a mistake.”

“But I did.”

So that was what was eating him. It made sense to her; Cypher put a premium on his information, and he doled it out passionately. So when something fell through, or an uncontrolled variable popped up, that naturally put a damper on his spirits.

“I will make this right,” he promised. “We’ll know more about our mystery man shortly. I’ll chase up my network immediately.”

“Woman.”

“I- pardon me?”

“There was a woman, too.” She knew how crazy that sounded, and didn’t care. “I saw her. I shot at her.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this until now?”

“No. Do you have a problem with that?”

“If I did, it wouldn’t mean much to you.”

Viper managed a single, brief chuckle. “Consider it an oversight, and accept my apologies.”

“Quite an oversight, especially for you.”

“Well I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

Cypher sighed. They were both exhausted, and it was clear they were nitpicking each other.

“I’ll look into her. Did you get sight of her? Anything I can work off of?”

Plenty for you to work off of. She told him everything she knew - leaving out the unnecessary details, like how this mysterious enemy spy was hounding her in her nightmares and yet left her feeling oddly comforted following her appearances. In the howling abyss of her trauma-induced night terrors, “Reyna” was the only thing she could latch onto.

“Let me know when you have something new for me,” she said, by way of farewell, as she prepared to hit up the mess hall and finally get her coffee.

Cypher seemed to find that curious. “No report to Brimstone?”

“No. No, I don’t think so. This is a bit more…personal, Cypher.”

“Say no more, then.” 

“Are you going to make me call in my debt for this?”

If Cypher smiled, there was no way of telling beneath his mask. But he made a noise that could have been a scratchy, harsh laugh.

“No, not this time, dear Viper…not this time.”

Brimstone was far from perfect, but he was neither blind nor deaf. He seemed to know that the Protocol’s existing coffee production line was not cutting it, and on a crisp February morning the upgrade was ready to roll out. Naturally, she was first in line to test it.

“Not bad,” she said, after the first sip. It was better than not bad, but she didn’t want to inflate his ego too much.

“Not bad? I suppose it passes the Viper test, then,” he said, waiting his turn patiently.

“Caffeine is caffeine. But I do appreciate the quality. Thank you, Brimstone.”

“Say nothing of it.” He waved a meaty hand, satisfied. “It’s quick, too.”

“All the better for me to get out of here. No small talk for me.”

“Ah, not so fast. I did want to catch you for something else.”

Oh, for the love of…

It pained her to remain, even for a second longer, but she would not walk away from her literal boss. He had something she needed to attend to, and she would attend to it.

“Sage has a dossier she is presenting to me today,” he said.

“A dossier?”

“I’d like you to be there with me.”

“A dossier of what?”

“New recruits. Radiants. Young, most of them. I think they will make fine additions to the Protocol.”

“You already know what I think.”

“I’d like you to be there anyway. Your feedback matters to me. You matter to me.”

“Appreciate that,” she said, dryly, then turned on her heel and stalked off, craving a cigarette. Given what she had just been told, it sounded like she would need a cigarette to get through today. Or a few, more likely.

The Pacific Northwest air swept over her like a king tide the moment she stepped outside, overwhelming and frigid. At this time of year, the wind off the ocean was at its most miserable, and the sun never seemed to manage to pierce the mantle of slate-gray clouds that stretched from horizon to horizon. Some people would have lost their minds in such conditions; Viper, on the other hand, did not mind. Once over the initial chill, she liked the cold, gray mornings. They helped her clear her mind, giving her a stark reminder that the world outside was cold and impassive and she needed to be that way, too, in order to appropriately handle it. Once the nicotine and caffeine started buzzing through her bloodstream and the cold became too much to bear, she stubbed out her cigarette and retreated back indoors to truly start her day.

Normally, she would isolate herself inside her lab on such mornings, but work crews were installing new equipment and cutting-edge sensors and as such she had no excuse not to go to Brimstone’s special little meeting. It took an incredible amount of willpower to purposefully stop walking, turn herself towards the conference room door, and walk in without sheer disgust written on her face.

Sage was there with a stack of papers and multiple binders, looking quite pleased with herself. 

Of course she’s here already. How long has she been waiting? Too long.

“Glad you could make it today, Viper,” she said, feigning cheer. “I’m happy you’ve come around to this idea.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Sage.”

“No? Do I sense dissent?”

“I think you know my feelings.”

“Oh, I could never pretend that.” Sage’s smile widened, then faded. She knew exactly what she was playing at. “It’s funny, because last time I brought this up, you had nothing to say…”

At that moment, Brimstone walked in, and Viper had to tuck her tongue into stowage to avoid starting this meeting on an ugly note. Sage might have think she won, but the battle wasn’t over. Viper was going to give her thoughts, and she had a persuasive argument brewing. 

“Viper. Sage. I apologize for being late,” Brimstone said, taking the nearest seat. He had only a tiny notepad and an equally tiny pen, which were comically undersized in his beefy hands. “You know how it is on Mondays…”

“All too well,” Sage said, beaming. 

“Sage, let me just say firstly that I appreciate all the work you have been doing on this.”

“It has been a pleasure, not a burden.”

“Chasing leads, putting in phone calls, traveling, organizing…it’s quite a bit.”

“Say nothing of it, Brimstone. It has been a pleasure.”

Viper bit her bottom lip. You suck-up. She was always this way with Brimstone, trying to earn brownie points at every turn by putting on a happy face and choosing her words oh-so-carefully. She was infuriatingly successful at it, too.

“And that is why I ultimately approved this,” Brimstone said. “I knew it would be in good hands with you, Sage. I’ll let you take the floor, but before I do that, I want to say thank you to Viper as well.”

“My pleasure to be here,” she said, through gritted teeth. She made it very clear it wasn’t, and locked eyes with Sage, daring her to offer a challenge. Sage did so, standing up and marching to the front of the conference room as a flat screen behind her clicked to life. She had a full photographic presentation and everything, ready to go along with a monologue that Viper felt was partially aimed at her.

“There are thousands of radiants across the world now, many of them in hiding and in fear for their lives after the past five years of hate, persecution, and violence,” Sage began. “Violence that explicitly targets them for something they had no control over.”

Brimstone listened attentively, pen in hand; Viper waited for something she could pounce on to possibly sink this plan, preferring her mental notes. 

“Incidents of bigotry and violence have driven much of this network of talented, incredible individuals underground. This has necessarily made my search an arduous and unpleasant one. But I am happy to say that I have results, and I believe the Valorant Protocol will benefit from each and every single one of these faces.”

She began to scroll through a list, clicking a heavy gray remote at the projector screen and pulling up slides with pictures, information, and her own notes.

“Jamie Adeyemi, 24 years old, United Kingdom. A wanted criminal now, but a bright and talented young theater student just a few years ago. Top of his class in every mark.”

Viper did not like the look of him. There was too much pride in his eyes, and ego staining his happy-go-lucky grin. Theater suited him more than anything else, going off that alone.

“Tala Nicole Dimaapi Valdez, 23 years old, Philippines. She served her country dutifully until her superiors discovered her powers. She could have become a national hero, but they treated her as an outcast instead…disgraceful.”

The young woman in the pictures was stern and pensive, and offered a severe expression that Viper sympathized with. Apparently, her radiance was bioelectric in nature. How many ways can that go wrong, I wonder?

“Mateo Armendáriz de la Fuente, 22 years old, United States. He wasn’t even an adult when he was gifted with his powers. That did not stop the powers that be from labeling him freak and terrorist with all the others. He recently made news for breaking into a Kingdom Corporation facility, no doubt with valid reason.”

Viper’s blood ran cold at the mere mention of Kingdom. There was little love lost towards her previous employer, but she had not severed every single tie there yet. What had he done, exactly? Sage refused to extrapolate, leaving her to guess.

“Kirra Foster, 28 years old, Australia. Also a terrorist. Can you guess why? If you think that defending your land from corporate greed constitutes terrorism, then you guess correctly.”

Sage was barely bothering to conceal her anger, the mask long gone and in its place controlled, potent rage that was now finding an outlet. Viper admitted she had to respect, albeit begrudgingly, how well Sage was managing to keep a level, firm tone of voice. It took effort, she could see that much.

“Last but not least. Han Sunwoo, also 23 years old. Responsible for one of the most high-profile ‘terror’ incidents in recent memory, which resulted in five deaths and, I quote…”

Sage paused for dramatic effect. Her nostrils flared wide and her eyes narrowed, barely controlling her enormous frustration. 

“...‘catastrophic damage and enduring emotional trauma for the residents of the affected neighborhood.’ She remains on the run today.”

Sage actually laughed, but it was a short, sharp bark that snapped Viper to attention, thoroughly alarmed. 

“Enduring emotional trauma. And they wrote it in the report unironically. This close to getting it. This close.”

She sucked in a deep breath, flared her nostrils out one last time, then cast her anger back down into the deep pit she had drawn it from in the first place. In its place the placid, composed, kindly Sage returned with the same warm smile and bright eyes that seemed to prod Viper in all the right places.

“These five freedom fighters are talented, strong, brilliant members of their community who were unjustly ostracized for events beyond their control,” Sage said, her normal tone of voice returning, pacific and measured. “They are in the prime of their life, sharp as tacks, and will prove themselves great assets to this Protocol in time.”

“Criminals. They’re criminals.”

Viper spoke before Brimstone could beat her to the punch - he would not smooth this over before she had her say. Sage turned slowly to Viper, her mawkish smile unfading but the joy in her eyes retreating. She met the challenge.

“Do you have feedback for me, Viper?”

“You heard me. You said it yourself. Wanted criminals.”

“For crimes they never imagined they could possibly commit.”

“But they did commit them, no? Don’t dance around my question.”

It was here that Sage’s saccharine smile finally faded, and in its place her mouth assumed a thin line like a battalion of soldiers closing ranks. Firmly, she approached Viper’s seat, her presentation forgotten and the new challenge front of mind. Brimstone opened his mouth, as though to interject to prevent the challenge from escalating, but Sage beat him to the punch.

“Do you think your commentary is insightful, Viper? Do you think I’ve not heard this all before?”

“I imagine you have, and that is why you now turn to us as your guinea pigs.”

The parallels to experimentation only incensed her further. “You think I’m doing this for fun? For sport? For sick satisfaction? Is that it, Viper?”

“You tell me.”

“Viper, let it go. Step back.” Brimstone attempted to intercede, but his words were going unheard. He was still sitting, pen in hand, as though his diligent note-taking would resume at any moment. 

“You think you’re a victim,” Sage said, hovering over Viper, glaring down at her with barely-veiled disgust. “A victim of big, bad, evil radiants. Is that right? Or do you prefer I call them freaks like our beloved stakeholders do?”

“If you suffered an inkling of what I did at the hands of-”

“I suffered plenty before I came here.” Sage snapped, in a way Viper had rarely heard her do before. It was the loudest she’d heard her speak in…well, ever.

“Oh, do tell,” Viper snapped back, trying to pretend she wasn’t fazed. It caught you by surprise, that’s all. Nothing more.

“Viper, enough of this-”

“No, let her speak, Brimstone.” Sage wheeled on Brimstone now, annoyed at being interrupted. “I want her to speak. Let’s all get to know just how rotten her mind is.”

“How much are you ready to know? I can do this all day. Try me.”

Actually, Viper really couldn’t do this all day; she needed a smoke, and how, before this dragged out too far. She was insanely uncomfortable, in spite of making every effort to appear not so, and it was not only because Sage was leaning over her like a ravenous wolf about to tear into her jugular. It had barely been half an hour since her last, and she was already feeling the seeking tendrils of nightmare emerge from their burrows, seeking every last crumb of energy she held onto, desiring nothing but complete oblivion for her. Her eyes felt heavy in their sallow pits and every word was an immense effort, but she would not back down from Sage. 

“If you shared my dreams every night, you would beg for an end to the suffering, a tiny mercy in death,” she sneered, even sitting up in the chair to close the distance between herself and the vengeful healer. “Because of what that fucking … radiant …did to me-”

“Maybe you deserved what she did to you, the way you talk,” Sage spat back. “Do you think you can talk that way, degrade us into offal or worse, year after year, and not face some consequence?”

“I think that you and I need to-”

“Enough.”

Brimstone slammed his fist against the table so hard that Viper’s coffee mug jumped, careened over the table, and fell to the floor with a mighty crash of splintering ceramic. Luckily, it was already empty; had been since the meeting started. She was glad it wasn’t her beloved thermos.

Sage withdrew immediately, assuming her deferential posture and calm attitude once more, as though she hadn’t just been preparing to come to blows with Viper.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, hastily. “I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“I’m not sorry,” Viper spat, immediately reviving Sage’s anger. 

“Both of you had better be sorry,” Brimstone said, in the punitive tone of a dad pulling squabbling siblings apart and threatening their dessert privileges. “This is unbecoming of the standards I expect this Protocol to adhere to.”

“I am simply speaking my mind,” Viper said.

“And sometimes, we have to stop ourselves from doing just that, Viper.”

Begrudgingly, she would admit he had a point. But more to that point, her squabble with Sage wasn’t going anywhere; neither would back down, and neither had the ability to finish what they started. So all eyes turned to Brimstone, the arbitrator, to bring them back on track and approach something resembling a satisfying resolution for both parties.

“I recognize your concerns, Viper, but they’re personal rather than practical,” he said. 

Not off to a great start . “They’re both,” she said. “Will you invite common criminals into our ranks, Brimstone?”

“They’re not common criminals,” Sage snapped.

“Okay, advanced criminals. Or do you prefer to call them terrorists?”

“Viper.”

“It’s an honest question.”

“Viper, the antagonism gets us nowhere.”

“It gets her attention,” Sage sneered. “I think that’s all she wants.”

“What we all want is a way forward, and a decision,” Brimstone said. “I intend for us to make a decision on this initiative today.”

“You know what my say is.”

“Viper, consider Sage’s offer. Consider our position. Think about the context.”

“Oh, I’ve thought plenty.”

“About yourself, and little more,” Sage sneered, but Viper had chosen to ignore her now. Brimstone was fuming, his already ruddy cheeks a deep beet red, and she sensed it wasn’t just about her. There was much more on the line and she knew it, which made her resolve all the more concrete. 

“We do not have many options, Viper. Remember the last committee meeting?”

“Plain as day.”

“Then you’ll remember our position is a difficult one. And there are few people alive who are better placed than Sage to help us. She has a finger on the pulse of the world that neither of us have. It is a gift we should not idly discard.”

“Is that supposed to make her feel special?”

“It’s an advantage, Viper. See it the way I see it.”

“I see this is a tough pill to swallow, Brimstone. I don’t need to say more.”

“You’ve endured worse.”

“We don’t know how this will pan out,” Viper said. “This…untested idea-”

“No idea is ever truly tested to satisfaction,” Sage interrupted. “I am not trying to convince you that my plan is flawless. I only wish for it to be given a chance.”

“One chance is all you’ll need to-”

“Viper, enough,” Brimstone snapped. “I want us to come to an agreement. For full disclosure, I am with Sage. I have supported her in this, and now I need your say.”

“Two against one,” Viper scoffed. “What more is there to say?”

“I want this to be unanimous.”

That, somehow, came as a surprise. Sage had Brimstone in the palm of her hand, and Brimstone could easily end this meeting by overruling Viper. He deliberately chose not to, and that made her rethink her course of action.

You’re still a no, she tried to convince herself. No matter how they spin this to you…the outcome will be the same. This is a disaster.

Fuck, she needed a smoke, yesterday. The looming headache and creeping nightmare were draining her. 

“What’ll it take to get your approval?”

“I don’t know, Brimstone.”

“This is a group effort. Tell me.”

Sage narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow. “Brimstone, you cannot seriously-”

“Sage, I am willing to hear her out,” Brimstone said. “Her voice is as important as any at this table.”

“She won’t change her mind.”

“I will, in fact, change my mind.” Viper had decided, but only because she needed to get out of this meeting - and there was no easy way out without saying yes. “I have my terms.”

“Name them,” Brimstone requested, clicking his pen with satisfaction. 

“This is a group effort. So we move as one,” Viper said. “Every new recruit is subject to review. Every recruitment effort is done as a team. Every new recruit is trained by me.”

“Sage has already volunteered to take up training efforts,” Brimstone said. “I think she has earned that right.”

“Fine. My other terms?”

“Acceptable. I will modify the plan.”

Viper expected Sage to appear bewildered, but she was calm and controlled, hiding any disappointment she might have felt behind her usual expression. Maybe she considered this a victory for her plan; or maybe she decided the defeat wasn’t worth embitterment. Either way, she nodded to signal her approval, moving them along. 

“Sage, how many of these recruits have you positively identified as willing to join us?” Brimstone asked.

“All five,” she replied dryly. “With reservations.”

“We can work them through it,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “As long as they’re willing-”

“They’re willing,” Sage said, impatient. “Some are even ready. If we must do this as a team, fine, but let’s get it done.”

“On that we agree.”

Brimstone turned to Viper, as if considering the possibility of an eleventh-hour dissent. She was too tired to offer any.

“Fine,” she said. That was good enough for him, and the meeting was dismissed, and everyone was free to go about their day. 

Viper did not feel free. She stepped outside and burned through another two cigarettes, but her mood barely improved. Her feelings didn’t either; she began to feel sluggish, impotent, and slow, and by evening was hot and fatigued. Every step was an immense effort and the harsh fluorescent lights of the Protocol’s hallways beat down on her like sun lamps as she dragged herself back from the lab to her dormitory room, where everything felt strangely distant and hard to come to grips with. She stripped out of her clothes and stooped to pick up her shirt off the floor and her head spun.

She took a quick shower, washed her face, and took her temperature. 101.3. She was ill, or poisoned, or rapidly dying, or maybe all three. And maybe that was a good thing.

Maybe it is. No more nightmares. Imagine that, Viper. How long has it been now? More than a month? You’re losing yourself.

She lay down and turned off the light and the world may as well have ceased to exist. She was tumbling over and over down an endless black chute, hot and uncomfortable and in pain. Her chest tightened as though threatening to suffocate her.

You lost a battle to Sage. Can you win the war? What war am I even fighting.

She was arguing with herself in her head, as though there was another Viper beside her with her back turned. As hot as she felt, she could forgive herself for imagining there was someone else in bed with her, under the covers.

Who? Not me. No, it is me. Why am I talking to myself? You’re talking to me.

She gasped for breath. A brief fifteen minute slumber, prematurely terminated by the looming claws of nightmare waiting to sink into her. 

Do you hate them? Hate who. Radiants, of course. Maybe I hate them. Then why do you think about her constantly.

Was the other person in bed Reyna? Is that how this was working? She had no idea. She couldn’t turn over. Christ, why was it so hard to turn over? She was frozen stiff - hot, sweaty, in pain, lost, cold, and confused.

You don’t hate her. I don’t hate her. But who is she? Who is she…

She wished she could hear those words again. 

Two…maybe even three words, that could stop the flow of time briefly and make her ear tingle like sweet chili on her bare skin, hot and pleasant and so desperately wanted.

Hey, pretty thing.

She dreamed of Reyna again that night, but nightmare was powerful. It was a long and troubled night spent fitfully kicking away covers and shivering in the dark. 

Sabine did not make any attempt to track the changing of the seasons. What did it mean, anyhow? The world outside would change form and the colors of the day would shift from green to gloom and then back again, but it was a cycle she could do without. She had her own, and it was determined by paper deadlines and fellowship standards and the all-seeing eye of interest groups who were seeking the next young professional to add to their roster.

One such group had their eye on her one warm April week, packing themselves into the back of the lecture hall as discreetly as possible and watching her every move as she rounded the stage and took the podium. They were tall, taciturn, tidy men with an agenda and too little time to execute it. Sabine took note of them, but hardly so; it was in the same way one might take note of a greedy fly approaching the picnic basket, unaware of what it was getting itself into. She counted them four in number, and then promptly forgot about them. She had her own agenda to attend to. 

Sabine knew what it was like to be nervous; deep down, there were fears stirring like snakes awoken early from hibernation, seeking fanged vengeance on the interloper who had roused them. But outwardly, she projected the same confidence she had always been made of, pure steel and grit born of a life that involved reticent teachers and wary looks and silent dinners and a barking dog whose pleas for love and affection were rarely answered. She saw those same wary looks from her university coursemates, who were old enough to try and pretend that she didn’t bother them but did a poor job of it. They would offer small talk when prompted, and never treated her as an outcast, but she was never quite included either. She was an enigma to them, one that none were willing or able to solve.

And so she went about her business, and put her nose to the grindstone, and burned the midnight oil, and now she stood before her capstone course and presented her research on valence electron diversity in various inert atmospheres and potential applications towards novel materials. When she stepped down from the podium to applause, her professor thanked her for her time and congratulated her on passing. When they spoke privately later, he hailed her as a genius and offered to get her in touch with the tall, taciturn tidy men.

Who? Them? She thought they were from the university, sent to observe the classroom and report any suspicious anti-American behavior, or simply audit the class as part of the typical yearly cycle. Not so! They were from a world she had yet to penetrate, much less understand, and they were looking to make way for someone like her. 

That thought seemed strange to Sabine: who had ever wanted her? She had walked the halls of four schools and not once felt that she belonged. She had strode across that familiar field and into that familiar house and it only felt like a milestone towards something bigger. Now that something bigger had arrived, what was she to make of it? She wasn’t sure, but she said yes when asked, and on the first day of summer she found herself in the lobby of Kingdom Fabrications, an up-and-coming research conglomerate with much to prove and little time to prove it, and took the first step into that something bigger. It was a nightmare masquerading as a dream, and she plunged headfirst into it. 

Chapter Text

INFORMATIONAL BULLETIN: NEWSDESK OFFICE

0800 GMT, LONDON, UK - 16TH FEBRUARY 1980

 

A peculiar global event of unknown origin has governments rushing to calm any frayed nerves, and intelligence officials scrambling for answers. While initially believed to be isolated incidents caused by local phenomena, the major power outages that occurred last night across eighteen nations are now believed to be connected. State officials refuse to address the issue further, citing “sensitive national security concerns”, but explanations for the short-lived blackouts are few and far between.

Some spokesmen have pointed the finger squarely at the Soviet Union, accusing them of testing new high-altitude orbital weaponry in support of their ongoing intervention in Afghanistan. More level-headed analysis suggests a coordinated act of espionage, but the perpetrator and their intent remains unclear given the wide and seemingly random scale of the outages. The blackouts lasted anywhere from one hour in parts of northern Australia to two hours and eighteen minutes in Istanbul, causing great distress for those who suffered interruptions to their morning routines or otherwise lost precious working hours. 

Further updates to this story will be provided through global newsdesk networks as they are made available.

“Your temperature is over 102. When did you first notice you were feeling unwell?”

“Last night.” Viper croaked the words out like they were a death rattle. They may as well have been, given how she felt. She had barely been able to push herself out of the tangle of covers, shower and take pills, and meander down to the infirmary at seven in the morning.

“Last night? You were fine yesterday,” Sage said. “Quite vigorous, if I remember correctly.” 

Viper had little recollection of their heated argument right now.

“Yeah, well, I feel like shit now. So help me.”

“Any other symptoms?”

“I can’t seem to warm up, or cool down. Head hurts. Throat dry.”

“Your pulse is elevated. I think it likely you have a flu.”

“Great.”

Sage was, to her credit, an accomplished doctor and knew exactly what to do for something as simple as this. She lavished Viper with a variety of remedies, only a handful of which Viper was even willing to try, then prescribed her water, bedrest, and warmth for the next three days until her symptoms improved. Viper, unwilling to let her workload pile up, would do no such thing. 

She took a couple of the pills and tried the tea concoction that Sage had given her (which was initially gritty, but left a pleasant aftertaste) then shambled down to her lab to chip away at the day’s experimental workload, as well as review the dossier that Cypher had so kindly prepared for her. She was behind on everything, and while the lab demanded her immediate attention, she just had to know what Cypher had dug up from their recent encounter with the mysterious shooter in Oman.

Code name: “Chamber”. 

Origin: France. 

Specialties: Considerable expertise in long arms. Noted to have multiple identities for espionage. Good swimmer.

Recent activities: Operating on behalf of an unknown agency.

The dossier did not reveal much else, even though Cypher’s digging abilities were second to none. That alone bothered her; if Cypher could not find anything more on him, then who could? His identity remained shrouded in mystery, his objectives unknown, and her body was beginning to shiver uncontrollably as she strained to finish the dossier, sweat pouring down the flanks of her neck in broad rivers.

Five minutes later, she was back in bed, having voided the contents of her stomach in the lab bathroom and drowned herself in sweat just trying to get back to her room in one piece.

If this is death, it’s taking its sweet time. It sure felt like death.

That night was spent lamenting her circumstances and arguing with herself again, about topics that her lucid sensibilities would find beyond understanding. She wrapped herself up in circular logic along with her blankets and woke up to her sheets soaked in sweat, the fever breaking but still holding on like a leech latching onto her skin.

She sensed something was amiss that morning when she heard strange voices, and decided she wasn’t hallucinating; her fever had dropped, and her head had settled once again. Something was amiss, and she confirmed it when she stepped into the mess hall and found a strange figure at her coffee grinder. 

No, make that two strange figures. 

The more obvious one was the redhead, who stood a full head taller than her counterpart and practically lit up the room with a vibrant energy that Viper could never possess. Her voice carried like rolling thunder and she held her ground with unearned pride as Viper approached, thermos in hand and the meanest frown possible etched on her lips.

“Well, hey there!” The redhead met her grimace with unadulterated cheer. “You’re a fine new face. What’s your name, love?”

“Get out of my way.”

“Funny name, that. Bit of a long’un, too…”

“I said move.”

The redhead got the message the second time and shifted aside, though she remained uncomfortably close to Viper as she dispensed her morning coffee and filled the thermos to the brim. 

“Is this how you normally treat people around here?”

“Sure is.”

“Well, awfully rude of you to not even say good morning.”

“Good morning, then.”

And with her thermos full, Viper retreated, not once looking the redhead in the eye. Her counterpart, the shorter woman, was partially hidden behind the redhead’s bulky, muscular form; but Viper could feel judgmental eyes on her, peeking around the redhead’s shoulder. She was built like a runner, lithe and wiry, with vibrant blue hair penned up in bushy bulbs and bangs that dangled down her jawline. She didn’t say a word to Viper, and Viper was fine with that.

So these are the new hires. Viper was so far unimpressed. 

She did feel more energized after emptying her thermos, and wandered down to the second level corridors where she meandered to the gymnastics observation deck. The Protocol was blessed with a cavernous exercise space, encompassing a full track, all manner of cardio and fitness equipment, a weight room, and a basketball court, among other amenities. Viper rarely found the time to use this space aside from her bi-weekly workouts, but it was being put to good use today, as the new recruits were being administered their initial physical fitness tests by none other than Sage. Overlooking the sprawling indoor complex from a second-floor observation booth, Viper could see everything that Sage was putting them through, from burpees to 100-meter sprints and anything and everything in-between.

One thing was for sure: this crop of radiant recruits was not only young, but in good health. None of them were flagging yet, and they met each new challenge with confidence and glee.

The only issue was, there were only four of them.

Where is number five?

“They’re all so…beautiful.”

Killjoy had strolled into the observation room while Viper wasn’t paying attention. She jumped at the sudden unexpected presence, nearly dropping her thermos. 

“Excuse me?”

“Ach, just a wild thought. Excuse me.” Killjoy was already flushed, realizing the implication of her comment. “I, um…sorry, did I surprise you?”

“No,” Viper lied.

“Oh good. I had heard we have new recruits. Special ones, too, under Sage’s guidance.”

“You heard right.”

“Are they all…radiants, by chance?”

“They are.”

Killjoy had none of the reservations and all of the enthusiasm, and watched like it was spectator sport. She was enthralled by the energy in the room as the new recruits egged each other on, passed jokes around, and generally engaged in good sport with one another as Sage put them through the wringer to test their mettle. 

“Do you know what their powers are?”

“Can’t remember.”

“Oh. That’s disappointing. Where do they come from?”

“I don’t know.”

“When did they get their abilities? I mean, like…was it all-”

“Killjoy, I don’t know.”

Her response was snappier than she intended it to be. That was partially due to the fact that she realized she needed to step out for a smoke; there was something else there, though, the apprehension that Killjoy was missing.

How am I the only one that sees it? A gaping wound had been opened in the Protocol that only Viper seemed to fear. There was nobody else who shared her misgivings to the same degree, and even Cypher had been relatively warm to the plan once it had been announced. She felt adrift, isolated in a sea of sticky, hot trepidation that she could only float on for so long. At some point, something had to give.

“Sorry for asking,” Killjoy apologized, demure. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, not your fault. I’m still recovering from being sick. That’s all.”

“Are you feeling better, at least?”

“Somewhat.”

Assuaged, Killjoy returned to joyfully watching the exercises below, cradling her chin in her palms and staring at the beautiful newcomers the same way one would study the window of a candy shop. Viper offered a weak excuse then stepped out for a smoke. Not five minutes later, Brimstone buzzed her.

MEETING. IN 10

Only a handful of letters could appear on her wristwatch screen at a time, but it seemed a miracle that anything could appear at all. She considered backing out of this impromptu meeting but then decided against it, knowing full well what it was going to be about. So she steadied herself, stubbed out her cigarette prematurely, and marched on up to the same first-level conference room that mere days ago had been the scene of a near-brawl between herself and Sage.

That same culprit was here again today, looking quite pleased with herself. She offered Viper the same sickly sweet fake smile that she always did.

“Feeling better, Viper?”

“Better enough.”

“I saw you were watching us earlier.”

“I was.”

“Come around to my ideas, then? Realizing I’m not the monster you think I am?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Sage.”

Another skirmish was only averted by Brimstone stumbling through the conference room doors, his arms overloaded with bound printouts and manila folders. He scattered them all over the table as he sat down, sucking in deep breaths and muttering something to himself as he did so.

“I apologize,” he said, between breaths, “for how quickly I summoned you today. We’ve had some…issues. I need to brief you both.”

Viper recoiled at the way he said that. Something had happened, and she wasn’t aware of it? Why wasn’t she aware of it?

You’re sick , she reminded herself. That’s why. As though that were a valid reason and not some flimsy excuse. She sat up and assumed the most serious posture possible as Brimstone filed through his dossiers and folders and pulled out relevant information.

The brief was just that: brief. A series of major power outages across the globe, occurring at approximately the same time (with a mere two-second discrepancy at most), had rattled key political and intelligence partners. The blame game, naturally, was ongoing; more fiery figures were pointing fingers at states or espionage interests, while the more rational heads at the table were still assuming natural phenomena. The public was thoroughly unsettled, and that was always a bad thing.

“We still have more questions than answers,” said Brimstone, handing paper briefs out to both of them. “I wish I could provide you more context. But we have some very upset partners this morning.”

“And what do they expect us to do about it?” Viper asked.

“I’m not sure they know that themselves,” Brimstone admitted.

“We can assess the situation and work towards solutions,” Sage said. “Anything more than that, we’re out of options.”

“I would hazard a guess that’s what we’re being asked to do.”

“So they think it’s radiant-related?”

Viper was connecting the dots quickly here. A typical act of espionage would be handled by the relevant national agencies; that the Valorant Protocol was being looped in suggested this was no typical act of espionage. Something more nebulous was at work here and she could see now why Brimstone appeared so distressed.

“There are theories being floated,” he said, though he refused to speculate further. “The scale of the incident has lent itself to those theories.”

“We’ll need more than just theories,” Viper said. “We need evidence.”

“With all due respect, this is the perfect reason to push our own radiant training program forward,” Sage said. 

Immediately, Viper snapped to her. “Not the time.”

“It absolutely is the time.”

“Sage, what makes you say that?”

“My program will take time to develop our new recruits,” she admitted. “They will not be ready for action for a few months yet. But if we had accelerated my efforts, as I initially suggested a year ago, we would not have this problem today.”

Viper scoffed openly, and Sage frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“Because, Viper, I give an honest assessment of my work,” she shot back. “It is not a silver bullet. But we would have been able to locate and come up with a plan to address the culprits behind this by now.”

“Hypothetically.”

Sage’s frown deepened. “Give me the means to test it, and I will prove that hypothesis.”

“I’ll be waiting to see that.”

“If we accelerate my training program and provide my recruits with more resources, this will not be a mystery for long.”

“What do you mean, your recruits?”

They were on the precipice of another fight, and Brimstone was not having it. He lassoed them in with another thump of his fist on the table and a raised voice, enough to force them to back down and reorient themselves to the issue at hand. 

“Whether or not Sage is right, we need to keep this on our plate,” Brimstone said. “This is a serious issue.”

“I agreed.”

“Agreed.”

“Sage will continue her training program.” He spoke as though reading bullet points off of a presentation. “The Protocol will boost its intelligence gathering efforts. We will collectively be a part of this investigation. We will work together.”

You may try, Brimstone, but it takes two to tango… She glanced over at Sage, who refused to meet her expression this time. Was she ashamed of her selfish outburst? Or was something else bothering her? Maybe both. Maybe more.

“That is all. Meeting adjourned.”

And before either of them could ask further questions, Brimstone gathered his materials into one giant heap, swept said heap into his arms like an owl seizing prey, and marched back out of the conference room, leaving both Viper and Sage more than a little surprised. 

His resolve is shaken. Is it that bad? It surely can’t be that bad…

Viper made the first move, but Sage followed. She heard her footsteps on the linoleum behind her, measured and almost dainty. 

“Viper. A moment, if you will.”

“I will not.”

Sage’s dramatic sigh of frustration suggested that was that, but Sage was not one to give up so easily. She continued following.

“I understand you have a chip on your shoulder against me,” she said. “I will not pretend that I can ask you to change that. I can only ask you to hear me out.”
“Hear what out?” She turned on her heel, surprising Sage, who almost ran into her in the hallway. “Tell me. What is there to hear out?”

“You heard Brimstone. We will work together. I believe he means to enforce that thoroughly.”

Viper only sniffed. “He might try.”

“He will try. And if we don’t try too, we’re going to be in trouble.”

“Trouble? What is this? Grade school? Sage, I don’t-”

“I’m not asking you to like my plan,” Sage said. “Or me.” Her voice wavered ever so slightly there, making Viper pause. “I only ask that you do the bare minimum. Don’t treat me like a hostile party in my own home.”

She thought there was someone else in the hallway with them momentarily. If there were any eavesdroppers, they continued on their course quickly, for she turned to find no one there. The halls were, as usual, empty. She turned back to Sage and found that she hadn’t shifted an inch, resolute.

“When you make an effort to understand me,” Viper said, her breathing intensifying as she delivered her ultimatum, “I will make an effort to understand you. Got it?”

Her ultimatum delivered, she turned on her heel again and continued walking to trudge through the remainder of her day unbothered. Sage did not follow.

The new hire arrived in the cargo hold of a private boat, chartered expressly for this “special delivery”. Maritime traffic to the island was absurdly restricted, due to the sensitive nature of the Protocol’s activities as well as the general public’s reaction to anything involving radiants. Therefore, any arrival into the sheltered port that had been dug out of a hillock on the island’s southern side was a notable occasion that required a full security contingent and oversight from Protocol leadership.

This “special delivery” was escorted to the meeting room where Viper and Brimstone were waiting patiently. She did not appear fazed by her travels, and in fact was quite at ease the moment she was delivered - she sat down and slouched in the chair, one knee up and her shoulders slumped. She looked almost bored.

“All this, just for me?”

She laughed, but they did not share the mirth. Brimstone coughed into his fist and pulled out her profile. Viper had already read through it extensively, but she firmly believed you could only learn so much about a person from third-party sources. The best way to know somebody was to watch them squirm on the hotseat. 

“Tayane Alves. Salvador, Brazil, born and raised. I hear it’s hot down there this time of year.”

“Yeah.” Tayane’s voice was gravelly, her tone competitive, as though she knew this were a job interview and she had one chance to make it work. “Hotter than you’d ever stand to endure, big guy.”

Brimstone just laughed. “Maybe we’ll have to see about that,” he said. “Vacation idea, Viper?”

“I’ll pass.”

“We’ve read your file, Tayane. Extensive record you have…care to explain further?”

“Which part do you want me to explain? The armed robbery? The arson? The assault? How much time do you have?”

“Your tone suggests you don’t think any of your actions fit the bill.”

Tayane chuckled. “Yeah, well. The police thought otherwise.”

“They did. But you’re here with us, and not with them. Have you thought about why that is?” 

“I dunno, big guy. Figured I’d stepped on the wrong snake. Got into hotter water. Is that what this is about?”

Brimstone smiled. “I’m afraid not.”

Viper had already determined that Tayane Alves was not the type of person to roll over and beg for mercy, nor offer collaboration if she deemed it unscrupulous. She was a woman of principles, principles that had led her into a life of resistance and rejection of authority from a young age. Most of her “crimes” involved attacks on state property, flagrant disobedience, or retaliation for overt acts of repression. 

“Well, big guy. You don’t give me much to work with,” Tayane said, her slouch deepening. She had made herself quite at home. “Tell you what. You take some time to talk, then I’ll give you more.”

“Do you know where you are, Miss Alves?”

She shrugged. “In deep shit, most likely.”

“That depends on what you consider deep .”

Tayane squinted at him, and frowned. “You talk a lot, and say little,” she said. “Who are you people?”

“We are…a special interest group. Intelligence, espionage…radiant activities.”

She perked up at the mention of radiants. Viper found that curious. What did this strange woman know? Her last act, which had resulted in her being thrown into the bowels of a Brazilian federal prison, had involved arson and property destruction at a work site that was going to be turned into a specialized facility for holding and processing radiants accused of a variety of crimes. The effort had proven quite unpopular with a younger subset of Brazilians, and the groundbreaking ceremony had been preceded by weeks of protests that saw hundreds of arrests made. 

“So this is about O Buraco, then,” Tayane realized, making the connection. “Did you like what I’ve done with the place? I set them back months on that shit, puta.” She laughed, satisfied with her handiwork, then remembered the company she was with, and her smile faded. 

“It was a bold strike, for sure,” Brimstone said, avoiding further commentary. “What made you do it?”

“You read my file, didn’t you?”

Brimstone nodded.

“Then you must know. I’ve told this story, what…twenty times, now?”

“Under duress, in interrogation.”

“I told them the truth, and nothing but.”

Viper had read her file. Tayane’s story was the same in every instance: I did it because it’s the right thing to do, motherfucker. No doubt her brazen attitude and refusal to defer had earned her more than a few blows from the long chain of police and federal authorities who had interrogated her before putting her in prison. Getting her out of that hellhole had taken a favor and some real handwringing on Brimstone’s part, and Viper still wasn’t sure why they had gone through the wringer for her. What did he see in her? 

“Miss Alves, I’ll be square with you.” Brimstone leaned in and placed his equally square chin in his burly hands. “We are an organization known as the Valorant Protocol. We are not explicitly affiliated with any nation or organization, though we have our supporters.”

Tayane scoffed. “Yeah, sure. Everyone’s got a side.”

“And our side is the same as yours: the one doing the right thing.”

Normally, Viper would roll her eyes at such self-righteous drivel. But coming from Brimstone, it felt genuine, even if he delivered it with all the energy of a golden retriever. Maybe that energy was why it felt genuine. 

“Your attack on The Hole and your attempts at destroying it outright were righteous, even if they were declared illegal,” Brimstone continued. “We note not only your technique and intellect, but also your drive and your passion to do the right thing, even if it landed you in prison.”

Tayane had no sharp rebuttal for that, nor was she won over yet; but she was listening with intent, and that meant Brimstone was making progress. He saw this, and marched on, advancing at a cautious pace, careful not to put her off now that he had her so close to the hook.

“We pulled strings to get you out. I will admit it. But I believe it was worth the cost considering the value you may bring to this Protocol.”

“Value,” Tayane echoed. “Value…so what am I to do, exactly?”

“I’m about to answer that.”
“By all means, then, go on.” Viper noticed she had sat up straight now, shoulders locked against the contours of the chair, her head on a swivel as if waiting for a ball to drop. Nothing gets past this one, she thought. She may be a brawler, but she’s sharp. 

“We need talent like you to expand your fight,” Brimstone explained. “Your resources were only local: people you grew up with, streets you grew up in, metal scrap and stolen weapons. What if I told you we could bring a hundred times that to the same fight?”

Tayane grinned. “I’d say you’re full of besteira. Would I be right?”

“I don’t make empty promises, Miss Alves.”

Tayane was still waiting for the ball to drop, but it never came. At some point in the next few seconds, under the bright fluorescent lights of the dully-decorated meeting room, she realized this wasn’t some sort of trap or grift. This was the real deal, and one she had never seen coming.

“If you’re lying to me about this, I’ll have your balls in a frying pan,” she said.

“That’s quite a thing to say to your new boss,” Viper said. She was more amused than offended, though.

“Not her new boss yet,” Brimstone said. “Miss Alves…the decision is yours.”

“If I accept?”

“Then you’re all aboard as far as I’m concerned,” Brimstone replied. “Unless my colleague here has an objection to make?”

“None, so long as she stays away from frying pans.”

“And what if I reject your offer? What then?” Tayane was testing them. Brimstone was right to respond cautiously.

“Then your old life remains open to you,” he said, “and you decide your fate from there.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your sentence is rendered null and void,” Brimstone said. “Brazilian authorities will have nothing on you upon your return. You therefore choose your direction.”

He had pulled a lot of strings, judging by that little piece. Even Viper found herself surprised, though she did not allow herself to show it. Tayane didn’t show it, either, but she was contemplative. The moments passed by like grains of sand lazily rolling down the hourglass chute, ekeing every millisecond out. 

“You’re funny people,” Tayane said, finally. “I don’t know how I feel about that. But it’s a long trip back home, and I get seasick easily. I’m in.”

Brimstone smiled. Even Viper felt a bit relieved. A new hire who’s not under Sage’s auspices, she thought. Some relief for you, Sabine. Is it petty to think that? Maybe, but it’s nice…

“Then we accept you in turn,” Brimstone said, reaching out for a handshake to seal the deal. Tayane cautiously extended her own arm, clearly still not entirely sold on the Protocol’s offering but deciding it was the better option - or, more likely, the lesser evil. “You will have a room and all necessary amenities set up. We’ll help you get acquainted with the protocol schedule.”

“Meals are free for all,” Viper noted dryly. “So if you’re hungry-”

“I think I can figure it out for myself,” Tayane said, shaking her head. “It sounds like an extended day camp. How hard can it be?”

And with that, she was off, skipping back out the way she came. Brimstone and Viper exchanged looks. 

“What are you thinking?” She asked him first, beating him to the punch.

“I think she’ll turn out to be great at blowing things up, once she has some training.”

“Oh, you think the criminal with a lifelong history of explosives needs training?”

“You could have objected, Viper.”

“The fact that I didn’t speaks volumes.”

She had reservations; she always had reservations. That was just a defining trait of her, learned from life experience. And yet, there was something about Tayane Alves that belayed those reservations; and Viper was willing to give her a chance, if only because she had come this far willingly.

“You will provide her with training and support as you’ve done for Killjoy,” Brimstone said, packing up his materials and stuffing Tayane’s records back into the appropriate folder. “I expect you’ll have no issue with that?”

“We’ll see.”

“You’re hard to gauge sometimes, Viper. I’m not sure if you-”

“Brimstone, you said it yourself. She’ll turn out to be great. We just need time and effort.”

“Right. Okay then. Thank you, Viper.”

Her left here there where she remained for a bit, pondering over the new hires. There was just one still missing - and the whereabouts of that one, nobody knew. 

Sage’s fifth. The Korean girl. Where could she be? Viper sensed this question would soon be resolved, but she might not like the answer.

“Dr. Callas. Good morning.”

The scene was the same she had been told to expect: sterile surroundings, bright lights, judgmental stares. Everything was as she expected, with one single exception. That exception beamed at her and waved her in, offering her a friendly nod before the assessment began.

“Dr. Sabine Callas. Three year tenure at Kingdom Fabrications, immediately after graduating from Caltech.”

She did not confirm nor deny this part of the assessment. They knew everything they needed to know already. They were simply gauging her reaction, and likely for their own amusement. She allowed the anger that resulted from being played with like a toy doll to settle in her stomach and simmer down rather, knowing it could not under any circumstances boil over. Her face was a plaster mask; impassive, expressionless, ready to be painted however they pleased.

“Top marks, first-level finalist in capstone projects. Glowing reviews from all parties. Not a single disciplinary action on record.”

The woman smiled again, and Sabine caught her eye. Who was she? Sabine had never seen her at Kingdom before. Surely, being in this room among such lofty peers, she was not an assistant or secretary, much less a new hire. She was somebody far loftier. Could Sabine ever sit in that chair?

“Your work was hailed as groundbreaking in the field of materials science analysis. But you knew that already, didn’t you? Expressly cited on your hire letter…almost three years ago to the day.”

Three years ago to the day. She had situated herself in front of a scowling man with a thick neck and thick-rimmed glasses who had gruffly welcomed her aboard. She had not felt welcomed, but the invitation was genuine; she joined the ranks of Kingdom Fabrications a week later, making the same entrance she always had - silent, austere.

“You worked with four different managers during your tenure here. Two departments…one department merger…two separate promotions…six course commendations-”

“Is this going somewhere?”

She spoke for the first time, interrupting his readout. The woman’s smile faded. The man next to him coughed abruptly, shifting uneasily in his seat. The speaker, the man in the middle, the man who was next to determine her fate, sighed and removed his glasses, shuffling the readout aside as if to abandon it.

“Dr. Callas, with all due honesty, it is not often that someone of your caliber walks through our doors.”

“Okay.”

“There is no okay about it. You are a unique case. We’ve struggled with how to handle you for the better part of the past year.”

“Okay. And?”

She was not in the business of ‘faffing about’, as her mother used to call it. They were going somewhere, but they were taking their sweet time about it. She bit her lip and grit her teeth and endured as long as she could, but now she was reaching a boiling point. They were wasting her time. What was this?

Now, the woman spoke. She smiled again, but there was no joy in the shine of her pearly leer. “Dr. Callas,” she said. “If I may.”

“You may.”

“Dr. Nanette McFadden. Tell me, Dr. Callas. Do you feel challenged in your current line of work?”

They had stuck her deep in Materials Analysis, where an unending stream of experiments with heavy metals was laying bare the department’s obsession with discovering America’s next nuclear marvel. She processed electron transit paths and atomic weight disparities and inertial dampers day in and day out, executing the same batch of tests on different compounds in slightly variable atmospheres. 

“No, I do not feel challenged.”

“Great.” Great? “Second question. Do you hold disdain for your superiors?”

What kinds of questions were these? Sabine had many times over wondered what the thought processes of her bosses were. Sometimes they came up with the most harebrained schemes, the most inane ideas, all in the service of raising more capital for the department with little consideration of actual results…

“Sometimes. Yes.”

“Excellent. Last question. Do you enjoy working for Kingdom as a whole?”

She had worked for Kingdom for three years. Four managers, two departments, one merger, two promotions.

“No.”

No, she did not really. She was not where she wanted to be. She wondered, briefly, if this were an exit interview disguised as something else, and she were about to be shown the door to find herself taking her talents elsewhere. Certainly, the grim faces of the two men in tight-fitting gray jackets would have convinced her of that. But Nanette - or rather, Dr. McFadden - only smiled broadly, and cupped her hands against her chest.

“Then I think you’ll make a fine addition to Force Green, Dr. Callas,” she said.

“Force Green?”

“Are you with us, or not? This is your decision. Entirely up to you.”

This was neither a promotion, nor a punishment. She realized that now. This was something else entirely - another horizon, yawning up before her, another unknown future waiting for her to take a chance? Or a trap, a pitfall, a risk she couldn’t afford to take? It was a roll of the dice.

“I’m with you.”

Dr. McFadden nodded and made a very small checkmark in the final box.

Chapter Text

Han Sunwoo would have to wait, for the occurrence of a second blackout event had shoved the entire Protocol into Code Orange , which while not yet a declaration of disaster suggested that they were on the precipice of something serious. Heightened awareness was an absolute must around-the-clock, and every pair of eyes and ears needed to be extra vigilant as the world took a deep breath.

Brimstone had his pet theories, and Sage talked nonstop about how they should use her radiants to track the origin of these blackouts and hunt them down. Meanwhile Viper was the only one who seemed to not only have a plan of action, but a means to execute it. 

And so she hopped on a rickety, decades-old turboprop plane in Lagos and prayed for her good health and fortune over the course of the three hours it took to reach N’Djamena, where she had never been more grateful to feel hard concrete and hot asphalt beneath her feet. 

She checked into her hotel and put her spare cash up front with the concierge, safe and sound. She unpacked only what she needed for the first night - nothing more, nothing less. She sent a single brief message to Brimstone - ARRIVED - and then stepped out to hail a taxi.

Five years ago, on the cusp of the First Light, N’Djamena had languished in the shadow of government malpractice and civil war, its suburbs choked with desperate refugees and its streets potholed and filthy. Chad had been on the brink of failing as a country, with even the most optimistic projections predicting impending collapse. Nobody thought the nation had a future worth looking forward to.

Now, five years later, her taxi zipped past brand-new madrasahs that baked under the relentless afternoon sun, glittering storefronts that advertised all manner of European and East Asian consumer goods that would have once been unattainable for even the richest of the national elite, and lines of new cars parked on the streets that could have rolled out of the factory floor yesterday by the looks of them. The medians of the city’s broad boulevards were now lined with freshly-planted trees and native shrubbery, and the streets were recently paved and widened, with streetlights and signs planted at even intervals. 

The passage of time strikes differently for all, she mused, remembering a line from a book that used to be her favorite comfort item during those long winter nights where her mother had stayed up all night watching TV, asleep in her chair. As far as N’Djamena was concerned, the passage of time had apparently been quite generous; but how this all came to be, Viper did not understand. There had been a sea change beyond her wildest expectations.

She didn’t need to travel too far to find who she was looking for here. The moment she heard that large stockpiles of gray-market Soviet weaponry had been funneling into Chad, she knew who was involved; and the moment she heard that he could be in country, she bought tickets for the first flight over. Now, it was just a matter of picking the right location, and Viper’s gut told her the less reputable hookah bars of the city’s ring suburbs would be the first place to go looking.

Her first stop was a dismal failure; there was hardly anything living and breathing in the entire establishment, much less the man she was looking for. Frustrated, but hardly defeated, she handed a dollar bill over to the wary-eyed proprietor to settle his misgivings and then beat a hasty retreat back out onto the street to await the next taxi. 

Her second destination was far more promising from the start. A line-up of bright white plastic chairs along the façade of the squat building was completely filled by men of all ages, holding hookah pipes and watching the traffic before them with a mix of interest and suspicion. All eyes fell on her the moment she stepped out of the taxi and strode in, disregarding them as mere window dressing for the establishment. 

He’s definitely here, she immediately realized. This is his kind of place. It’s only a matter of how deep I need to dig to find him.

In contrast to the bright, well-lit, even gaudy spaces that adjoined the renovated international airport closer to downtown N’Djamena, this complex was poorly lit and even more poorly ventilated, no doubt purposeful design choices in pursuit of a particular aesthetic. This was not a club for the nouveau riche of the up-and-coming country to flaunt their wealth among their peers; this was a local venue with local services, and a particularly exclusionary sentiment. Anticipating this, Viper had planned ahead before leaving the States.

“What’s your deal?” The building’s proprietor studied the dollar bills she held in hand, then studied her, as if trying to sort out exactly what he should be offering. He wasn’t explicitly rude, but she could feel the burn of his cold shoulder even in the heat of the hookah club’s stuffy anteroom.

“Looking for somebody,” she said, brusquely.

He shook his head. “We don’t serve the state here. I’m not your lackey.”

“Then do you serve this?”

She extended a few more dollar bills, the universal language of the modern world. The man kept his cool, but she could see the sweat breaking out on the crown of his forehead, indicating her victory was at hand.

“Many customers come in and out at all hours,” he said, as vague as possible - after all, giving names out was bad for business even if you were being paid. “You will need to be-”

“Dutchman. Tall. Stocky. Salt-and-pepper beard. Balding. Has a unique swagger.”

That should be pretty hard to dodge, little man. And he did his best, wavering like a snake considering the strike while hoping it can still retreat. 

“He is here often,” the man said. “Though I know not if he is right this-”

“An extra five dollars if you lead me straight to him,” Viper said, a promise she could keep. “I’m not here to settle something. It’s information I’m seeking. I will make it worth the cost. And I will not cause trouble.”

The man’s resolve was broken; the promise of extra money was too hard to ignore. He pocketed her bills, with thinly-veiled disgust for her unfazed determination, and led her back into the establishment where creaky wooden doors separated a world of smoke and mirrors from the general public.

A good, clean hookah club would have organized equipment, discrete booths, swept floors, and airy spaces for the enjoyment of all patrons; this was decidedly not a good, clean hookah club. Judging by the patrons and the crowd, it served its purpose all the same, awash with all manner of shisha brands and full with the smells of rich, well-grilled lamb and greasy goat meat piled high on beds of rice and fennel that covered enormous party platters. The food was fresh and the drinks were flowing and the air was thick with tobacco-laced haze, and Viper allowed herself to relax as she was led to a small private room at the back where a familiar Dutchman sat, permeating the ottoman cushion with his unique swagger. 

“A visitor for you,” said the club proprietor, visibly nervous now. “She insisted.”

“I’m not accepting visitors,” he said, gruffly, “but for this one I’ll make an exception.”

“Hello, Graeme.”

“Make this quick, old friend.”

Graeme Steensbroek was not alarmed by her sudden, unexpected appearance, even if he should be. Graeme had a way of measuring his reactions carefully; it was how he had endured so long in this business, she would wager, and she on some level admired him for it. Nevertheless, she would not call him a friend in turn, not after all they had been through in the years before she joined Valorant.

“I had an inkling I would find you here in Chad,” she said, taking a seat of her own accord.

“Always a smart one, Sabine,” he said. “Step out, gentlemen. She’s clear.”

The two armed men who flanked him, clearly not locals, did as they were ordered. They remained just outside the door to the private booth, flanking the entrance, ready to jump at a moment’s notice. Even with the door closed, she could feel their presence - they were almost certainly listening, too. 

Be very careful how you phrase your thoughts. You have no backup here.

“How much of all this is your doing?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Graeme. Don’t fiddle with me.”

“I am a man of business,” Graeme said, as though innocent. “Where business goes, I follow.”

“The war is over,” Viper said, undeterred. “The coup was five years ago, and all that seems to have passed on into the history books. So that begs my previous question.”

“A man can’t travel freely to enjoy all the sights this world has to offer?” Graeme reached over for the hookah pipe and took a heavy, meaty drag off of it, then smiled. “Liberty is a gift. Allowed to go to waste, it withers and rots away and cannot be cherished again without great sacrifice to revive it.”

“Graeme, if I had my way, the only place you’d be is a pine box six feet under.”

“Hmm. No coffin? That’s mighty cold of you.”

“I remember Beirut,” Viper snapped. She was losing her composure in her desperation; keep it cool, Sabine. Remember, no backup. “That wasn’t so long ago, either. Have you forgotten?”

“Of course I don’t forget old acquaintances. I have much cause to regret how that unfolded. But the past is past, Sabine. If you’ve come to open that old wound again, I suggest you step out and part ways before this turns ugly.”

“As luck would have it, I’m not here for that.” She leaned in, trying to evade the eavesdroppers on the other side of the door. “I’m looking forward, and I need your help.”

Graeme could have laughed her out of the room at that moment, but he sat there in silence, contemplative. He nodded. 

“Alright then,” he said, sitting up in the chair, business-like. “You’ve come this far. I’ll do what I can, if only out of respect for you.”

“Don’t sugarcoat me,” she said. “If you give me evasive answers, I’ll not soon forget them.”

“That would depend on the manner of your questions.”

“You know I don’t waste time, Graeme. Give me ten minutes, tops.”

“Alright then. Granted.”

She drew her trump card first, hoping it would pave the way for further queries. The “gift” that had been left for her was practically untouched; she had retrieved it from the evidence locker when nobody was looking, and nobody seemed interested in coming to look for it. Two enormous bullets, wrapped in gold foil; it still had no meaning to her, a mere token of a strange assailant. Graeme shifted in his seat, uneasy, as she produced it.

“You recognize this, don’t you?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Lies don’t suit you, Graeme.”

“And if I told you the truth? What then?”

“Then I’d be comfortable in the knowledge that I know a bit more about a man who wants to kill me.”

She pushed the gold leaf closer to him, shifting it slowly across the table that separated them. His eyes followed her fingers as they danced atop the bullets, his discomfort evident.

“He goes by the code name of Chamber, but he does an excellent job at masking his identity,” she said, knowing that Graeme was likely already aware of all this. “Frenchman by origin. A globe trotter in his career. A dangerous man.”

“Sounds like it.”

“He tried to kill me, Graeme. This isn’t personal, but I can’t just shrug that off. So what say you?”

“I do have some information for you,” he decided, considering his options carefully.

“Wonderful.”

“It comes at a cost, though.”

“Name your price.”

“Information, Callas. Don’t bother pulling those greenbacks out. I want information.”

“That’s a hefty price.”

He smiled. “So you know what I’m looking for?”

“Of course I do. And the answer is no.”

“Then I’m afraid we don’t have a deal.”

This may be a personal crusade for her, but she had her limits. Selling out the Valorant Protocol, even if she was unhappy about its current trajectory, was not an option on the table. Graeme had tried to play his hand, and failed, but that meant Viper would not be walking out of this room with anything resembling a lead. The effort was, for better or for worse, dead in the water.

“Is that all, then?” Graeme asked, sensing her defeatist attitude.

“Unless you’re willing to do some charity work…”

Graeme only laughed. “I’m a businessman, Sabine,” he said, taking another slow drag off the hookah pipe. “I don’t hand out freebies unless there’s profit to follow.”

“You are a symptom of some great global sickness, Graeme.”

“Kind of you to think I’m that lofty. I just follow the tide, Sabine. You do too, in other ways, even if you think you’re in the lead.”

“Are we done here, then?”

“I suppose we are, unless you’ve had a change of heart.”

She left the Dutchman with a curt nod and burst out the way she had come, not chancing a look back to see if the bodyguards were following her. 

Stubborn Dutch bastard. What had she been expecting, anyway? That the grizzled ex-con who’d served his time in the world’s roughest security outfits before entering the business of dumping weapons into war zones was going to…do what, exactly? Help her for free? Give away the names of people who were likely his clients, or were at least connected with his clients? Offer her everything she wanted on a silver platter, just because she was a pretty woman who had a way with words?

Charity work was right, Sabine. You overplayed your hand here. All the same, it was worth a shot, given how few leads she had. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

She decided it was time to withdraw from the less amiable districts of the city and retreat to the comforts of the hotel she had booked for her stay, back when she had anticipated needing more time here. If there was a flight out of the country tonight, she would take it, for there was no further reason for her to be here.

She enjoyed the luxuries of the hotel while she could, bathing and shaving and packing and taking her time. According to the concierge, the next flight to Lagos was that night, and she booked a ticket the moment she heard the words out of his mouth. A few hours of anxious waiting later and she was ready to rush out the door with the pithy collection of personal items she had packed.

A host of taxis were already waiting for her, a veritable sea of old Soviet steel intermixed with newer models that advertised higher rates and luxury comforts. One in particular seemed to be practically crying out for her attention - it was a sleek black Lincoln Continental, kitted out and brand new, a gleaming idol in a sea of banal Ladas and aging Chevrolets. It was quite literally crying out for her attention, too; the driver had stepped out of the vehicle and was waving her over excitedly the moment he spotted her in the crowd of people gathered outside the hotel. She wondered, at first, if he was motioning to someone else; then he approached her.

“Parlez-vous français, madame? ”

“Non, non.” Her French was more passable than that, but she was too tired to put effort into it now if she didn’t need to.

“No worries,” the driver said, instantly switching to English without hesitation. “For you, the finest. Airport?”

“Yes…?”

“Only the finest,” he repeated, insistent. “Travel in comfort with us…”

He pointed to the Continental again, which was emblazoned with the sleek logo of a local transportation company. She had to admit, it did beat the other taxis by orders of magnitude, and the air conditioning he promised would have been a pleasant relief. Accepting his price, she followed him out to the curb and allowed herself to be admitted into the back of the vehicle, where elegant leather seats and abundant legroom awaited her. The chauffeur took her luggage and slotted it efficiently into the rear of the vehicle, then came back around to her.

“One moment, please,” he insisted. “I need to speak with the concierge. Two minutes? Can you wait?”

She nodded. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she couldn’t; besides, it was pleasant in here. The air conditioning was cranked up, the seats were comfortable, and the windows were tinted to allow her to disengage with passerby. There was only one lingering thought keeping her from allowing herself to breathe easily…

Fuck. The cash.

She had stowed nearly $500 in spare bills with the hotel concierge, requesting they be sealed away in the concierge safe in case of emergency. In her rush to depart, her objective having failed, she had nearly forgotten it was with the front desk personnel. If the chauffeur had waited just five seconds more, she could have asked him…

No, better that you didn’t. Do these things yourself, Sabine. Don’t let yourself get comfortable. And so, wondering if it were wise to leave the car running and unoccupied (then remembering it wasn’t her car, and she didn’t really care what happened to it), she stepped out and raced back into the hotel.

The chauffeur stared at her like a cow chewing its cud, his eyes dull and glassy, as though not quite believing what he was seeing. When he recognized her, his eyes widened and he stepped back from the counter, in obvious shock.

“Please stay with the car, madame-”

“I forgot something.” She brushed past him, ignoring his demands. “It’ll take a second, just-”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence before the shockwave hit her. She thought at first she had been shoved in the back, with such unexpected force that it sent her tumbling against the marbled facade of the hotel desk. Then came the noise, followed by the heat, followed by a deafening ring in her ears that drowned everything else out and emptied the world around her. 

For several seconds, she was completely paralyzed, and wondered if she had just been killed. But she felt the heat still, and the sting of shattered glass on the back of her neck and hands, and the hard and unforgiving floor beneath her, and realized she was still alive - and relatively unhurt, though her entire body ached as though she had just been hit by a truck.

The Lincoln Continental was in flames - the windows of every other vehicle, as well as the hotel’s façade, had been completely blown out with incredible force, scattering glass all across the tiled floor of the lobby. Flames licked the hot air greedily and the stench of burning rubber and gasoline assaulted her nose as she sat up and forced herself to get on her feet, her legs like jelly and her mouth dry and dusty.

The chauffeur was nowhere to be seen. He had vanished into thin air the moment he could, telling her everything she needed to know about his intentions.

Was it Graeme? She thought that, at first; he was pissed, didn’t like her snooping around, and had decided to send a message. But this wasn’t the kind of message Graeme Steensbroek would have chosen to send; it was hardly a message at all, really. The car bomb had been designed to annihilate her as she waited in oblivious comfort for her chauffeur to return, which he never intended to do. It was the closest shave she had to death since…well, actually it hadn’t been that long. You and he are quite acquainted, and have been for some time, so this ought to be nothing new for you. Still, she was shaken by how just thirty seconds had made a difference between life and death. If she had waited a bit longer, or hadn’t remembered the money, she wouldn’t be here to ponder that crucial question.

So, was it Graeme?

As she stood in the rubble-strewn lobby, watching the Continental burn and listening to sirens wail in the distance while the hotel staff scrambled to assess the situation and find a way to extinguish the flaming wreckage, she decided it was not.

It’s not Graeme’s style. He might be an amoral, conniving dickhead of a weapons dealer who would sell your soul for a penny, but he wasn’t the kind to kill outright unless you crossed him deliberately. 

If Graeme wanted me out of the country, a friendly warning delivered within earshot would have sufficed. Whoever this was didn’t want her out of the country; they wanted her dead, and immediately.

I know who this is,  then. At the very least, she had a good guess - and she sensed it was related to two bullets wrapped in gold foil, a message meant for her and her alone. So there was a game afoot, and she was the player.

The sirens were still crying and her ears continued to ring with a lingering hum as a different taxi, a meek and mundane Lada, quietly pulled up to the curb as though the twisted wreckage of a devastated car weren’t sitting right there like a portent of doom. She hesitantly hailed it, silently handed a dollar bill over to the driver, and then they were racing off towards the airport as a hot, heavy, languid twilight settled on the N’Djamena she left behind.

Chapter Text

Viper was wholly unused to the concept of sharing her coffee machine with other people. For the better part of the last almost four years, she had woken up early in the morning, gone through her simple routine, tucked her lighter and a pack of cigarettes into her shirt pocket, and beelined for the nearest source of coffee. The hallways were dark, the mess hall was empty, and the coffee machine was all hers.

Now, laughter and high-pitched voices precluded that level of comfort in her routine. Though they had been with the Protocol for nearly a month, they were still virtual strangers to her. She winced as a particularly raucous round of laughter rang in her ears just as she prepared to step inside the mess hall, and she had to step back and take a deep breath and mentally gird herself for the momentous effort of socialization. 

They are your colleagues, she reminded herself sternly. You treat them as such.

But then, she remembered the circumstances that had brought them to her door.

They are Sage’s little pet project. They will never be equals to you. Don’t treat them as such.

The door opened of its own accord and the blue-haired agent nearly ran right into Viper’s chest. Viper struggled to remember her name - Neon , that sounded right. They had not spoken a single word to each other since Neon had arrived, and that didn’t appear set to change anytime soon. Neon, upon realizing who she was faced with, hastily averted her eyes and awkwardly slid past, half-walking half-jogging down the hall and out of sight before Viper could even call her name out.

She doesn’t like you, and you don’t have to like her. That’s that. The blue-haired agent had already disappeared out of view, no longer relevant to Viper’s morning. There were still other social barriers to overcome, though, and one of them was already staring Viper down.

She had yet to figure out what to make of the Australian who went by the codename Skye . The redhead was sardonic and fiery, yet she had exhibited impressive discipline and endurance over the course of her training regimen. Viper had assumed she would drown the moment reality hit, but she had managed to stay afloat and even swim in spite of the difficult tests being thrown at her. She took it all in stride and always had a witty comment to offer; this morning was no exception.

“Oi, tall dark and handsome! Here to fight for your morning joe again?”

“Not unless you want to.”

“I wouldn’t mind a good scrap. Gets the blood up in the morning, hey!?”

Skye was teasing, but Viper would drag her to the floor if she were standing in the way of the coffee dispenser. Luckily, everyone had quickly realized that blocking Viper from her caffeine was generally unwise, and dispersed appropriately. She planted her thermos beneath the spigot and watched as the holy concoction flowed, eavesdropping on the conversation of the others as they reassembled at one of the tables to whisper over their breakfast.

“What’s with the stick up her arse?” Phoenix, who Viper had decided was one of her least favorite people at the base, sparked the conversation. “I hardly say two words to her and she glares at me like it’s death…”

“She’s just antisocial,” said Skye, dismissive. “Let her do as she pleases. She’s second-in-command here, anyhow.”

“You’d think someone in charge would be a bit more agreeable,” Phoenix grumbled.

“What’s it to you, anyway? You barely interact with her, bro.” 

“It’s the way she looks at me, Gekko. You see the way she looks at you?”

“Sure, yeah. But I just straight-up don’t care. That’s how I get over it.”

The green-haired youth, Gekko, had an arrogant air about him that rendered him little more than an overgrown teenager in her eyes. Viper could not see a future in which Gekko was a functioning, useful member of the Protocol - he would wash out before long. 

“You know, it’s funny,” Phoenix said. “Right when we got here, she gave us a lecture about good behavior…professionalism…whatever happened to that?”

“Double standards, yeah,” Gekko agreed.

“I’m just sayin’, it’s not a good look. Why should we listen if she doesn’t follow her own orders?”

“You know, Sage was saying different things,” Gekko said. “She was talking about…I dunno, some of the rules she told us were different.”

“Maybe they just don’t agree on everything.”

“Bad form, man. Bad form.”

At that point they must have realized she was listening in, for their changed the subject and Viper departed for her lab, chafed. She needed a smoke, but her workload had been piling up and she couldn’t afford to waste time this week. There was plenty that needed to be done, especially in light of her failure to uncover anything useful during her visit to Chad. 

Her workspace had evolved over the last two months from a dingy, poorly-lit hole-in-the-wall into something resembling a genuine laboratory, with all manner of cutting edge technology installed and enough space for anything extra that she wanted. Brimstone had reassured her that “budget was not a problem”, and in spite of her reservations about overspending, she had steadily requested additional resources until she felt that she had what she needed to do her most important work.

Her most important work, besides finding out why exactly this Chamber was so intent on killing her, was sequestered in the rearmost compartment of her lab space, behind five heavy steel bulkheads and security so advanced it was practically impossible for anyone but her to enter, no matter their attempted method. 

Budget was not a problem, she thought with a chuckle, as she passed through the first layer of biometrics and moved into the first decontamination chamber. No expense had been spared, and while it took her a good five minutes to move through every step, she knew it was worth the extra effort when she gazed upon the purgation chamber.

It would not be entirely incorrect to say that the entire basement level of the complex were built around this single room. It hadn’t been designed that way originally, but as development continued, the need for a secure location for purgation only grew, and the end result was this veritable bunker stuffed full of bleeding-edge equipment designed to monitor, purify, and ionize the crown jewel of her collection.

Magnificent, isn’t it still? It never grows old as the apple of your eye . Seven kilograms of radianite did not sound like much to the uninformed listener, but it was worth its weight in gold and then some. Locked into an advanced receptacle that sustained its purified form within a powerful magnetic field, those seven kilograms glittered in impossible ways under even the barest amount of light. Once upon a time, those seven had been fifteen, and Viper had foreseen endless possibilities. But their continual failure to discover more sources of radianite had forced her to restrict her experiments as much as possible and draw out their stockpile, and even then their radianite had been halved in less than a year.

How much more time do we have? The demand for experimentation and tests was only growing, and their supply shrinking at an alarming rate. The current environment was utterly unsustainable, and yet they had no leads whatsoever.

And so Viper did what she always did: she turned the lights on, fired up her machines, calibrated her samplers, and got to work with what she had. Time’s arrow sailed in only one direction, and the demands of powerful men only weighed more heavily on her with each passing day. She had no choice but to whittle down her precious sample piece by piece and continue to hope and pray for more. 

She was nothing if not diligent, attending to her scheduled experiments and running each test thoroughly, checking all her boxes and ensuring perfect adherence to protocol. There were so many different projects requiring purgation of impurities, and each one would require trace amounts of radianite, thus reducing her stockpile further and further. 

Killjoy needs radianite ions to upgrade the chips on her new…thing. Thing? What did she call it? Alarmbot. Whatever it is, she needs containerized material…

Brimstone said he wanted a new test run of radian-nanochips for in-house use. And how much will that take?

Didn’t we also have a request for samples from MI6? Don’t they run their own program? Why do they ask me for- oh, yes. They ran out of radianite. That’s why they ask me.

So much to think about, and so much to do, and the clock ticked by with little regard for her own perception of the passage of time. Before long it was six in the evening, and she had skipped lunch and was considering skipping dinner, imagining herself a miracle machine that didn’t require fuel to operate. Of course that was untrue, but she was no stranger to skipping meals in pursuit of work - though, she did need coffee and a cigarette. She was beginning to feel the haze develop around the contours of her vision as her mind protested against the emptiness and lack of stimulation, and she knew it would only worsen with time. Sighing and resigning herself to her limitations, she switched the samplers into rest mode, turned off her machines, and flipped the lights, leaving a number of projects for another day.

6.9 kilograms of radianite remained. Time was against her.

The nightmares had finally abated, but Viper, ever the pessimist, found reason to lament even that. The comforting images of Reyna, whose calm magenta eyes and soft reassuring smile had soothed her even in the most animated nightmares that she suffered, could no longer be summoned. All that remained was a vague specter of a woman, intangible and distant, stalking the fringes of her dreams and calling out to her from somewhere Viper could not reach.

The experience had left her drained and overall she was grateful for the ability to get a good night’s sleep again. Those remained few and far between, though, as the Protocol maintained “Code Orange” and the work never seemed to end. If it wasn’t administrative paperwork, which included a vast body of work for Sage’s new recruits that Viper was obliged to complete, it was her labwork and all of the miscellanea that came with it.

She checked the purgation chamber’s readouts and scowled.

6.7? Already? It’s been only two days…

She had been using nearly 100 grams of radianite a day to fulfill various requests and experimental preparations, some of them hers. At this rate of attrition, she would be out of radianite in less than three months. 

There has to be a way to stretch this out more. There has to be. And yet, that’s exactly what she had been striving to do for years: endless purification processes, various experimental techniques, and a constant emphasis on precision had allowed her to get to this point. But the sample was whittled down day by day, demand was only increasing, and time was running out.

There was a flashing light on her control monitor. Not the bad kind of flashing light, but the good kind, the kind that didn’t get her heart racing and her mind spinning. It was someone asking for access to her lab space. She drew in a deep breath, steadying her racing heart as it flailed about wildly in a sea of caffeine and nicotine, then granted access and withdrew herself to meet the visitor.

Nobody, save for teams of workmen and architects, had seen the innermost chambers of Viper’s lab. Visitors would wait at the exit to the decontamination chamber, where a couple of simple chairs had been provided for their comfort, and since visitors were few and far between they saw little use. Today, Killjoy had opted to stand; she appeared nervous, as though bearing bad news.

“Sorry for the unannounced visit,” she apologized, her voice catching in her throat and turning into a squeak. “I, uh…thought I should check up on…our projects-”

“You need radianite, don’t you?”

Killjoy nodded. She knows. That was why she was so hesitant, so nervous. 

“You’re making great progress,” she reassured Killjoy. “It’s for a good cause.”

“Is it really?”

“We need to upgrade our weapons and systems. You’re doing it ten times faster than anyone else could.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Killjoy’s lack of enthusiasm would not slow her work effort down, but it troubled Viper all the same. She thought back to their conversation in Frankfurt - and how Killjoy had vehemently denied their shared reality. Viper wondered if there could have been a better way for her to communicate her beliefs.

We have a duty to maintain our status quo. It was crystal clear to her. Why didn’t Killjoy understand?

“Killjoy. If I may.”

“Yes?”

She was still waiting there in the half-decorated lobby, which wasn’t really a lobby, and frankly shouldn’t even exist. She appeared genuinely uncomfortable, as though waiting for the first opportunity to turn and run when Viper wasn’t looking.

“You don’t have to take on all these projects.”

“Brimstone insisted I should. Said I need to put my workspace to good use.”

“I can help you.”

“You’re already busy enough, Viper. Don’t worry about me.”

But you hate this, she wanted to say. You hate this work, and I can see it plain as day, and I don’t want you to feel this way. But she also wanted to say that this was Killjoy’s duty, and duty was inescapable. She wasn’t obligated to enjoy it; but she was obligated to do what must be done. It was a simple maxim, and an ineluctable one.

“Killjoy.”

“Hmm?”

Killjoy had been fiddling with the zipper of her oversized bumblebee-yellow jacket, which was adorned with a variety of buttons and miscellaneous graphic items she had collected over the years. She stamped her feet, as though offering a challenge.

“I know you find this work unpleasant.”

“No, it’s not that-”

“It is that. I can see it in your eyes. In your stance. The way you speak, even.”

Mousy. Squeaky. Nervous. Uncomfortable. 

“I just want you to know that you’re doing the right thing. We need our weapons. We need our security. We need deterrence. Make no mistake that you’re doing the right thing.”

Something subtle shifted in Killjoy’s eyes. Was that a flash of anger? Or was it, perhaps, fear? Fear of what? Fear of me?

“Thanks, Viper.” There was no gratitude there. “I’ll, uh…get back to it.”

“I’ll get you your samples later today. They’ll take a couple hours.”

“Of course.”

And then Killjoy, averting her eyes from meeting hers, beat a hasty retreat back through the decontamination chamber and into the cold embrace of the Protocol’s empty, lifeless labyrinth. Viper watched her go with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

It took her a moment to realize this was hunger. You haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Her body was constantly reminding her of stupid little necessities like this, and it annoyed her to no end. Unfortunately, she had little choice but to cave to its whims and satisfy herself, and so she abandoned her efforts (only temporarily) and stalked down to the mess hall to find something, anything to eat so she could keep working.

She prayed the mess hall would be empty. Naturally, it wasn’t; why would it be empty, at noon, just after the new recruits had finished their morning training regimen? Her hopes had materialized only to be immediately crushed by the bright, ferocious eyes of a redheaded Australian landing on her the moment she entered. 

“Tall dark and handsome,” she crooned, grinning. “Ran out of coffee, eh? Took you long enough.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Skye’s grin did not fade. “Just messin’ with you,” she said, as though they were best friends ragging on each other and had known each other for years instead of being literal strangers.

“I’d prefer you don’t,” Viper shot back.

“Fine then. Have it your way…go on and get your joe…”

Viper scoffed, but something about Skye’s attitude rubbed her the wrong way. Not in the sense that Viper felt provoked by her; rather, she felt weirdly culpable for the way Skye was treating her. Could it be that Viper’s own attitude towards somebody she had just met was the problem? That felt weird to admit, and she pondered over it with a churning sensation in her gut (not hunger now) as she watched her thermos refill like a hungry wolf waiting for prey to roll over and accept defeat. 

Somewhere in-between slamming her thermos down and taking a gulp of boiling hot black coffee, she decided she would apologize to Skye.

She was lucky enough to find Skye apart from her peers, who had gone back to grab seconds for lunch and were already excitedly chattering among themselves about dinner plans. Skye was still at her table, and watched Viper’s approach with a mix of mute curiosity and veiled concern. 

“Got something to say to my face, eh?” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Well if you- you’re sorry?”

“For being rude. To you. I’ve been rude. So, I’m sorry.”

“...oh. Well, alright then?”

The words had inched out of her mouth, slow and stuttered, hesitant to expose themselves to further mockery from Skye. But Skye believed her, somehow. 

“I accept your apology,” she said, “though, I really must say, I’m concerned about your caffeine intake-”

“Don’t be. Not your business.”

Skye inhaled sharply. “Alright, then. Fair enough.”

Viper broke off before she could do any damage to their newfound cordiality, already slipping back into old habits. She didn’t hate any of them, but one could be forgiven for thinking she did given how she treated them. 

I’m not a hateful person, she wanted to say, as though explaining everything to an angry mob. They are just impediments to me. They’re in my way. But it’s not their fault. She knew who was at fault. 

Sage was still on her mind as she marched into Brimstone’s office and sat down. He had spent most of the morning reading, judging by the vast amount of paperwork in assorted dossiers tossed haphazardly on his desk. Three empty coffee mugs perfected the scene.

“Our fifth recruit has dodged us for nearly two weeks now,” he said, summarizing the situation for her succinctly. “No more. We have her location.”

“What are we waiting for, then?”

“More information. We believe she may be more dangerous than we anticipated.”

“And who failed to anticipate that, hmm?”

Sage. 

Brimstone was always unwilling to say it. Viper was the one who had to do that dirty work, and it increasingly chafed her. 

“Viper…”

“Brimstone, don’t start with me.”

“These things happen.”

“Oh do they? They’re happening quite often.”

“Sage is not at fault for this.”

“Then tell me who-”

“I am.”

Brimstone grumbled and ran a hand through his buzz-cut hair. The dossiers splayed across his desk evidently had been frustrating him.

“The other four were so easy, I had imagined the fifth would be no problem. Suffice to say, my hubris got the better of me.”

“We can’t know everything, Brimstone.”

“We should try. Otherwise, we end up in situations like this.”

“And what is this?”

He handed one of the dossiers across the desk to her and let her read at her leisure. The summary was enough information for her; she judged it likely that Han Sunwoo, in spite of her youthful age and rash temperament, had pulled out several stops to dodge their efforts to catch her and had even managed to flee her home country, ending up in Vietnam. That was the part that surprised Viper the most, for they had made a serious effort to coordinate with South Korean law enforcement departments across the country to track her down. The fact that she had escaped spoke volumes about her resourcefulness and grit.

“I never imagined she were capable like this either,” Viper admitted.

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, it won’t be that easy.” He laughed.

“No. Just an observation,” she said. “She’s resourceful. What do we have on her now?”

“Well, Cypher has worked his magic and pulled on his network. He’s tracked her to a glum little suburb of Saigon.”

Viper winced at the outdated name; Brimstone had clearly not done his homework, in spite of all the reading he’d been doing. Old habits die hard , she thought.

“It’s likely she has connections there. She may be tagging along with local criminals. Cypher is unsure.”

“Or maybe she’s just desperate, and jumping from city to city to escape us.”

“Or that.”

Brimstone grumbled again, troubled by his predicament. Viper knew that now was not the time to bring up her reservations about Sage, but she could at least make a dent in her program. 

“With all due respect, Brimstone, this might be a sign.”

“A sign?”

“We got lucky with the other recruits. They came willingly.”

“A testament to Sage’s persuasive rhetoric and patience in building her network.”

“A testament to luck ,” she hissed. “Sage got lucky. Let’s call a spade a spade.”

“Viper…”

“I’m not done. She got lucky with the other four. Who’s to say that luck endures? We may be stretching our necks out by going after number five. What reasons do we have not to let her go?”

In Viper’s mind, they had every reason to let Han Sunwoo go. She had already proven herself to be impetuous, shortsighted, and dangerously imprudent, leaping to the wind (quite literally) and rushing into action without forethought. In Viper’s mind, that only made her a liability, rather than an asset. In Viper’s mind, there was no reason to retrieve her.

Brimstone thought differently.

“Viper,” he said, with another grumble and another run of his hands through his thinning hair. “I know you.”

“This isn’t about Sage.”

“But it is about Sage. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

She wondered if she was supposed to laugh at that. She maintained her steely visage, hoping to wear him down, but that was a tall order. Brimstone was immovable when he had his mind set to something, and he also had a way of convincing you that his path was the right one. 

“I think this whole project will end up being a wash,” she said. “It’s not just about Sage. It’s the whole picture. We’ve taken a leap of faith, and it’s working for now. But for how long, Brimstone?”

“Who can say?”

“That does not give me confidence.”

“Let me tell you a story, then.”

“Please don’t.”

“No, no. This is a short story.” He waved his hand as if to disperse long-winded tales. “I just want you to see this the way I do.”

“Willing to crack open the bourbon for it?”

“If it weren’t a Tuesday, Viper, I would. But no.”

She grimaced, but remained seated, opting to listen. She could walk away right now, and he might understand, but… it’s not worth it . So she girded herself for an old grandpa’s tale.

“You know I served my time. Feels like a lifetime ago, now.” He laughed; it was not a pleasant laugh, but one of grim recollection. “I can hardly remember what madness drove me to West Point. But I know that when I graduated, I was on track to fulfill my life’s purpose by leading.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Yes, but I’ve not told this particular story.”

God, he does sound like a grandpa. Why did I agree to this? No backing out now, Viper. She had endured worse, and Brimstone did not make for the world’s worst storyteller; she was just acutely aware of how much she had to do, and how much she was missing by wasting time here.

“My first deployment was to North Africa, and I immediately knew I had been given the short end of someone’s stick. I had a green battalion under my command, men who had never seen combat and may as well have never fired a rifle. The weather was terrible, the terrain was uncompromising, and the locals were frightened of both sides. We were one foot in the muck and facing a suicide mission with no quarter expected or given.”

He paused here, as if expecting some dramatic reaction. At a family gathering, this might elicit some gasps and questions. But Viper was no impressionable bright-eyed youth, and held her peace while he waited.

“I knew there was no turning back. I pressed on, in spite of my reservations about our orders. When the day of attack came, I thought about ordering a retreat before the first shot was even fired. But something stopped me.”

What stopped you? That was the natural question she refused to ask. He’s the storyteller, let him tell his story , she thought. I’m not getting engaged .

“I thought about my options. And I knew the odds were slim, but you know the old saying…nothing ventured, nothing gained. So I ventured, and we carried the day against the odds. There was one thing I held onto, and that one thing gave me the strength I needed to give the order to attack and take us to victory. And if I-”

“Brimstone, what’s the point of this?”

“The point is faith, Viper.” He was unbothered by her interruption. “Faith in others. It’s often underrated, but when everything seems hopeless, sometimes that’s all you have - and all you need.”

“That’s a bit lofty for me.”

“You only say that because you’ve given me no consideration here.”

“Oh, I’m considering.”

“Have faith in Sage. Have faith in her skill. Remember, nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“You’re asking me to have faith in something unproven.”

“I am.”

She saw where this was going. She also knew that if she didn’t give some ground now, they would be having this conversation every week until she either yielded, or Sage cracked. That wasn’t a pleasant prospect. She needed to compromise here, and in such a way as to make him think his story was effective.

“That’s a fair point,” she lied. “I’d never seen it that way.”

“Sometimes another person’s experiences are impossible to know. I learned from my own experience that you have to trust one another.”

“I understand.”

“With that in mind, I’ve taken note of your concerns about Sage’s project.” That was all he ever seemed to do - take notes. I want more than notes, damnit. I want her out of the picture. This will not end well. 

“Thank you, Brim.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m closely monitoring her and meeting with her twice weekly to get a progress report from her.”

“That’s good.”

“My only request is that you let her do her work in peace, and do not try to disrupt her training regimen.”

“Of course.” I wouldn’t dream of it. Sabotage had, in fact, come to mind once or twice, but she had decided that was too dramatic of a course to take. As of right now, it was unwarranted. How long before that changed, well…that remained to be seen. It all depended on Sage.

They departed on good terms, Brimstone under the assumption that his quaint little tale had conveyed his message appropriately, and Viper comfortable in the knowledge that Brimstone would at least stay off her back about Sage for the time being. She knew it wouldn’t last, and if they were truly bent on going after Han Sunwoo, the breaking point might come sooner rather than later. But for now, she decided it would do her no good to think about that; she had a lot of work to do, after all, and time was against her.

INFORMATIONAL BULLETIN: NEWSDESK OFFICE

1800 GMT, LONDON, UK - 13TH MARCH 1980

 

Chadian authorities have reassured the public that the national political situation remains stable, following late-night rumors of a coup that resulted in brief firefights around the presidential compound. Business as usual has continued this morning in the country’s capital, N’Djamena, in the wake of a coup that has put the nation in the hands of a relatively unknown military officer, Félix Tcharekondé. Tcharekondé has already issued a public statement reassuring the nation that he holds “no political grudges”, and that the coup was executed with full support of leading political parties “in light of recent unsettling events”. 

Newsdesk analysts believe the main precipitating event was the detonation of a car bomb by unidentified parties in front of the Maison Soleil hotel near downtown N’Djamena, which killed three and injured dozens. The terror attack, which received condemnation by all political parties, shook the capital and resulted in three days of martial law. While some analysts believe this is a grim portent for the country’s stability, others dismiss it as an exceptional case of violence and firmly believe President Tcharekondé will maintain order and prosperity.

Chapter Text

“So why do they call her wind girl, anyway?” 

“Really, Phoenix?” Gekko rolled his eyes as Phoenix hung his head in embarrassment, evidently realizing it was a stupid question. “I told you to read the briefing… paraces un tonto.”

“Hey, man, I forgot to, okay? It’s been a long morning.” 

“You had a long night too, didn’t you?”

“Don’t talk to me about it.”

He rubbed his bleary eyes and blinked rapidly, then realized he was staring directly at Viper. He quickly averted his gaze, his hand going to the back of his head.

“I need not remind you that reading your briefings is mandatory for all missions,” Viper announced coldly.  “Even missions that you do not participate in.”

“It was a minor mistake.” Sage, naturally, intervened the moment she could come to the rescue of her precious pupils. “Surely you’ve made such an oversight before, Viper.”

“I would never forget such a crucial rule,” she snapped back, trying to nip this in the bud. “It is hardly a mistake. More like a gross error.”

“Well you may be perfect, but the rest of us are only human,” Sage said. 

Ironic, isn’t it? You spend so much time trying to prove otherwise. Viper said nothing, preferring an icy stalemate rather than a fiery escalation, especially in front of the new recruits. 

They were already visibly nervous, fidgeting with their clothes or tapping fingers on hard surfaces or otherwise shifting their bodies in uncomfortable ways to fight off the looming sense of dread they were all sharing. She watched as Gekko zipped, then unzipped a pocket on his satchel, over and over again; Neon next to him, still avoiding meeting Viper’s gaze, tugged idly at the straps on her vest and tapped her fingernails on the conductor plates on her forearms. Nobody spoke, for fear of casting some curse on their teammates if they broke the silence. 

“T-5 minutes until touchdown,” the VLT/R pilot announced, pairing his announcement with a sharp descent that had them all clutching at their armrests. “Hot landing zone?”

“Landing zone is clear,” Viper hissed. The descent was unpleasant, and she wondered if Brimstone had hired new pilots; thankfully, the landing was smooth and they were armed, equipped, and rolling out of the rear bay in under two minutes, glad to be on terra firma . 

“Testing. Testing.” Cypher’s scratchy, gravelly voice was barely audible over the sounds of the cityscape around her and the howl of the VLT/R’s engines; she grumbled and swore under her breath, fumbling with the device that hovered over her ear from an anchor point on her suit. “Can you hear me? Is this thing-”

“I can,” she snapped back, “barely. Speak up.”

“Well, sounds like it needs more tweaking.”

“I don’t see the appeal.”

“Killjoy seems to think it will revolutionize communications,” Cypher said. “And in a device smaller than your timepiece? I’m inclined to agree. It’s a miracle we even got them working. She’s a wunderkind, that girl-”

“Cypher, focus.”

“Right. Just testing your equipment. I’m tapping into my network now. We’ll have support on the ground, with some luck.”

“Do you think she’s caught wind of our plan?”

“Ha, I see what you did there. Caught wind.”

“Cypher.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

Cypher chuckled on the other end of the line, to Viper’s annoyance. He was thousands of miles away, sitting in his concrete bunker surrounded by the tools of his trade and as comfortable as anyone could be. And Viper? She was already sweating herself to death, the heat and humidity clinging to her like a funerary veil and weighing her down with every step. She made a mental note to approach Killjoy after the mission and have her look into possible modifications to her suit. Bulletproof is great, but ventilated would be even better. The VLT/R roared into the air and soared off to the south, disappearing behind a skyline of up-and-coming concrete titans flanked by an army of scaffolds led by looming construction cranes. 

“My network informs me that Han Sunwoo remains aloof, but does not expect us to be coming so soon,” Cypher informed her, forcing her to press the communicator into her ear again just to make out what he was saying. “She seems to think we do not know she left her home country. We are a step ahead of her.”

“She’ll know soon enough,” Viper said. “Tag me in if you have anything to update me with.”

“Will do.”

The line went silent. Sage was already leading her troop into cover, leaving Viper behind to cover the rear. The recruits had already melded with the terrain, crossing the tarmac behind their leader and preparing to vanish into an adjacent neighborhood. Chafed, Viper raced ahead, covering the ground in record time to catch up.

“Mind waiting for me?”

“Mind keeping up?”

Sage had no patience for this right now, and neither did Viper. They hadn’t been on the ground for more than two minutes, and they were already ready to leap at each others’ throats like circling tigers. 

“We need to figure out where we’re going and get a lay of the terrain,” Viper urged, her voice a whisper in spite of the absence of people around them. “If we’re not careful-”

“We can’t afford to waste time,” Sage said. “It’s only a matter of minutes before she realizes we’re onto her.”

“She has no idea. She thinks she’s safe here.”

“And you would count on that? Trust in that?”

“I trust in Cypher,” Viper said, increasingly frustrated. “You should too. We’re not going in blind here, but we need to be careful. If we spook her, then we-”

“With all due respect, Viper, this is my recruit. I know her better than you, and I know how to approach her.”

“Might I remind you who planned this mission.”

“I need no reminder, Viper,” Sage said curtly. “You planned it, and now I will obligingly execute it. Would you kindly fall back into line now?”

There was no point in bandying further words with her. They could claw each other to bloody shreds until the sun set, and they would get nowhere. With similar obligation, Viper fell in to the back of the line, passing the confused radiants on her way back. None of them would meet her steely gaze.

You are little more than a pariah in their eyes, she thought. No point in dodging it now. Might as well make them fear your gaze, at the very least. She kept her distance from them as they moved, taking a circuitous route through the labyrinthine innards of a compact residential neighborhood that abruptly merged with endless blocks of warehouses and workshops, which reeked of sulfur and diesel and various chemicalia all mingling together into a hazy smog that draped itself lazily over their heads like a fetid blanket. It was here that Sage suggested they split up, a suggestion that Viper immediately vetoed.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Do I even need to answer that?”

Can we really not go ten minutes without being at loggerheads? This was the first mission she had ever been on with Sage, and God help her if she was going to emerge from it unscathed. Sage was maintaining her cool, collected self but the way her eyes flitted around from one thing to another suggested she was growing impatient beneath that placid surface.

“We have much ground to cover and only six people with which to cover it,” Sage said. “I believe dividing into two teams will help us immensely.”

“Or get us all killed,” Viper scoffed.

That sent a wave of perturbation through the ranks, as though none of the other agents had seriously considered that possibility. Sage only shook her head.

“Whose side are you on here, Viper?” she asked.

“I’m on our side. I’m trying to keep us alive.”

“You’re wasting time bickering for sport. If you want to lead a mission, maybe you ought to train the team. Did you ever consider that?”
Sage was done. She led on again, leaving Viper to stew for a bit, then pick herself back up and follow. She sensed that something was wrong here, and that they needed to slow down, but Sage wouldn’t hear it. Instead she divided them into two recon teams - she would lead Phoenix and Neon in one direction, and Viper would take Skye and Gekko the other way. Reluctantly, Viper accepted her charge and rounded the two agents up and ordered them down a potholed side street towards the riverbank, slowly closing in on Han Sunwoo’s last known location. 

They didn’t have a precise location for her, really, but between Cypher’s intelligence and the abilities of Sage and the other agents to sense radiance, it would not be long before they had her. They had a special tool in their kit that would help now, too, if Viper’s understanding of the agents’ abilities was correct. Five minutes down the line, she brought them to a halt and turned to Gekko, who was impatiently tapping his foot and idly playing with the zippers on his shoulderbag again.

“Gekko. We’re close. You want to get your… things out?”

Gekko understood what she meant to say, but he furrowed his brow and shook his head at her disapprovingly. “They have names, you know. They’re not things.”

“I don’t know what they-”

“They’re called radivores,” he insisted, “and they actually have names they answer to. I told you that before.”

She didn’t remember hearing that, not once. In spite of his frustration, Gekko obligingly shifted the satchel over his shoulder and unzipped one of the pockets, which immediately began to shake and rustle as though it had a life of its own. Unbidden, sensing that its time had come, a dark yellow orb rolled out of the pocket and rapidly took on a life of its own, exploding in size and shape and leaping into the air to come to a rest just above Gekko’s shoulder, hovering.

“Hey, Thrash! Heeeey! Easy now, easy now girl.” He wrapped an arm around the creature, which immediately trilled and began to shake with joy upon seeing him. “Yeah, hey! I know, it’s stuffy in there. You can get some fresh air, but we need your help here. Sound good, girl?”

Viper did not believe the creature understood until it took off on its own, following Gekko’s instructions and sailing down the alleyway and around a corner and out of sight. Moments later, she came back, visibly excited to the point of being hyperactive. Her scaly tail wagged and she panted and purred as she flopped herself back onto Gekko’s shoulder.

“Found something?”

Whatever the creature was telling him was exactly what they wanted to hear. It shook with even more excitement, as though it were about to burst, and Gekko nodded to show that he understood.

“She’s close,” he said. “Thrash has a good sense of smell.”

“Smell?”

“That’s the only way I know how to describe it,” Gekko said, shrugging. “But she’s close. We’re just three blocks away.”

Then she knew there was no time to lose. She didn’t know where Sage was, and frankly couldn’t be bothered to ask. Sage could be halfway across the neighborhood wandering around aimlessly for all she knew; but she was on target, and she had half a mind to show the healer up and humiliate her on her own mission by tagging and bagging their target efficiently and quickly.

“Keep your creature close at hand,” she ordered Gekko, as they moved at double time. 

“Her name is Thrash.”

“Whatever. Just keep it ready.”

Viper was ready to get this done and get back to base. In her haste, she barely registered the initial barrage of gunfire; she was incredibly lucky that the burst missed, and scattered bullets down the street instead of up into her suit. She slid into cover and immediately crashed into a stack of cable reels, slamming her knee into one and sending a jolt of pain up her entire body. Stupid useless kneepads. There’s another thing to complain to Killjoy about. 

“Fire! Fire! They’re on the rooftops!” Skye’s shouts were drowned out by another barrage of gunfire, which came much closer than the last one. Gekko and Skye had also made it across the street, but they were shook up; they were flush up against a wall, their hands shaking and their knees bent as if to make their bodies as small as possible. Viper immediately assessed the threat and their options, and took charge. 

“Gekko. Gekko!”

The green-haired youth had all but forgotten his training, paralyzed by indecision and flinching with every burst of gunfire. Viper had to practically get in his face to get him to snap out of it.
“Gekko, I need you to provide cover.”

“Cover? Cover? What do you-”

“Peek the wall and keep firing. Just a couple bullets at a time. Keep their heads down. Can your creatures help?”

“I…I don’t know, Dizzy might be able to-”

“Do whatever you need to do. Alright?”

She left him with that. With luck, he would make it out of this in one piece. Skye had rallied herself more thoroughly, and nodded at Viper as they moved further down the alley towards a compact cluster of short, squat warehouses topped with sagging corrugated metal sheet roofs. Somewhere in this complex, Han Sunwoo was hiding out.

“Skye, Gekko will distract. I need you to get some height on these guys.”

“How high?”

“As high as you can get. Scale the drainpipes if you have to.”

“Just you watch.” Skye, now resolved, broke off and raced down another alleyway, weapon in hand. Viper was now alone.

Weren’t you just complaining about this? Yes, but that was different - splitting up was bad. Now it was good. Why? Because she said so, damnit, and the situation had changed drastically. She was able to operate more fluidly on her own, anyway, and what she needed right now more than ever was the ability to move fast, stick to the shadows, and pin down her target before anybody else could.

No. Before Sage could. That was the goal now. She moved with renewed purpose and threw her shoulder into a rusty-hinged door, battering it open and forcibly admitting herself into the cavernous collection of storage units and warehouses. The impact stung, but she grit her teeth against the pain of the blow and pressed on into the darkness, regardless of what awaited her.

For the moment, there was silence. The door swung shut behind her on its own, the rusty hinges protesting at the sudden assault, blotting out the sporadic gunfire outside and isolating her in a dark, dusty bubble of tranquility. That bubble was popped by an enormous bullet soaring over her right shoulder, missing flesh by millimeters and instead tearing through the thick outer fabric of her suit. She didn’t need to be told what to do.

“Fuck me.” She flattened herself against what appeared to be a stack of cardboard but was actually solid steel, and it hit her about as hard as the bullet would have. That was a big round, too. That would likely have been a fatal shot. Even if it had only hit meat…she would be missing a lot of meat right now. She needed to take a deep breath and think about her approach here.

It’s dark. One shooter. Where? Was that at an angle? High ground? How can he see? Night vision, must be. IR possibly. Need to relocate, and fast. 

She was quite sorely missing Skye right now. Her orders to the redhead were justifiable, given the situation on the ground outside, but having a second pair of eyes and a second finger on the trigger would be very useful right now. As it stood, suppressive fire would have to be in her hands, and she could only hazard a guess at where the shooter might be. 

Her communicator crackled to life and a garbled voice attempted to slip through the static. She adjusted it again, then attempted to tune it for better connection, a nearly impossible task in the dark. At least the shooter had held his fire - at least, for the moment.

“Cypher. Not a good time,” she snapped.

“Ah, so that’s what you call your information broker. Good to know.”

The voice that responded was not Cypher’s. She had never heard it before, in fact, and immediately wanted to rip off her headset and throw it as far away as possible. Noticing her panic and dismay, the voice on the line laughed at her predicament.

“Now now, chérie. Let’s not lose nos têtes in the heat of the moment. Where’s the fun in that?”

“Chamber.” She was still surprised, but she would not allow herself to show panic, especially in front of an enemy. “How did you get on this line?”

“Trial and error,” he hummed, almost sickeningly pleasant in her ear. “We had our failures. It looks like we found the right wavelength now. I am impressed you’ve figured out as much as you have. Even my code name? Impressive work, indeed.”

“You think this a game,” she said, feigning amusement. “You’re outnumbered. You realize that, right?”

“Oooh, you are so very good at guessing.” He did think this a game. “Unfortunately so. However, I also know that my counterpart has your numbers quite occupied right now…”

“Two of you, then? Your counterpart won’t last.”

“I have faith that she will keep it up for just enough time.”

He was far too confident, and yet he must have known that Viper at least was in a tight spot right now. His counterpart’s minutes were numbered, surely; Sage would have heard the gunfire and redeployed Phoenix and Neon, and before long one would be against five and the assailant would have to evacuate their position and fall back or get overwhelmed. But Viper was stuck in a one-on-one, and she still had no clue where her opponent was or what sort of vision he had on her.

Breathe. Don’t let him know you’re trapped. Confidence, Viper.

Memories of Kabul were coming back to haunt her, creeping in like the first tentacles of nightmare returning to drag her into the screaming darkness. She had to shake her head and kick her feet just to steady herself and prevent that overwhelming sensation of dread from overpowering her.

“You ought to come down here and face me like a man,” she said into the communicator, steadying her breathing. “If you’re a man at all…”

“Oh, chérie. I’d love nothing more. But…”

There was a click in the darkness, then another shot. This once glanced off a nearby steel pole, showering her with sparks. Fuck, that’s a big bullet. 

“...I’ve got quite a spot here, and I’m only getting closer. Can you guess?”

“This game bores me, Frenchman.”

“Aha! You like the accent?”

“It puts me off.”

“Shame, that. You’re in the minority, then. Spend some more time with me, and maybe you’ll come around, mais non? ”

Chamber seemed to have no concerns about how much space she had to move down below, and his position must have been exceedingly superior. She thought about her next move carefully, realizing that he might be able to draw a bead on her anywhere she went. The darkness was a cage around her, closing her in and limiting her options.

“Tick tock. How are you feeling down there? Are you uneasy? I can help with that.”

“You’re having too much fun with this, Chamber.”

“I think people should enjoy their jobs. I’m quite passionate about mine. Would you like to know why?”

“Not at all, no.”

She sensed she needed to reposition, and fast . She did so, leaping out of cover and hoping she didn’t ram herself into a solid object. She was grateful for the luck that allowed her to swoop into a corner between two large wooden containers, safe at least for the moment.

“My job is a game of chess writ large, and fierce,” he said, unprompted, taking full advantage of his control over her comms channel. “It is vigorous. It is intense. It is… intimate .”

Don’t say it like that, you creep. But she refused to tell him off, sensing that would only encourage him further. The last thing she needed right now was to banter with some psychotic French gunman who had what was now a very clear height advantage over her, as well as the mobility to flank her. She needed to leave, reconnect with her team, and cut him off before he could successfully retreat. Han Sunwoo was forgotten; her new goal was to survive, and punish this dickhead who was happily taunting her from the shadows and biding his time with his shots on purpose.

“You disagree? Well, I suppose we’re all entitled to our opinions.”

Damn right we are, creep. Are you enjoying yourself? Getting off to this? Not for much longer, I hope.

“There is so much strategy that goes into this. Your common man simply cannot fathom it. What he finds boring, I find instinctively thrilling , and what he doesn’t see, I will see with perfect vision.”

She crept out of her hiding place and stuck close to the containers, hoping to find another door. She could loop back to where she came in, but she had no idea where that was now; she was thoroughly lost in the dark. 

Just like Kabul. Just like Oman. Is this a trend, Viper? You must be-

“You’re very quiet down there. Do you hate me? I find that to be quite an unkind judgment, you know. You haven’t even gotten to know me yet.”

“And I never will,” she shot back, whispering fiercely. “If you’d so kindly fuck off…”

“Perhaps I am obliged to change the conversation. What would you like to talk about? Do you enjoy yachting? Are you a contemporary thinker? Or perhaps you prefer to talk about firearms.”

He stopped her cold in her tracks. She had hit a cold steel wall, figuratively speaking; practically speaking, she had nearly run right into one. She was at a dead end. 

“You understand your predicament, now.”

“Fuck you.”

“Who? Me?” The Frenchman giggled like a schoolgirl. “Oh, my friend. You’ve waltzed yourself into this one, I’m afraid. And for a moment, I thought you might wriggle out of this particular net.”

She dropped to her stomach instinctively, hoping she had enough time, but she was a microsecond too late; the weapon roared, and the heavy slug caught her right in the stomach. 

The pain she experienced was beyond anything she could describe. It was initially sharp, and then outrageously blunt as the slug expanded inside her body before punching through the other side, taking flesh and muscle and all manner of associated viscera with it, her suit offering little resistance to the oversized slug. The shock sent her plummeting to the ground; the fall against bare concrete barely registered in her head as her brain burned with the pain of having her entire liver punched clean through by a single massive bullet.

Oh God, Sabine. Are you still living? How?

She was still living. She was still living? Nothing felt real, now. The shock was overwhelming and she locked up like an armadillo, curling her legs and arms inwards in a feeble attempt to protect her core from another shot. It wouldn’t do anything to help her; the wound was likely fatal, judging by how empty she suddenly felt and how her head spun from the immediate blood loss. 

Fatal? Oh, no no no, Sabine. It can’t be. There’s so much work you have to do. How much is waiting for you-

She suddenly felt ice cold and ill, a frigid lance of pain rushing up her bloodstream and paralyzing her further. She flailed like a beached fish on the cold concrete, her limbs no longer obeying any command and moving desperately for something to latch onto, something she could use to steady herself and get to her feet. She knew she had to get up, but her body was not obeying her commands. This was panic.

“Oh, how unfortunate that you have finally made your critical error. You did well, all things considered. My shots were off, too, I admit.”

He was no longer speaking through her communicator, but was mere feet from her, approaching quietly and confidently, taking his time. And why wouldn’t he? There was no way she could get up and pick up her weapon and bring it to bear on him before he could finish her off. Why even try?

“I am afraid that your team has won out here, today. It seems my comrade has abandoned her position under fire. I am guessing she is retreating, and soon I will be too.”

“Then get it over with,” she snarled, barely able to speak. “Don’t let me-”

“Bleed out? No, that would be cruel. I am not a cruel man.”
“Then do it.”

She was challenging him, now, as though he were now a coward afraid to pull the trigger. And given how drawn-out every second on the concrete floor felt for her, she was beginning to think he was a coward. But there was a click, a safety being shuffled off, and the sounds of fabric as he raised his rifle.

“Offer up your final prayers. It will be quick, now. Just close your eyes and-”

Footsteps. Was he moving closer, to guarantee a kill shot? No, these footsteps were different. Less measured, more aggressive, even vulgar…if such a thing were possible…

“Heads up, ñoño!”

A fresh voice cut through the dark, snapping off his monologue like a twig. It was followed by a sound louder than a bullet, and a blinding flash that briefly illuminated the world around her and dispersed the dark. Viper was lucky to be facing away from the flashbang, and only saw the brief burst of light at the corner of her vision.

She knew it was now or never; so did her body. Pulling on a reservoir of adrenaline that she had not realized existed, she crawled at first and then threw her body up into the air, desperate for freedom. The darkness was on her again, but she made a few lucky decisions and found a door with a barely-lit “exit” sign above it that guaranteed the promised freedom. The man behind her was silent; he had taken the brunt of the flashbang.

She stumbled into the sunlight and was immediately blinded, suffering her own flashbang as she stepped out into the alleyway and nearly collapsed. The adrenaline was running out, and so was the time allotted to her. The moment she felt fresh blood running down her thigh, hot and viscous, it was over.

The last thing she heard as she collapsed to the ground and landed in a puddle of brackish water with a dull splash was a familiar Australian voice calling her name.

Viper. Viper. Viper. 

Dissolute, she faded away into the silent darkness.

Chapter Text

She hoped for heaven. She expected hell. She was granted neither.

Truthfully, Sabine Callas was an agnostic, open-minded to anything that could present sufficient evidence and validation for its existence to her. Growing up Catholic in a small Pennsylvania hill-town that was huffing coal fumes to stay alive had a profound impact on her, and she had little in the way of blind faith in anything. That being said, she knew a miracle when she saw one; and waking up to bright lights and the powerful aroma of antiseptics after what seemed like a lifetime of darkness definitely counted as a miracle.

“Stay still. Ease into it. Can you hear my voice? Blink if you can hear my voice.”

She blinked obligingly. Normally reticent to take orders from Sage, whose voice she recognized after a few moments of bleary-eyed processing, she did as she was commanded.

“Okay. Stay still. Can you feel pain? Blink if you are in pain.”

She felt fine, honestly, though she was still recovering from the ordeal of - what, exactly? Dying and coming back to life? That surely didn’t happen. She may have passed out due to blood loss, and had certainly suffered a severe wound, but she hadn’t-

Oh, fuck. There’s the pain .

She blinked once, and then several more times as a sudden wave of intense, paralyzing pain washed over her, causing her muscles to seize up. 

“Alright. I’ll up the dosage of morphine. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, but…your wounds were…”

Fatal? They must have been. She knew about Sage’s abilities; hell, she had read the entire dossier multiple times when Brimstone had first fished her out of whatever mountainous wasteland he had found her in. But never once did she imagine it would, or even could be like this. 

It’s a miracle. And it sucks. It fucking sucks.

She writhed like a stranded earthworm after a rainstorm, her body refusing to accept anything but the most basic functional signals from her brain. A combination of medical drugs, the effects of the resurrection itself, and the lightning bolts of pain randomly shooting across her muscles rendered her completely incapable. That didn’t stop her from trying, of course.

“Settle down, Viper. I am hooking up your new IV now,” Sage reassured her.

“That’s not the problem,” Viper grunted. Each word was a tremendous effort, each syllable a mighty task.

“I understand it’s a strange sensation to be feeling-”

“Yes, but-”

“-but you really must lay still and try to relax. You’re not helping your cause.”

She had adjusted measure by measure to the painfully bright lights of Sage’s office, and wondered now how long she had been out. The last thing she remembered seeing was a brilliant sun and a dirty puddle of water, and the long broad stretch of the Sai Gon River winding its way through the city to its final terminus. She had imagined then that she, too, had found her terminus, and it had come much sooner than expected. At some point between then and now, Sage had worked her magic.

Is it appropriate to call it magic? Would Sage get mad at me if I- oh, what do I care? She’s already mad at me. And I her.

Then why is she helping me?

“You’ve been out for nearly forty-eight hours,” Sage informed her, having set up a new IV that immediately began pumping bliss-inducing morphine into Viper’s strained bloodstream. “You are lucky that Skye found you when she did. Your vitals were critical when we took you out of country.”

“I don’t know how you managed,” Viper said.

“Luck, skill, and timing,” Sage said succinctly. “I really cannot do a proper resurrection without my equipment and space here, but I can stave off the inevitable in the field. I kept you in stasis long enough to get you back here and begin the process of healing you.”

And what a process it was, judging by the intense pain that persisted even in spite of the morphine’s efforts. But Viper traced a hand down her naked chest and stomach and tiptoed tentative fingers around the wound site, and found to her surprise that it was now little more than a series of bumpy, sensitive abrasions where once had been a sizeable hole. It still hurt, a lot , but she was intact and functional beyond any rational belief.

“Sage.”

“Yes?”

“What about Han Sunwoo?”

Sage sighed. “Unfortunately, out of our hands.”

“Goddamnit-”

“We called the mission off to medevac you,” Sage said. “We had no other option. Your wounds were fatal without my intervention. Even emergency treatment wouldn’t have saved you.”

“So what now?”

“Cypher is working on it. You should not worry. You need to rest and recuperate. Resurrection is not an easy process.”

“I always worry.”

“I insist you do not. It will only sap strength that your body otherwise needs. Please, lie back down.”

She had already been attempting to sit up, frustrated. She forced herself to follow Sage’s orders, knowing it was for the better, but also feeling a sharp intensification in pain from the wound site. She was starting to realize that this would take some time. 

“You will have a weekly regimen once you’re released to general rehabilitation,” Sage explained, as she monitored Viper’s vitals from afar. “You will no longer be hospitalized, but substantial rest and rehabilitation will be required. I will have a series of medications to provide to you, as well as daily checkups that will require you to-”

“Sage?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. I guess.”

The words felt like sawdust on her tongue; she was surprised she could eke them out. She wanted water, more than anything else. Sage appeared not just surprised, but at a loss for words; she blinked rapidly, then stood there for a few seconds, mouth agape. 

“Oh. I’m just doing my job.”

“Yes. Thanks anyway.”

It was the closest they had ever come to a genuine rapprochement. It would not last, of course, but it was a genuine gesture that was genuinely received. Sage finished her work in silence and then bowed out of the office, turning the lights off on the way out. Viper was plunged into darkness again, but it was a pleasant darkness this time - cool, sterile, calm, and melding well with the morphine flowing through her body. 

She rested.

“Viper? What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

Viper snapped the slide of the pistol back forcefully as though to underscore her point. Sage, with fire in her eyes, refused to back down. 

“Your orders are to rest,” she reminded her sternly. “You should be in bed right now - it’s only been a week, if you-”

“I feel fine,” Viper said. “My body is fine.”

“It most certainly is not.”

“Sure does feel like it.”

“And how many dead bodies have you brought back to life in your career? No, don’t answer that. I already know.”

“Irrelevant.”

“Extremely relevant,” Sage said, shaking her head. “I know how long the body may take to readjust to normal functions. Your heart and your brain and even your stomach are not yet ready for anything other than-”

“I said I’m fine.” 

She flipped her combat rifle around by its sling and nearly smacked Sage in the chin. The healer flinched involuntarily, taking a step back, then immediately resumed her assertive posture as though they had not just come close to having a serious problem.

“Viper, you may think you are fine…”

“I do,” she said, “and I’m coming along. I am second-in-command here. Need I remind you?”

Sage’s lips shifted, on the verge of carefully-chosen syllables, but she relented. “No. You do not need to remind me.”

“I will not have such a critical mission occur without my oversight.”

“Fine then. If you insist on tagging along, then will you at least let me take the lead without questioning me?”

“As long as you make good decisions.”

“I sense you have very opaque standards for what constitutes a good decision.”

“I have standards, yes. Now, are you going to get in my way?”

Truthfully, she had been growing increasingly bored with her compulsory staycation, spending much of her day isolated in her room with nothing more than the radio to keep her company. The new agents had received a fresh training regimen after their first field action, and Killjoy spent most of her day locked away in her new workshop, leaving Viper with nobody to call upon for company. Little wonder, then, that after nearly two weeks she was itching for action no matter the cost. 

But there was another element to this little ploy of hers. As she watched Sage’s bright green robe flow around her legs as she sharply turned and walked away, she knew exactly what that element was. Or who, rather, it is . There was nothing to be gained by trying to impose herself on Sage right now, and yet there was a frivolous sense of self-satisfaction she desperately sought by forcing Sage to accept her presence. Even if Viper was merely tagging along, that alone was a victory for her. She wanted nothing more.

This flight was just as awkward as the last, only this time the fresh agents were more prepared. Vietnam had been a wake-up call for them, a difficult and shocking first immersion into the reality of their work. The second go-round wasn’t going to be much easier, but they were at least more prepared. They still wouldn’t look her in the eye, with the exception of Skye, who flashed a wry smile at her and maintained her buckish grin for far too long.
“Made sure to bring some extra coffee for ya,” she said, shouting over the whine of the VLT/R’s heavy turbofan engines as it descended. “Can’t promise it won’t be cold, though.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You’re a trooper, then.”

Viper did not return the smile, but she appreciated the gesture. Skye was far more optimistic and light of step than she could ever be, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t melt the ice a little bit. Viper didn’t mind trying, at least.

They hit the ground running when they arrived in Manila. Local authorities had been less than helpful, according to Cypher, and so their intelligence was less than optimal and they had a much broader area to scan. It also didn’t help that Han Sunwoo’s escapades had made international headlines; while the media frenzy over the shootout in Vietnam had faded somewhat, she remained a point of interest in musty rags and shameless tabloids across the world. That public image complicated their work, and they had to expend additional resources in covering their tracks as they entered the complex cityscape and resumed the hunt. 

“We stick together this time,” Sage announced as they moved forward, guns out now - no time for subtlety. “Keep distance, but stay together.”

“No communication until I make my move,” Viper added.

She had her own plan in place here, taking a hard lesson from her experience in Vietnam. There was a clear weakness in their remote communications channel that Cypher had yet to patch, even as intelligent as he was, and Viper intended to use it to their advantage if they weren’t able to fix it. For now, they were channels dark, and she would make her move when she judged it to be sound.

“Steady on there, love,” Skye whispered to her, as she hit her shin against a garbage can while pulling into cover. “Stealth not your thing?”

“Not when Sage is the one leading,” she said, through gritted teeth.

“Ah, a rivalry then?”
“Oh, you’ve noticed.”

“I tried not to,” Skye said with a grin. “But you two just can’t help yourselves, can you?”

She begrudgingly had to admit, Skye had a point. Neither of them had put much effort into putting their differences aside for the common good of basic cohesion , and neither of them were doing much to hide their mutual disdain. It could only negatively affect team morale from here on out, and yet Viper was not willing to yield to Sage on anything given that there was no reason to trust that she would lead them to success. The only reason she hadn’t forcibly taken the reins out of her hands was Brimstone, and even though he wasn’t here she wasn’t going to take such a drastic action.

But she had her plan ready to roll, and was just waiting for the right moment. 

Suspicious glances and confused faces followed them through the warren of alleyways, side-streets, and market stalls as they proceeded in a thin, snaking line, staying far enough apart to avoid a fatal ambush but close enough to see each other and stay together. It was obvious they were a team, but their intentions were not clear to the locals, who weren’t sure what to make of them.

And I prefer it stay that way , Viper thought. Locals were always an anomaly when it came to missions; there was never a single template for understanding their behavior. Some might suspect something amiss and hide indoors, cowering away somewhere safe in anticipation of a fight. Others might be curious, trying to get a glimpse of something unusual and exciting permeating their otherwise mundane lives. Still others might decide this was their moment to be a part of history, for better or for worse, and they’d involve themselves in a scuffle that would end poorly for them.

She had seen it all. She hoped today would be an easy day.

It was time.

“Alright team,” she spoke into her communicator, as loud as possible, ensuring her words were clear. “Split into thirds. Divide and conquer. I’ll take the right side down to the river.”

Everyone heard that, including her intended audience. The agents looked around, confused, and Sage turned and grimaced at Viper.

“We stay together,” Viper said, switching her communicator off so the interlopers could hear nothing but static on the other end. “That was a lure. Now we reel in our prey.”

“Exactly what are you talking about, Viper?” Sage’s voice was pure contempt. “Is this a thinly-veiled attempt at sabotaging our well-laid plans?”

“Absolutely not. Don’t worry about it, and keep moving.”

She was not about to let Sage ruin her plan. Expecting further confrontation, she was grateful that Sage seemed to roll with it; she grumbled something under her breath, but otherwise moved on with the operation as planned. Everyone stayed together as they approached the river and drew up to the ferry terminal.

The terminal was old, underused, and reputed to be a hub of drug smuggling and local trafficking, making it the least viable place for a twenty-something Korean girl fleeing from every authority in existence to lay low. Maybe she had a connection here, Viper reasoned; or, more likely, she was desperately flailing for any advantage she could get in her adrenaline-infused flight. Whatever her rationale, she wouldn’t be able to escape them for much longer. 

“Sage.”

Sage ignored her, at first. 

“ Sage .”

Only when she raised her voice to a harsh whisper did Sage whip around and stop advancing. Viper came up to meet her.

“Our enemy thinks I’ll be coming in here alone,” she said, revealing the plan to Sage. “That was the point of the ruse.”

“And what makes you think they’ll take the bait?”

“I have an inkling he will.”

Chamber had developed an overbearing interest in her, and rather than discourage his strange obsession she was going to feed it this time to her advantage. There was no way he could resist another opportunity to pin her down and execute her, but this time would be different.

“And what about us?”

“You’ll spring the trap,” Viper explained. “They will realize they’re outnumbered, but by then it will be too late.”

“And if they outnumber us ?”

Viper had considered that possibility. She had considered it briefly. Anything more would throw her for a loop.

“Then we’ll back out,” she said. “Simple as that.”

Sage scoffed. “It’s never that simple.”

“We will get the drop on them this time. And we will grab your recruit. Just let me take the lead going in, and hang back. Five minutes.”

Sage pondered her options, before settling on begrudging agreement. “Five minutes, no more,” she decided. “This is my mission, after all.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“You’re lucky I’m not pulling you aside and disarming you for subordination.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Tempt me here and now, and I might just do it for the greater good of this mission.”

“What mission? The one I’m trying to save here?”

“What you consider salvation will lead the rest of us to damnation. Let’s not forget who saved your life when you literally died during our last mission.”

“Oh, so I owe you my life now? Is that what you call doing your job?”

“Ladies, if you please-”

Skye came out of nowhere. It appeared as though she had come out of nowhere, actually, when in reality she had been approaching them for the last thirty seconds as they bickered in full view of the other agents, unaware of their surroundings. Both Viper and Sage immediately felt their cheeks explode with heat and their chests heave with embarrassment.

“-if we’re done discussing the details of our mission, can we get on with it?”

“We can, if Sage is ready.”

Yes, that’s it. Put her in the hotseat. Let her squirm. Viper glanced over to the healer, whose face was a cross between embarrassment and rage at being challenged by someone she perceived to be a subordinate. But Sage was not an irrational person, and she knew how to pick her battles. She let the frustration settle and her eyes regain their usually pleasant warmth before making her decision confidently and assertively.

“We will follow Viper’s plan,” she declared, “but she has three minutes to execute it.”

“I thought you said five-”

“The circumstances have changed,” Sage snapped, already letting that rage boil back up to the top. “Three minutes. Then we move in.”

“Alright. Fine.”

It was better than she had ever expected, and still allowed her to enter the operational zone alone to bait Chamber out of cover and into an engagement he was sure to lose. Sure, she’d have to survive those three minutes; if he got the drop on her, it was game over. But she was not an easy snake to get beneath any old boot, and she would find a way to wriggle free if she needed to.

The ferry terminal was an aging brick building with an arched steel roof that remained in service only for a cabal of unscrupulous second-rate service providers who were more than happy to accept a few extra bills to turn a blind eye to whatever business a customer might not wish to bring to a more principled company, or to the country’s well-respected public transit network. As such, the crowd around the terminal was already scant and those who were hanging around the building’s environs looked at her with suspicion as she moved in carefully, trying to avoid as many pairs of eyes as possible. By now at least a handful of people would have established that something was amiss; before long, their quarry would catch wind of it too, and they needed to nab her before that happened. 

Unfamiliar faces and suspicious eyes, a foreign language and shouted commands she refused to heed - Sunwoo Han was here, somewhere - laying low, waiting for the right ride, waiting for someone who would take her, or maybe just hoping she could stick to the shadows and avoid an inevitable rendezvous. Viper knew what she looked like; it would be hard for her to blend into a crowd with chalk-white hair. All the same, there were many places to hide here, and she could have already made some friends who would help her. Viper needed to move, and think, fast…

“Sage,” she whispered into her communicator, as she entered the main passenger gallery where a smattering of people were milling about, waiting for the next ferry.

“I’m here.”

“I’m in, but it’s a bigger building than I thought,” Viper reported. “Multiple levels. Lots of places to hide.”

“If you find her, get her out of there. Too much risk waiting for-”

Her communicator crackled. There was a brief burst of static, then a male voice on the line.

“ Bonjour, chérie .”

The rifle roared like a thunderbolt in the confines of the cramped passenger gallery, the slug missing her by a few inches and embedding itself in the back wall with a dull, deafening thump and a cloud of dust. The handful of locals who had been milling about were quick to evacuate in panic, immediately realizing that they should not be here and taking the first shot as their cue to leave before it was too late.

“Ah, I have your attention now.” Chamber’s voice in her communicator was crystal clear, but she could barely hear over the ringing in her ears. “Always nice to start the game with a warning shot.”

“You missed,” she snapped back. “Admit it.”

“I rarely miss on purpose. But I have my moments.” This was a much smaller structure, and she immediately knew where he must be - there was a second floor that appeared mostly unoccupied, open to the first floor gallery by a long, narrow strip of corridor at the middle of the building. She couldn’t get eyes on him yet, but she knew he had to be up there.

“You do not strike me as the type to make the same mistake twice,” Chamber taunted her. “Tell me, what’s your ruse this time?”

“Ruse? We don’t play tricks in my outfit,” Viper lied. “Have you found the girl yet?”

“Step out and give me ten minutes, and I will.”

“Afraid I can’t do that.”

“Then I suppose we’re going to have to draw blood here and see who bleeds fastest.”

Another bullet, this one much closer - deflected only by rebar in the wall she was crouched below. She had to move, and quickly - three minutes sure was taking its time. Sage had almost certainly noted the interruption and was moving the team into position, which bought her some time, but even still…she had to survive until she had backup.

“You’re not alone here, are you?” she fired back, trying to taunt him in turn.

“Bluff called,” Chamber said dryly. “Yes, I have backup. Just as you do. However, yours must be a bit farther away…again.”

“Divide and conquer,” Viper said, grateful that the lie held up. “It usually works.”

“Not today, it won’t.”

“You say that now, Frenchman…”

He didn’t realize she had gotten a flank on him. It was just the right angle, and she saw him just as he saw her. She fired first, though.

It was a miss, but it was enough to move the game forward. Nobody was chattering in her ear after that shot. 

Run while you can, Chamber. You’ll be mine yet.

Sunwoo Han was once again forgotten. She had a score to settle with this sniper, and she bounded up a flight of stairs and into the second-floor corridor after him with only him in mind. 

Her priorities completely shifted when she saw a glimpse of black hair dyed purple, magenta eyes that could scour hers out, and the barrel of a fresh gun aimed at her body.

The first bullet hit her suit’s trauma plating, thankfully, taking the wind out of her but leaving her otherwise unharmed; the second one narrowly missed, but singed the hair on the back of her neck as it did. Then it was her turn, and she fired several times, aiming not to kill but to drive Reyna off and give her a moment to breathe.

It’s her. Not a ghost. She’s real. She shot at you…she shot at you! Why would she do that? Right, yes, you’re enemies, technically. But can you believe she shot at you!?

Her mind was racing far ahead of her body, which was still reeling from the gunshot. The plating had flexed, but had not broken, and she could feel a heavy, hot bruise welling up to the surface of her skin like an angry parasite preparing to emerge. Winded, in pain, but very much alive and invigorated, she took off down the corridor in pursuit. Chamber was nowhere to be seen now.

Gunshots elsewhere rattled her - had the team arrived? They surely had engaged. What if they were tackling Reyna right now? Fuck no. She’s mine. She redoubled her efforts, pushing through two solid double doors and into what must have been the backroom space of the terminal, a disheveled and poorly-lit series of cubicles and utilities rooms that were completely empty.

Except for the faintest trace of purple in the darkness, rushing away from her.

Viper fired her pistol, but the round was far from its mark - was that on purpose, or a symptom of her impetuous action? She nearly ran into a wooden beam as she chased Reyna down another set of stairs and into the darkness, with little thought for her own safety or rational action.

There was more gunfire reverberating around the building, and their time was ticking away. She found herself chasing Reyna through a warren of hallways below the building, until they reached the end of the line at a utility closet and a series of aging electrical cabinets that lined a blank concrete wall.

It was here that Reyna realized she had made a mistake, and turned to face her pursuer, her weapon at her side. 

“You got lucky this time around, pretty thing,” she teased, extending her arms and exposing herself to whatever might come. “But you got me.”

“Fair and square,” Viper said, between gasps of air. “I caught you fair and square.”

“You could have caught me earlier. But you missed.”

“It was on purpose.”

“Now that, I believe.”

Reyna could have used the moment to take aim and hope that she could pull the trigger more quickly than her counterpart, but she instead flicked the safety on her pistol and dropped it to the floor, where it landed and skid away with a loud clatter. She was completely unarmed now, unless she had some trick up her (nonexistent) sleeve or a knife in her boot she was planning on drawing. Viper approached cautiously, her service weapon raised, leveled directly at Reyna’s chest.

There was something there that had caught her eye - beneath the layers of stiff black Kevlar and skintight purple fabric, there was a dull violet glow that seemed to pulse as though waxing and waning with a life of its own. At first, Viper thought it was a trick of the light; but the light down here was simple, utilitarian, bare incandescent bulbs offering just enough for an electrician or janitor to do their job and beat a hasty retreat back to the warmer, more welcoming world of the surface. Nothing down here would have played such a trick on her eyes.

“What are you waiting for, then?” Reyna was taunting her, hardly perturbed by the gravity of her current situation. “Take the shot. If you’re so inclined-”

“Shut up,” Viper growled. “Shut up.”

“Oh, do you have a different game in mind?”

“No. Shut up.”

She was fixated on that strange point of light that could not possibly have existed. Was it something electronic, fixed beneath Reyna’s vest, signalling some nefarious intent? For a moment, Viper imagined it was the detonator pack or some sensor of a suicide vest, and retreated a few steps, her heart racing. Then she realized she was being senseless; if Reyna had wanted to use such a thing, she would have done so by now, and Viper would have been caught in the blast with no hope of survival.

Reyna found her shock amusing. “You must see something you like,” she mused, smiling. “Tell me, what do you like in a woman?”

“The ability to follow my orders.”

“Do you like bare shoulders? Thighs? Or are you the kind who loves a sharp jawbone and a keen nose for-”

“I said shut up .”

What was she doing down here? What were they doing down here? If this was some ploy of Reyna’s to buy for time, it wasn’t working. The gunshots upstairs had died down and by the sound of things, the engagement had ended in their favor. Viper’s communicator crackled to life and a familiar Australian accent cut in, slicing through the tension.

“Oi, tall dark and handsome,” Skye said. “You still alive here? Where are you?”

“I’m here,” Viper said in return. “Just clearing the area.”

“It’s looking pretty clear here, mate. Where are you?”

“Just checking a few corners. I’ll be there in a moment.”

She didn’t want to give away her position, not when there was unfinished business left here. For a moment, she considered making a move and taking Reyna prisoner, though she wondered if she would be able to handle the woman in a hand-to-hand fight. She didn’t have any restraints, nor did she have any means for subduing an unruly opponent other than her bare fists and the butt of her gun, and she didn’t want to trust either of those.

“Your comrades are waiting for you,” Reyna teased. “Why don’t you go and meet them?”

“And do what with you, exactly?”

“You tell me. I’m at your mercy. Have been this whole time. And yet, you seem like you’re facing a difficult choice.”

“You know what that’s like?”

Reyna grinned broadly. “I remember all too well,” she said. “I still think I made the right choice.”

“I suppose you did.”

Viper raised the pistol to Reyna’s head, shifted her finger to the side of the trigger, and clicked the magazine ejection button. The magazine dropped out of the well with a sharp clatter on the concrete floor. In one smooth movement, she rocked the pistol back, slipped the slide back over the rear hump, and caught the extracted, unfired round midair with a firm snap of her gloved hand. The next thing she did seemed entirely unprecedented, as Reyna said nothing in return, too shocked to move.

“Catch,” she said, and tossed the bullet at Reyna, who narrowly caught it in the palms of both hands. “A little souvenir for you. Next one’s coming much faster. Be seeing you.”

Satisfied with her own little play in their continuing game, she withdrew back up the stairs, leaving Reyna below to figure her own way out.

Han Sunwoo was running again. Viper was aware of that much, but the girl had outstripped her expectations both figuratively and literally. When she was discovered, she bolted, leaving Gekko and Neon both disoriented and quite literally blown away. She had left behind scattered papers, trash, and knocked-over furniture and little in the way of tracks that could be used to trace her.

Thankfully, Manila law enforcement had woken up to the operation going on beneath their nose, and were rapidly deploying their own assets and even offering some level of cooperation, though they were likely not happy to have to make this much of an effort in capturing a foreign national who had been laying low and not causing a scene until now. Viper watched the long trail of emergency lights worming their way around the cityscape as the VLT/R banked sharply and veered over a rising crest of corrugated sheet metal and tin roofs, sending civilians scattering for cover as it did so.

“On-target. 4 o’clock. Sierra foxtrot sierra.”

They swooped in even lower, and for the first time Viper saw her: white hair, casual clothes, a backpack, and impossible speed. She was trying to keep off the main streets, sticking to alleyways where it was harder to trace her, but from the air it was nearly impossible to lose her. They had the height advantage and she seemed to realize how badly that was hurting her chances of escape, for she slid to a halt in the middle of a road, turned, and threw her hands upward.

A sudden burst of air materialized, visible by the dust and debris it picked up from the street, and struck the VLT/R with such force that the aircraft pushed up and then lurched precipitously to the right, banking way too hard. 

“Holy shit!”

“Bring her under control!” Viper yelled, holding on for dear life as the aircraft bucked.

“Pull left, pull left…trim roll-”

The pilots brought the VLT/R back under control, but by that point Sunwoo had darted back into the alleyways, her ploy successful. They had skirted the roofs of houses and avoided disaster by a very thin margin, too thin for her comfort.

Not one to be underestimated , Viper realized. 

“Take us up higher,” she ordered. “We can’t have that happen again.”

“We need to keep a close track on-”

“We can track her from higher up. Get us some altitude.”

The pilots obliged, cautious after their near-miss. Han Sunwoo was young, and inexperienced, and clearly desperate, but that did not mean she wasn’t dangerous. Confidence had almost cost them severely, and they needed to be more careful.

“I have eyes on her still. She’s moving. Damn, she’s fast.”

“Keep eyes on her. She’s going to keep moving. We need to try and box her in.”

Viper tuned her communicator back to their team channel.

“Sage?”

“We’re in position.”

“Good. We’re going to try to push her across the river.”

“Copy that. We’re ready for you.”

“Any sign of the other agents?”

“Negative. It appears they’ve retreated. We have a clear operating zone.”

They knew they were outnumbered. Viper hoped Reyna had made it out in one piece, or was at least safe and sound. 

I hope she keeps the bullet. Is that weird? Something about that made her feel strangely warm and satisfied, as though it were some great personal achievement. She had to shake the thought from her head because it was so distracting - they were closing in, and had. Sunwoo Han was running out of options, and was approaching the river again. She had taken a circuitous route trying to evade them, hoping to lose them in the tightly-packed residential neighborhood behind them, but the effort had failed. Now bereft of options, she had little choice but to either follow the river, or cross and try to lose them in a large industrial zone. 

“Get us lower,” Viper ordered.
“Ma’am? If we-”

“Just a bit. Keep the pressure on her.”

She didn’t want to chance another assault from the wind girl , as some members of the team had somewhat-affectionately taken to calling her. But said wind girl seemed to have something else in mind. She was picking up the pace, using her radiance to propel her forward at the speed of a car, covering an exceptional amount of ground in an impossibly short time. She was heading straight for the river, now.

“Sage,” Viper said, “she’s moving to the river. Are you in position?”

“We’re at the bridge. Is she-”

“She’s heading straight for the bridge. She’s going to cross. Get ready.”

She was indeed preparing to cross, but Viper was not prepared to see what she saw as Sunwoo emerged onto the riverbank. Sunwoo jumped, and then jumped again, and then jumped again ; it wasn’t visibly clear, but she was using force of wind alone to propel herself into the air above the bridge and above the crowd, each leap a substantial effort that made substantial ground. She crossed the bridge in eight seconds flat, planning her jumps perfectly and landing gracefully on the other side of the river, intact and completely unharmed. Viper had to admit, she was genuinely impressed; the pilots were stunned into silence.

As if realizing that she had just overawed her audience, Sunwoo Han turned on her heels and raised both middle fingers in the direction of the VLT/R. The gesture bought Sage and Skye just enough time to leap out of cover and jump her. It was ironic that what should have been a triumphant farewell for her turned out to be the exact opposite.

“We have her- fuck! We’ve got her,” Skye proclaimed. “She’s a fighter, this one!”

“Can you confirm when she’s restrained? Over.”

“Confirm. She’s kicking my shins. But she’s restrained.”

“We can restrain her further if she won’t behave.”

That proved to be unnecessary, as Sunwoo Han accepted her fate and stilled as she was taken into custody by Sage, who offered a gentle touch and some comforting words as they all reboarded the VLT/R. The Manila police were still fretting over the situation, their emergency lights coloring the city’s packed streets and their helicopters still in the air as the hunt was on for any associates as well as the enemy agents who had already fled. 

Have they? God, I hope they have. Reyna, at least. 

But why do you care?

You still haven’t answered that question. Sabine…Sabine…what’s going on with you? You had her, and you let her go. What’s going to happen now?

Nobody but her could answer that question, and nobody but her would. Watching Manila disappear into hindsight left her with an oddly sour feeling in the pit of her stomach, which she would later learn was a symptom of post-resurrection sickness but at the time felt like nostalgia for a moment she held and had purposefully let go of. 

Reyna, in every respect, was her enemy and should be little more than a target in her sights. And yet here she was, letting her escape, playing a prolonged game of cat-and-mouse with her and to a wider extent the enigmatic collective she represented. How prolonged would it be? When would they meet again? That sour feeling persisted the entire ride home, as the VLT/R was oddly silent along with its prisoner, who was kept in the rear at the cargo hold and refused to look any of them in the eye the whole way home.

They put her in a cell, 10x9 with artificial lighting, with a single bed, a sink, a toilet, a desk, and a radio. They put her there and left her there, alone, confused, scared, but alive.

Chapter Text

The bright red digital numbers of her alarm clock read 1:50 AM the first time she felt the sudden urge to void her stomach.

Over the next four hours, until the sun crept up over the horizon and her alarm went off, she vomited five more times, with each effort more excruciating than the last. By the time she had stabilized herself and drank some water and managed a shower, she realized that she needed to see Sage. Loathe as she was to accept that fact, there was no alternative.

The questions that followed were standard, and Viper answered them all in a cool and collected manner.

What have you had to eat in the last forty-eight hours?

Have you experienced any localized pains or aches?

Were you exposed to any explicitly harmful or radioactive chemicals or substances?

Have you been adhering to the recovery schedule I assigned to you?

Okay, so that last one wasn’t exactly standard, and she couldn’t lie her way out of it. The moment she mouthed no, Sage frowned and shook her head.

“I warned you about this,” she said, in the most motherly tone she could muster. “I gave you a full recovery regimen. And you refused to follow it. These are the consequences.”

“Are you going to lecture me or help me?”

“Both, if I’d like to, because you’re in my office and in need of my help.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m getting there.”

“Taking a long time with it.”

In spite of her current condition, which could be aptly described as about to throw up again , she still found ways she could needle Sage. And who was she, anyway, to try and impose some arcane medical regimen on Viper when Viper had been perfectly healthy just a few days after the resurrection? Sure, she had felt a bit off in minute ways; it was harder to wake up in the morning, her head often ached at random times of the day, and she struggled with balance sometimes. But none of that was serious, and none of it suggested that she required additional care.

“Your body is reacting quite vigorously to the stress of coming back to life,” Sage continued. “Which, I might add, is not a natural process. So your body’s natural functions don’t know how to cope with it.”

“They could try and keep up.”

“This is them trying to keep up,” Sage groaned. “Viper, you must take care of yourself. Resurrection is serious business. You have an idea in your head that you have some sort of superpower that allows you to defy the constraints of reality.”

“Not a superpower. Just normal human-”

“And you continue to pretend like I don’t know what I’m doing,” Sage said. “I must admit, it irks me.”

Good. She wouldn’t say that out loud, though. Not the place, not the time, and certainly not the person to say it too. She did need help, and while she wouldn’t be meek and demure about it, she would accept whatever treatment Sage offered to her. Sage stuck an IV in her arm and pumped her full of a pleasant saline solution, enough to at least stabilize her and calm her stomach. She felt better quickly, a sign that she didn’t need the additional aid that Sage was outlining.

“These will help,” she said, without specifying what they did. Viper was about to ask, but was interrupted. “Hold out your hand.”

Sage dumped a small blister pack of individually-wrapped pills into her hand. 

“What are they?”

“Stabilizers is the best way to describe them,” Sage said. “They’ll ease your body’s functions back into a familiar routine as you recover.”

“I think I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Viper. Take one a day in the morning until you’re fully recovered. I will assess you for the next week and let you know if you are improving.”

She had no intention of doing any of that, even taking one pill a day, but she played along so she could at least leave and get to work. She was already late for firing up her lab equipment, she had a host of emails in her inbox from partners and colleagues alike, and she was useless sitting here idle in Sage’s office. It was with great relief that she finally earned herself a discharge by acquiescing to all of Sage’s requests and pretending she finally understood the reason behind them.

Try and tell me what to do, will you? The second she could, she stuffed the pills away in a drawer of her nightstand and promptly forgot about them. She was feeling back to normal, anyhow.

Winter was fading into spring and with it life was coming back into the region, with the winter rains dispersing and sunlight returning to grace them. It mattered little to Viper; she spent all day every day in her lab, desperately hacking away at her work pile like a desperate explorer swiping at jungle foliage with a blunt machete. The requests were coming in hot every day, not just from her fellow Protocol colleagues but from other agencies and interests who had run their own stockpiles dry and were now turning to Valorant for assistance.

25 grams to Pantex. New nuclear fuel storage monitors. High chance of success, they say.

165 grams to Minot. They’re redoing some major test. Won’t even tell me what it is. High chance it has to do with nuclear weapons.

15 grams to Caltech…your alma mater. 15 grams for a nuclear spectroscopy initiative. What’s 15 grams, anyhow? High chance it won’t matter.

That was the word on everyone’s lips. Nuclear . It was like a song that wouldn’t leave your ear, a salty tinge on the tongue that wouldn’t pass, a terrible nightmare that refused to let go. It haunted her every step and every email and more and more, it seemed, every conversation. And the nuclear ambition, the nuclear terror, the nuclear obsession slowly ate away at her precious radianite day by day, project by project, gram by gram until she knew she would be left with nothing, and she’d have to send that dreaded message:

Sorry, we’re all out. 

She grit her teeth and fired up the calibration equipment again, and prepared to extract a new sample.

Over the course of the early spring days she weathered the storm of requests until it became too much even for a worker of her caliber, and she needed respite. She broke up her schedule with simplicities - smoke breaks, walks around the base, and visits to Killjoy’s workshop, where the young engineer was similarly often desperate to keep on top of her tasks.

“I wouldn’t mind the fresh air,” Killjoy declared, wiping her brow as she stepped away from the welding kit and mesh of sensitive components she was working with. “But I…ach, I have so much to-”

“You and me both, Killjoy,” she said, “but a break won’t kill us.”

She couldn’t believe she was saying those words. Killjoy grinned, and happily skipped off after her as she turned to lead the way out of the dingy, drab lower levels of the Protocol’s endlessly expanding complex and up to the surface where they could feel alive again. 

Sage had moved her training initiative outdoors, taking advantage of the expansive amount of green space on the island which they had done little with so far. Standing on a personnel balcony overlooking a broad expanse of open grass which had nominally been cleared for an external landing pad, Killjoy and Viper watched the radiant recruits tag-team in and out of cardio exercises, closely monitored by Sage. 

Killjoy leaned over the railing, arms crossed, and sucked in a deep breath of fresh, saltwater-tinged air. Viper pulled a cigarette out of her dress shirt pocket, fumbled around for her lighter, and took a heavy drag off the cigarette. Killjoy wrinkled her nose and immediately withdrew, rankled.

“Not your style?”

“To put it lightly,” Killjoy said. “The smell makes me unwell.”

“Oh. Sorry then.”

But she needed a smoke, and this was as good a time as any. She kept a small distance between herself and Killjoy, out of respect. The younger girl did not seem to mind once she was a few feet away and could breathe easy. 

“They’re incredible out there,” Killjoy whistled, watching the radiants now running laps around the field and trying to best each other in light-hearted competition. “Practically Olympian. I cannot imagine having the endurance and raw power to do what they do.”

“Hmm.”

“They are impressive, no? Sage trains them hard, but they exceed her expectations every time.”

“I suppose so.”

“Why didn’t we get tested like that? I go to the turnhalle every chance I get, and yet I could not stack up to them at all! Bah.”

“Because they’re special, Killjoy.”

They’re Sage’s special little agents. Her pet project. Every day she reminds you of it, one way or another. Is it on purpose? Or merely an unintended consequence…

“I suppose so,” Killjoy said. “But it does feel strange.”

“It does.”

“What’s eating you, Viper?”

“Excuse me?”

She could’ve choked on her cigarette. Killjoy seemed so concerned that she wondered if she had said something offensive without meaning it. 

“You just sound detached,” Killjoy said. “Something’s eating you. Don’t think I don’t see it.”

“It’s nothing substantial.”

What was it, then? It wasn’t just Sage - it was Sage, and the way she always had the perfect strategy for deflecting Viper’s barbs, it was the after-effects of resurrection, it was her frustration with none of her complaints going anywhere, it was the nuclear bullshit and the endless stream of work and the lasting nightmares and her .

Black hair with purple tips, magenta eyes and a razor-sharp jawbone, trim shoulders and powerful upper arms, dark red lips and a haunting smile that could kill.

She had saved her life in Vietnam. And Viper, in turn, had let her go in Manila. Why? For what purpose? Had Reyna made a conscious decision to help her? Surely, it had not been that way, not since they were on opposing sides. But Viper wasn’t convinced of that, because if it was, then her logic looped back around to the beginning - why ? And so the train of thought started from the same frustrated spot it began, and followed the same rut.

“I think Sage is doing a good job,” she said, when she sensed Killjoy was not satisfied with the answer. “We just…disagree on how to go about it.”

“Oh. I suppose that’s understandable. I’ve noticed she’s been very…stressed.”

“So are we all, Killjoy.”

“Oh, I’m not stressed. Well, not too stressed. I like my work. I just happen to have a lot to do.”

“So do we all.”

She had to admit, she was shitty conversation right now. Killjoy wouldn’t say it, but it was true; her daily dose of fresh air acquired, and her patience with Sage’s existence at its limit, she stubbed her cigarette out on the balcony and walked back inside, leaving Killjoy behind. 

She knows there’s more to it. Killjoy was a smart girl, even if she was a bit socially awkward, and she could sort the cues out well enough. But Viper didn’t want this getting anywhere closer to Brimstone. They already had enough problems to deal with, and Brimstone had invested far too much trust in Sage - pulling a log out of the tower now would cause the whole thing to collapse. Much as Viper might want to see Sage fail, she wasn’t willing to risk that much for such a petty disagreement.

Is it really that petty, though? Something was deeply wrong with the direction her Protocol was going, and she knew it. But she didn’t know how to fix it.

She was contemplating raising the issue with Brim again when every single light in the hallway flickered, and then shut off with a loud crack. 

The entire building was plunged into immediate, complete darkness. Even the emergency lights that would normally have come on in such circumstances, which were little more than temporary LEDs built into the molding at the base of the wall, had failed completely. The world around her had simply ceased to exist, and for a moment she thought she had too. 

This was just like dying, only worse somehow, because she still felt everything; that was how she knew she hadn’t died again. But now she was faced with the anticipation of unknown action, her senses deprived of necessary stimuli and her brain racing as she stretched her hands out and fumbled around in the dark. She had never been so thrilled to find cold, lifeless concrete at her fingertips as she was in those first awful moments.

Follow the wall, she told herself, now taking control of her situation. Something has happened. An attack? A natural disaster? You need to find somebody and rally the troops.

Just as her mind was calculating a list of all the possible catastrophes that could have caused this, a dull hum echoed through the walls and the lights came back on, flickering hesitantly then shining brightly as power was restored. It had been less than two minutes of blackout, but it felt to her like an entire hour had been spent. 

She found Cypher first, then Brimstone. Their hackles were both raised, the unexpected incident rattling them, but they were quick to track down the source of the issue. The blackout had not been on-site, nor was it a sign of something lacking with their facilities; the reports were already rolling in from across the globe and from partner programs who had experienced the same issue.

“How many?” Brimstone asked, when she and Cypher were poring over the data.

“Hundreds of noted incidents,” Viper reported. “And they’re still coming in.”

“Our sensors are tracing the origin,” Cypher said. “I can try to hone in as best as I can…”

“Any information is useful information,” Brimstone said.

“West Africa. Ghana, specifically.”

They were all peering at Cypher’s screen cautiously, watching the data roll in. The reports were coming in on Brimstone’s workstation, and Viper was trying to read two screens at once. She was certain that her own workstation was filling up with confused, maybe even angry messages trying to sort out why this had happened.

Again. She had to remind herself this wasn’t the first time.

“Our sensors don’t offer anything more granular,” Cypher said, perturbed. “Which is unusual, an energy burst of this scale should be easier to triangulate.”

“We’ll take what we can get, Cypher,” Viper said. “We just need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Nobody yet knew what they were dealing with; the first major blackout had been unexpected, and treated as a freak occurrence. Nobody had anticipated another, much less one on an even bigger scale. 

“Some kind of EMP attack,” Brimstone mused. “Just thinking aloud-”

“That wouldn’t affect us,” Viper said. “This base was built to withstand such an event. We have our own subsystems to prevent it.”

“An electromagnetic pulse would make the most sense,” Cypher added. “The trouble is…the data doesn’t add up to one. This is something entirely different.”

“Sabotage?”

“Sabotage on a global scale? Almost impossible.”

“What other options do we have?” Viper asked.

Cypher grimaced. She could feel it beneath his mask, even if he kept his emotions hidden. “I don’t know, admittedly. This is not something we’ve ever dealt with before.”

“Cypher, I want you to keep monitoring,” Brimstone ordered. “Viper, collect the team. Let them know we’re going to code red.”

“Are you certain?”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”

Their alert status had never been raised this high. Viper agreed with his decision, in theory, but there were far too many questions to ask and not even information to provide answers. The agents all had the same thing in mind; the moment Brimstone courted questions at their impromptu briefing, every single hand went up.

“We’re still determining the nature of this threat,” he said, realizing how much confusion there was in the ranks. “But we do know it’s a threat. If it happens again, it could do serious damage to our systems here.”

“With all due respect, Brimstone.”

Sage was the first to speak up. Viper was chafed to note that she had spoken out of turn, without raising her hand. 

“Sage?”

“I think we are jumping to conclusions here.”

There was a murmur of agreement from a couple of the agents. Viper considered speaking, to shut this down before Sage could jump to her own conclusions, but a glance from Brimstone silenced her. Let her speak, it said, and she was inclined to do so for now. Her next move depended on Sage’s.

“Nobody knows what happened today, and it’s clear we’re all a little frightened,” Sage spoke, as much to her agents as to the Protocol’s leadership. “We need to take measured action, not an impetuous leap. I do not wish to introduce further uncertainty into our strategy, but I must caution against poorly-considered operations.”

“Get to the point please, Sage,” Viper interrupted. “Are you suggesting something?”

“I am suggesting a viable plan of action, rather than panic,” Sage said calmly. “I am, in short, suggesting myself and my team.”

“To do what, exactly?” Brimstone asked.

“To do what we know how to do,” Sage said. “If we are ruling out all other causes, then we can narrow this down to a radiant concern. And radiant concerns are in my wheelhouse, frankly speaking.”

“We haven’t ruled out all other causes,” Viper said.

“All the same, this is a fair point to make,” said Brimstone.

Brim. Don’t. But he shot her another look to suggest that speaking up further would result in something quite deleterious for her. She bit her tongue hard enough to feel pain. 

“I can come up with an actionable series of steps in the next twenty-four hours,” Sage said. “Our radiant agents are trained and prepared and I have faith in their abilities, with myself at the helm to guide them.”

Of course it’s you. It has to be you, doesn’t it? 

“Whatever you decide, Brimstone, I will respect it,” Sage added, as though giving herself some insurance just in case. “But we have four agents ready and a fifth being processed. Myself as a sixth, we have a full team ready to take on the challenges of unidentified radiant incidents. Please consider this thoroughly.”

Sage sat back down then, situating herself between Gekko and Neon, both of whom appeared impressed with her speech. Viper was less so, and would have been happy to share her feelings, but Brimstone curtailed her and spoke first.

“The Valorant Protocol is at code red now,” he said. “Heightened emergency procedures are in place. If you don’t know what that entails, it’s in your agent handbook.”

Viper knew very well what that entailed. Trips to the mainland would be cancelled, activities would be shifted, and everyone was expected to be in a heightened state of alert. There was only one level higher than code red, and she hoped they would never see that.

“We are looking for answers and solutions,” he reminded them. “And we want them as soon as possible. To that end…Sage, I accept your proposal and look forward to a well-documented plan of action from you.”

He turned to Viper, then. She could read the lines on his face as though they were a thoroughly-edited novel. Don’t say a word. I know how you feel. Accept it.

Viper left the meeting the moment she could, fuming and in dire need of another cigarette. 

She escaped their afternoon training period as soon as she could and wolfed down her dinner on her own. It felt deeply wrong to abandon her fellow agents, especially after all they’d been through together, but she felt even worse for having left the poor girl in what was basically a refurbished dungeon.

The basement cell block was an odd cross between a prison and a hotel, lavished with creature comforts and kept well-lit and warm and yet deliberately isolated from the rest of the complex. It was a pleasant change to the endless concrete corridors and stalwart pneumatic doors but it was hardly something that could feel like home, especially since Neon knew what its purpose was.

Only one of the cells was currently occupied. Neon had watched Sage open the door; she knew the passcode and had committed it to memory over the course of a week. It was easy enough for her to obtain access, and damn whatever consequences may follow.

“Hey. How are you?”

She wasn’t sure what answer she was expecting from the wretched form that was curled up on the bed on its side, watching a faint reflection dance on the ceramic backsplash behind the sink. She barely stirred in reaction to Neon’s presence, preferring lonesomeness to any interaction with her captors. Neon didn’t perceive her as a captive, but understood the sentiment, and sat down at the end of the bed carefully, tentatively, ready to retreat if need be.

“Go away,” the white-haired girl snapped, still refusing to meet her eyes. “I’m done talking with you people today.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you for anything. I brought something for you.”

She fumbled around in her sweatshirt pocket and extracted the treat with as much sound as possible. The girl pretended like she wasn’t interested but she visibly perked up, and shifted slightly out of the fetal position she had tried so hard to hold.

“What is it?”

“Just something from home,” Neon said, suddenly feeling a rush of emotions at the mere mention of the word. “I, uh…my mom likes to mail me goodies. Says it’s good for morale. You wanna split it?”

She was loathe to give up her precious Choc-Nut, but she felt terrible for the girl and hated seeing her spend her entire day curled up on the bed in the dark, alone. The meals they had been providing her were a far cry from prison food, but they weren’t tasty either; they were designed purely for nutritional plenitude, and were the most uninspired and bland recipes possible. The Korean girl had been eating at least, but Neon felt like she could be doing more.

And so she gave up her chocolate treat and let Jett test it, first peeling back the wrapper then taking a small chunk and then taking a much larger chunk, satisfied with the results.

“Fuck, this is good,” she muttered through a full mouth.

“It’s one of my favorites.”

“Why are you sharing, then?”

Neon shrugged. “You seemed bored down here. I thought I’d…do something nice.”

The wind girl shook her head. “I’m bored because you’re treating me like some sort of terrorist,” she said. “And yet here you are, giving me chocolate.”

“I figured if you wanted to blow me out the door, you’d have done it already.”

She choked on the chunk of chocolate and nearly spat it out. “You’re a funny one,” she laughed. “Does it scare you to know I thought about it?”

“I figured you were thinking about it. And no.”

“Well, it would’ve been too much effort. But I’m glad I didn’t do it.”

To her surprise, the white-haired girl handed the Choc-Nut bar back over: half-eaten, spilling assorted crumbs all over the bedspread, but still quite edible. Neon happily obliged her offer.

“You can have it if you want,” she reassured her.

“No. You said it was your favorite. Have some. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“ Positively positive?”

“Don’t make me blow you out the door.”

Neon laughed in spite of herself. She was afraid, but not because the strange wind-bending woman with chalk-white hair and the attitude of a porcupine was mere feet away from her. There was so much more to be afraid of, and truthfully Neon wasn’t sure what was worse in her life. Sitting next to this strange girl, she didn’t feel particularly threatened, even if she could snap at any moment and make an escape out the open cell door. Which, oddly enough, she hadn’t even considered, judging by her relaxed posture and general apathy.

“You know, it’s not so bad here,” Neon said, as though she were making a pitch. “I know it’s been a rough few days.”

The woman snorted and dramatically rolled her eyes. “As if you’d know,” she said. “You didn’t get dragged here against your will after being tazed.”

“Where else were you going to go?”

It was a simple question that begged a simple answer, which the white-haired girl failed to offer up. She furrowed her brow and bared her teeth as if to spit in Neon’s face, but nothing came of the effort. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted, begrudgingly. “I hadn’t thought that far…”

“I know this is a lot to take in.”

“You can only imagine.”

“And we probably shouldn’t have tazed you…”

“No, I’d prefer if you hadn’t. That hurt .”

“...but we’re not the bad guys here. I just want you to realize that.”

Wow, Neon. Way to sell your side. She immediately realized how corny that sounded coming out of her mouth, but it was too late to take the words back. The concept of good guys and bad guys might have had some appeal in a comic book, or telenovela; here in the real world, it quickly fell out of the realm of practicality.

“Not the bad guys, huh,” the girl snorted, obviously unsold. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“We can do better.”

“You’ve yet to try.”

“I’m trying right now.”

Neon understood her frustration, coming from her own experience of feeling like a cornered animal desperate to break free to perceived freedom. But that same experience had taught her that freedom, at least for people like her, was an illusion - there was nothing like it anymore. Her parents had done what they could to protect her, and had made a noble effort of it, but even that had fallen short. 

“I wish I could stay longer. But I have to go. They don’t want me down here.”

Sage would have her hide if she was caught down here with their captive alone - and Viper, too, she imagined. She wasn’t sure which one would be worse.

“Can you come back tomorrow?”

Neon never expected that question. She hadn’t even been thinking about coming back; one visit was already risky enough as is. But she had asked, and there was no way Neon could say no now.

“I can try.”

“And bring some more of that…what did you call it?”

“Choc-Nut?”

She tossed the idea around for a moment like a volleyball, over and over.

“I can do that.”

She thought it would be a small price to pay, parting with her beloved treat to help Han Sunwoo feel a little bit less lonely. She could always write a letter home for more, anyway. 

Chapter Text

“Viper, I seriously think you should reconsider.”

It was far too late for that, of course; they were fifteen minutes from landing, and Viper would not be dissuaded from this course of action. Most of the other agents were tracking down a lead in Japan, anyway, and since Raze had gone home to visit her sick mother in the hospital they were very short on personnel. What options did they have?

“We have other options,” Sage said, as though sensing that was going to be her next question. “It doesn’t have to be you, Viper.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. “But it is.”

“Your health should be your top priority.”

“When is it not?”

“I want you to take those pills as instructed. One a day, please. They’re absolutely necessary.”

Viper’s hand idly travelled down to the medical bag that was attached by a carabinier to her luggage, jostling it until she heard the pills tumble within. She had no intent of taking them, of course.

“I will,” she lied.

“I must emphasize how important they are. I’ve noticed you’ve been very active lately. They are supposed to be-”

“I’m active because I feel fine,” she said. 

There was a pause on the line, Sage considering her bluff. “Just promise me you’ll keep taking your pills and immediately report any signs of illness to me.”

“I will. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a city to catch.”

The line fizzled out with Sage’s last shred of patience. Viper was growing less and less fond of this newfangled device with each passing day; she had not a single moment of privacy or tranquility so long as her colleagues could reach out to her from halfway across the world at any given time. Brimstone had hailed Killjoy’s tinkering as revolutionary, and he wasn’t the only one, but Viper only looked at the crooked little communicator device the way she’d look at something smeared on the bottom of her shoe.

Berlin, at least, was full of promise. To some it was a city on its knees, constantly teetering on the verge of collapse, and yet nothing that she saw on her way in suggested anything of the sort. The broad avenues and old cobblestone streets were bustling and lively, the neon lights were bright and laundry hung from open windows as the late spring warmth surged in, and everywhere she looked she saw clubs, discotheques, and bars awash with young, healthy faces. There were signs of trouble, sure; building facades pockmarked with aging bullet holes, picket signs on street curbs, and the omnipresent reminder of the wall that separated east from west, a noose around the city’s neck that could be pulled tight at any moment. 

In spite of those perturbations, Berlin was alive and well and she was happy to be able to be here on her own, taking on a mission without having to tolerate Sage peering over her shoulder at every opportunity. She even had space in a decent home in a more quiescent neighborhood, where a local entrepreneur who had been connected to them through Miklós Manár was more than happy to offer her a room on the cheap. It allowed her to lay low, which seemed excessive after she had spent nearly the last two weeks going to ground, but it was cozy and well-furnished and had hot water and a tub that she desperately wanted to use but knew she shouldn’t because then luxury will make you get soft and complacent and easy and then you’d be a target and-

So, no baths, she decided. But she appreciated having it, as this particular mission might take a few weeks and she would have plenty of time to kill without access to her lab for work.

That in particular had chafed her, but Brimstone had promised to handle incoming requests and reports in her absence. She trusted him implicitly and since there was no way for her to take her lab on the go, she accepted the compromise and told herself it would all turn out alright. He had also assuaged her by telling her there was nobody he would trust more than her for this job.

She pulled the briefing file out of her luggage and got to work assessing the threat level, objectives, and plans of attack for this particular job. Berlin was a complex city with multiple dark underbellies, each layered atop the other and inherently inseparable, making it the perfect place for criminal networks and unscrupulous types to foster deep roots. As such, it was of little surprise to her that an art theft was in the works here.

Kunstgewerbemuseum. 

Try saying that one five times fast, she thought. It was one of the city’s finest museums, a treasure trove of reliquaries and other religious artifacts, and hosted some of Berlin’s most outrageously lavish balls and mingles. 

NATO intelligence suggests that local criminals have received substantial backing from East German officials in order to organize the theft of several recently displayed artifacts. Further information was not able to narrow down what the significance of the artifacts in question could be for the thieves.

Several recent prominent art thefts had rocked the art world, but this sounded like an entirely different game with more nefarious players. As she continued reading the briefing, her questions and concerns only multiplied, and she found herself with one hand on her chin and the other gripping the dossier tightly, her knuckles whitening.

The theft is expected to proceed during or shortly after an open house for the new exhibitions on May 2nd. It is unclear which of the new exhibitions will be targeted. 

That left a lot of opportunities. It also struck her as particularly brazen to go after the objects in question during an open house event, which made her think this crew had an insider at the museum working with them. 

Cooperative elements during this investigation will include local authorities, judiciary personnel, and NATO intelligence. Direct cooperation is to be performed with the ‘Ståljeger’ outfit, which is redeploying to Berlin on April 24th. 

Steljaegers? She had never heard of them before. The briefing provided little additional information, other than informing her they were a Norwegian paramilitary unit that specialized in counter-radiant activities. 

5e RD Radiant Hunters are currently operating in Chad to track down multiple radiant fugitives and are unable to support this operation.

Viper rolled her eyes. Damn poor timing. She would have to have faith in these “Ståljegers” and hope that they could meet the high standards of Rouchefort’s esteemed unit. There were far too many variables at play here, not enough information for her to develop a foolproof plan of attack, and too many meetings and conversations to be held before time was up and she needed to act. She was starting to wonder if electing to take the lead on this operation was a good idea, or if she had just stumbled into a trap of her own making.

Maybe she was going to need that bath, after all.

Going to ground had never been difficult for her. Previous strategies had always been some variant of return to base, stay there, work ten hours a day for two straight weeks, and that was always enough time for any heat she had accumulated to disperse. She was inclined to do that anyway, so it was not unusual or unanticipated for her. 

Now, though, she had to blend in with the crowd around her and act like a normal person. That was a radical concept that she found increasingly challenging as the days oozed along like the melting wax of a candle slowly rolling down to the pool. She could work, but her means were limited; without access to her personal workstation or her lab, there was only so much she could accomplish with a typewriter and pen and paper.

She sent a brief message to Brimstone two days after landing: HOW IS IT? He knew what she’d be referring to.

Brimstone sent a return message about half an hour later: ITS A LOT. She actually laughed. She was grateful he was attentive and thorough, and in spite of how they had been locking horns lately over Sage’s recruitment protocol she was happy to have him in charge. 

With work so limited in scope, she had to find time to entertain herself as well as scout out the city and keep open ears and eyes for anything. Part of going to ground involved vigilance even when one was considered safe and sound, and vigilance was best performed as naturally as possible. So Viper assumed the role of a local who she made up on the spot in half an hour; she was a textile artist, having failed in her career as an accountant, and thus had reason to often travel to the artsier neighborhoods where every manner of human being crossed paths with each other on a daily basis. She perused bakeries for morning bread, patronized cafes and enjoyed a steaming cup of cappuccino in the spring sun, visited galleries and art shops and co-ops to pretend like she was sizing up the competition and looking at raw materials to purchase for her craft, and went out on evening walks to scour the crowd for any signs of unusual behavior.

In a sea of humanity, it would be difficult to catch her chosen fish. Nevertheless, she persisted for several days, adopting a routine that was beginning to feel genuine by the time the Ståljegers arrived.

She was informed of this by a brief message from Brimstone, who had been the only one in contact with her since she had landed. 

NORWEGIANS.

That was all she needed to hear. She rallied, combed her hair and washed her face, then rushed out the door to the predetermined meeting spot where the Ståljegers were quartering themselves for this operation. It was only fifteen minutes down the road, theoretically, but navigating Berlin was not always that easy. 

Sea of humanity , she reminded herself, struggling against a tidal wave of shoppers, passersby, and cocaine-enthralled young men and women stumbling out of the clubs at the ripe hour of 9 AM following a night of debauchery in the dark, dank basement clubs of Friedenau. She was late for their rendezvous, and the escort flanking the door of the tall, imposing brick hostel made sure she knew it.

“You’re behind schedule,” she snapped, in a thick, frosty Norwegian accent. “Come in. Anyway.”

Viper would apologize, but she imagined it would have no effect on this crew. They were all chiseled out of the same cold stony material: frigid blue eyes, sharp jaws, weathered features, and powerful arms were all that greeted her when she stepped into their hostel room. She wondered, for a moment, if she had the wrong crowd. The door slammed shut and latched behind her, severing her from her only escape route should this be a mistake.

“Ståljegers,” she said, trying to assess any hostile intent from the four women in the room with her. “What does it mean?”

“Steel Hunters,” said the woman who had greeted her at the hostel’s front door. “We are forged, not born. And we fight as one.”

Her blonde hair was short and carefully curled, the tips gracing the back of her neck lightly and her bangs thoughtfully trimmed. Her icy blue eyes had never left Viper from the moment she had greeted her. Viper took note of a strange birthmark on her right cheek; four equidistant moles, arranged in a square. Birthmark? Or deliberate?

“We’re a little group, but we pack a punch,” one of the other women said. 

“Is it only the four of you?”

“Four is all we need,” the blonde woman said, and smiled. “I’ll gladly introduce you to my fellow operators - Pillar, Farsight, and Secunda.”

With a broad sweep of her muscular arm, she led Viper’s eyes down the line - from a tall, dark-eyed woman with a military-style crew cut to a bright-eyed younger woman with long bangs, and from there to a short, muscular redhead with a stiff ponytail and a jagged scar running alongside her nose. Pillar, Farsight, and Secunda. 

“And you may refer to me as Deadlock. I am our commanding officer, and the finest warrior among us.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Secunda laughed, scrunching her nose up as she did. “She’s biased.”

“Only a little bit. Am I wrong? We call you Secunda for a reason.”

“Hey, now! A little too on the nose, Ise-” 

“Deadlock. Let’s use the cover names.”

Deadlock turned back to Viper then, still studying her curiously.

“And who might you be now, Valorant? I was told much about your organization, but little about you.”

Viper wasn’t quite sure what to make of these Ståljegers yet. They weren’t unfriendly, but their behavior left her wondering just how cooperative this relationship was going to be. Brimstone had offered her little information about them, preferring to focus on the mission parameters and goals during their briefing.

“Viper,” she said, keeping it short. “Second-in-command with the Valorant Protocol.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Viper.” She accepted Deadlock’s handshake, but with reservations.

The hostel was spartan, more akin to a prison cell than a barracks. The Ståljegers appeared to have little interest in further furnishing of their quarters, and were just happy to have beds and space. Viper could have been convinced that all Norwegians were unrepentant ascetics, putting even her thrifty sensibilities to shame.

However, she did start warming up to them as she spoke with their leader, who was surprisingly sharp and intuitive for someone who marked herself as a warrior first and foremost.

“Our dossiers were lacking,” Deadlock admitted, as she and Viper sat down after a light dinner. “Suffice to say, I was not pleased with what I was given.”

“Let me fill you in on the blanks, then.”

Viper told her everything that she knew, barring any sensitive information that could have posed a risk to Valorant’s personnel rosters or internal interests. Kunstgewerbemuseum. Art theft. Substantial support. Opening night. Deadlock listened to it all, silent and thoughtful, until Viper had finished and sat back in her chair.

“It’s a bold move to steal something the same day it is unveiled,” Deadlock said.

“I thought the same.”

“Suggests that they have someone on the inside working with them. It’s just a matter of figuring out who, and how.”

“I also thought the same.”

Those had quite literally been her first thoughts. Deadlock was on the same frequency as she was. That was a good sign. 

“It’s not quite clear how this network is getting support from the other side,” Viper said. “I suspect that they’re either crossing at the Brandenburg gate, or they’re passing through the wall using something more subtle.”

“Underground would make sense,” Deadlock suggested. “They’ll want to remain hidden. Subtle. Evasive.”

“Agreed.”

“And these art thieves? What do you know about those involved?”

Viper had been reticent to share information about this, but she sensed that it would be impossible to avoid now. Her own experience with them colored this attitude, and she would not let that get in the way of her job.

“I have encountered them before,” she said. “Multiple times.”

“Oh?”

“They’re no petty thieves. They’re experienced, adept, and dangerous.”

“And they’re stealing art, now?”

“It’s not art they’re after, I don’t think,” Viper said, shaking her head. “There’s something else at play here. They hide their tracks well and make assessing their objectives…difficult, to say the least. There’s at least one radiant among them, too.”

“Our briefing mentioned the possibility.”

“As I expected,” Viper said. “What I’m about to tell you here is off the record. It doesn’t leave this room.”

Deadlock nodded; she understood what was at play here, and how to act accordingly. Viper was grateful for the professionalism.

“We seem to share objectives with them, suggesting they’re looking at radiants and radianite the same way we are,” Viper said. “But we’ve yet to uncover their motives, or figure out who’s heading them.”

“Perhaps now is our chance,” Deadlock suggested, with a slight smile. “They do not know that the Ståljegere are in town. They will be in for a nasty surprise.”

“I hope this doesn’t need to go kinetic,” Viper said. “All the same, in the unlikely case that it might, your skills will be needed. Two of their agents are very aggressive. Reckless, even. They will do anything in pursuit of their goal.”

“Impetuous behavior puts you in the ground,” Deadlock said.

“Try telling them that. They don’t seem to learn. But make no mistake, they are very dangerous people.”

She knew that from her own experience; a sudden lurch in her stomach and a tightness in her chest reminded her that one of them had even managed to kill her. She would still refuse to take Sage’s pills in spite of the miracle she had managed to pull off.

“They’ve given us a hell of a time so far, and they seem to know our moves before we make them.”

Deadlock only scoffed and smiled with unabashed pride. “We Ståljegere are built for this,” she said. “We will handle whatever they throw at us.”

“Even the radiants?”

“Especially the radiants.”

Deadlock’s confidence was both reassuring and concerning. They made plans to meet two days from now, but at Viper’s quarters this time; Deadlock thought this would be a good way to shake up routine and keep any interlopers on their toes. Viper disagreed, knowing that routine was key to blending in and avoiding attention, but she yielded this one to the buff, imposing, strong-willed Norwegians who saw her out of their quarters with slaps on her back, encouraging words, and raucous laughter.

They’re having too much fun with this, she thought. I wonder how long they’re going to last here.

In Berlin, fun was etched into every cobblestone, carved into every wall, and whispered from every crevice and cleft, permeating your clothes and your skin and eventually your very being. Even a dour creature like Viper would begin to feel the allure of letting go and letting loose, and would seek to shed all inhibitions as if stripping out of constraining clothes to allow the city’s youthful, vigorous, insane energy to take over.

She resisted as best as she could, drawing on a pool of conservative sensibility instilled in her by her absent father and her patronizing mother years and years ago as a young child. But that pool was running dry in the face of Berlin’s seemingly endless reservoir of maddening energy, and it was impossible not to be affected by the city’s energy.

Her routine began to stretch out into the evenings, where she found herself staying out later after dinner as the weather improved and the crowds thickened further still. In contrast to the Soviet-controlled parts of the city, which were reportedly sullen and afflicted with an eternal melancholy courtesy of their benefactors, the central and western neighborhoods only gained new life as summer loomed on the horizon. As though waking from hibernation, thousands of fresh-faced young men and women poured out into the streets every evening in anticipation of a long night spent in a grimy basement or in a crowded biergarten. Viper ignored them as best as she could, but found that strategy ineffective and eventually felt herself being lulled into their entrancing patterns as the late-night neon lights flickered on and nocturnal creatures came out to play.

She also struck gold, figuratively speaking, by allowing herself to fall prey to the lascivious habits of the nocturnal crowd and join them. It only took one late night at a crowded cocktail lounge packed full of art students who had just completed their capstone projects, already strung out on their vice of choice and yapping carelessly about whatever came to mind.

Viper sat with her aperitif in hand and listened closely to the broken English that spilled out of a certain corner of the tightly-packed establishment. The dark pinewood cladding and low ceiling amplified every sound and allowed her to listen in to a conversation that she absolutely should not have been able to listen in to. She couldn’t catch everything, what with the background noise and the distance between her and the persons of interest, but she got enough.

Nordhafenbrȕcke station.

Meeting place.

A radiant.

It was all useful information, but she had a much clearer picture of where they needed to hone their efforts. She downed the remainder of her drink, wincing at the bitter aftertaste, and then beat a hasty retreat as she spotted a bright-eyed brown-haired bushy-bearded young man eyeing her from across the way. She effortlessly blended into the crowd and made her way back to her quarters where her new friends would be waiting.

If the housekeeper was flustered by the appearance of four burly, imposing Norwegian women at her doorstep, she did not show it. She offered the same friendly smile and the same reassuring composure that she did every night when Viper returned from her outings, cheerily asking simple, vague questions that allowed her to engage in pleasant conversation without cause for concern. 

“I showed your guests upstairs,” she informed Viper kindly. “They were very polite.”
“As they should be, as guests,” Viper said. “Thank you, Hilde.”

“My pleasure, Miss Cross.”

“Oh, Sarah is fine. I think we’ve earned first name basis.”

Hilde smiled, completely unaware of the anonym. Viper made her way up to her quarters, where the four burly, imposing Norwegian women were waiting, appearing uncomfortable in such a well-furnished and cozy space. They stood in a semicircle in her anteroom, arms crossed and feet firmly planted shoulder-length apart, pensive as they watched her arrive and hang her coat up on the door.

“You’re behind schedule,” Deadlock said. “Again.”

“I’m noticing a trend here, Deadlock,” said Secunda. “Maybe our new friend isn’t as reliable as she seems?”

“Careful, ladies,” Pillar whispered. “She’s listening.”

Viper paid no mind to their banter at her expense. She had valuable information worth sharing, and she was going to share it. And as she did, the judgmental expressions and teasing smiles faded, and the Ståljegere listened intently as she shared everything she had heard and offered her own analysis and conjectures. She admitted what it was - conjecture, for the most part - but she had a solid foundation to build it from. After she was finished, Deadlock took her aside to have a hushed, rushed conversation.

“How much of this do you trust?” she asked, in a fierce whisper.

“I have no reason not to trust it.”

“Do you think any of it could be misleading?”

“No, I don’t expect so. They were all too comfortable with their surroundings.”

They had had no idea she was there, either. Adapting to her routine and wearing comfortable streetwear and a simple coat, she had blended in perfectly well with the student crowd. Nobody would have thought twice about her age, either; Berlin’s art scene was all-encompassing.

“They have a deep network, then,” Deadlock said. “They’re almost certainly embedded in an art school.”

“And a prominent one, I think,” Viper agreed. “But it goes deeper than that.”

“How much deeper?”

“That’s what we still need to find out.”

Time was of the essence. She gently reminded herself of the date; April 26th. There was now less than a week’s time for them to get everything they needed ready to make a move. All of her effort would be wasted if she did not step it up a notch right away.

“I need to keep working if you want something more actionable,” Viper said. “But believe me, I’m making progress.”

“I never said I doubted you.”

“I only want you to be reassured that you are working with a reliable partner. I don’t want our resources to be squandered here.”

Said resources were waiting for them in the anteroom, still in their little semicircle, statuesque. They were patient, she would grant them that; no attempts had been made at eavesdropping on their brief aside. 

“Sisters, we have a plan of action,” Deadlock announced. “No killing, yet.”

“Unfortunate,” Secunda snorted, her eyes already dancing over the rifles assembled in the far corner.

“We’ve got leads to track down,” Deadlock said. “And we need all boots on the ground. Time is short, so we need to be as attentive as we can be and spend as much time out in the city as we possibly can.”

“You promised us a scrap, Deadlock,” Secunda said. “Where’s my fight?”

“The moment we get into a scrap, min venn, you’ll be the first one I put in the ring,” Deadlock said, smiling warmly. “Before that…we need to find out just who exactly we’re fighting.”

“That’s always the least fun part,” Secunda grumbled, but it was in good humor. She understood.

They arranged for another meeting three days down the line, closer to the deadline than Viper would have liked but understandable given their lack of further information. She felt secure with the Ståljegere, but she wondered just how good at gathering information they were going to be. They were fighters, not spies, and while one could excel at both (Viper being a living testament to this), she sensed that Deadlock’s sisters preferred the former activity to the latter. Nevertheless, she saw them out of her quarters and fell into bed with boosted confidence that night, feeling like she was making progress.

She received a message from Brimstone overnight that flashed on her wristwatch:

GOOD LUCK

With Deadlock’s sisters on the ground, she decided it was time to scout das Kunstgewerbemuseum itself, having avoided it to avoid any unwanted attention. She was still struggling with its German pronunciation, and knew she wouldn’t be able to pass herself off as a local, so she adopted a new aesthetic and a believable persona for her visit that Sunday. 

A normal museum in a normal city would be closed on Sunday, its patrons tending to domestic affairs at home and its employees enjoying their day of rest. But Das Kunstgewerbemuseum was no normal museum, and Berlin was no normal city. Judging by the exterior alone, it was an institution dedicated to defying expectations and setting trends, and the crowd within certainly reinforced that premise. 

The concept of class was either unknown or ignored; people of all backgrounds rubbed shoulders and styles, united by their passion for art both ancient and contemporary. Wearing her more fashionable getup, which she had paid a significant personal sum for, Viper feigned the role of the clueless tourist, marveling slack-jawed at her surroundings until a presumptuous man who fancied himself a modern Tristain sallied forth to save her from her own ignorance.

“Good morning, ma’am. Might I be of service to you?”

“Oh…well aren’t you a charming young gentleman?”

She hated playing this role, but she was cursed to be exceptionally good at it. She let him take the lead, all the while carefully picking out word choice and language that might be useful. He was just a standard museum attendant, a lower-level employee, but she might still find a use for him if she twisted him in the right way.

“Oh, that sounds fascinating.”

“Doesn’t it? It’s a brand new exhibition. We’re opening up on May 2nd.”

“Oh, I had heard something about that…aren’t there multiple exhibits?”

“Yes, but we’re keeping a tight shift on what they’re about…”

“Well, now you’ve got me quite curious.”

He was flustered by her swagger and tone. Good. He’s vulnerable. Dig the knife in further.

“You’re not going to let me leave here with unanswered questions, are you?”

Her flirtatious tone cracked his armor like a battering ram. Cursed to be exceptionally good at this, she lamented, grateful at least that her effort had been worthwhile.

“Well, I suppose I can give you some hints,” he said. “I can even…walk you that way…”

He led and she followed, as she listened intently to his vague descriptions of each new gallery or exhibition that would be opened with the upcoming ceremony. 

“This one’s sort of quirky. Are you familiar with Nozkowski? He’s really making waves. We’ve got three of his prints and they’re stellar.”

Making waves? You drama queen. But please do continue. We’re getting closer to where I need to be.

He led her into a less-trafficked wing of the museum, where the end of the hallway was delineated by a massive red pipe-and-drape from wall-to-wall. 

“There’s one that’s going to be front-and-center. Bleckner. Very transformative stuff coming from him.”

Transformative? What does that even mean in this context? Does he even know?

“And it’s not just modern stuff. Towards the end of the hall we’ve got another gallery, bit of a weird placement - kind of out of the way. Won’t be many people going to that one.”

That got her attention. Having been silent this whole time, letting the man prattle on and think he had her attached to him, she spoke up for the first time.

“Seems counterintuitive, no? A brand new exhibit should have plenty of visitors,” she said.

“You’d think, but the museum directors seem to think this one won’t get much traction,” he said, in a tone that suggested he unfortunately agreed. “It’s a collection of novel artifacts. West African - mostly from Ghana, if I recall.”

Where had she heard about Ghana lately? It was one of many countries that had weathered the ongoing storm of the Cold War by keeping to its own business and not drawing attention to its affairs. But where had she heard about it lately?

The pulse, she remembered, thinking back to Brimstone’s declaration of code red. The energy burst. Ghana. Cypher had tracked it there. 

There was no correlation that she could see, but it piqued her interest all the same. To the guide’s surprise, she asked for more information about that gallery.

“Can you see it? Well, no, not yet, it’s still being set up, and I’m not allowed to-”

“Maybe you can just…slip me some more information? I’m so curious.” 

Get this over with. Please. He caved rapidly, entranced by her feigned coquettishness.

“Well, I’ve got some pamphlets that we’re going to distribute…you can get, uh…you can see them in advance, here, I’ll take you back to the, uh…”

He led her into the employee-only section of the museum, clearly overwhelmed by her mere presence. She found that quite embarrassing (for him), but still needed to play her role and pretended to be flattered by him. 

“I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable,” he said, as he led her back into a dimly-lit room of crowded cubicles. “You seem nice, and I-”

“The pamphlets, if you will.” Her patience was running thin. But he had not yet caught on to her game, and he nodded his head, his brow slick with sweat that gleamed dully in the rugged, bare incandescents above.

“Right. Yes, the pamphlets,” he said, his mouth dry. “I’ll go grab them from the print room…if you’ll wait a second, I’ll-”

He raced off. Viper had precious seconds to find something of value amid the clutter, before her pockets were stuffed with useless pamphlets from a man who was clearly desperate for a date with an artsy tourist. She moved quickly and got lucky.

She decided that the manila folder stuffed with assorted papers and labeled Anweisungen zur Artefakte-halle would be her best bet. Her German was stiff and outmoded but she could read enough to know this would be a useful resource, if nothing else. Knowing time was against her, she slipped back into the access hallway and out into the museum galleries again before he could return, keeping the stolen dossier tightly tucked against the hem of her pants and beneath the folds of her jacket, with no one the wiser.

Of course, he would be the wiser. But what was he going to do?

He returned to an empty room, minus one manila folder, as quiet as the grave. He had a single pamphlet in his sweaty, clammy left hand and he intended for his right to be holding her hand as he took her out for a nice lunch and coffee at a pleasant cafe that he frequented down the road. 

I was so nice to her , he thought, as he fumbled his way back out into the museum, desperate to catch a glimpse of her and catch her again. Where did she go? Did she get nervous? Maybe she’s just nervous. I can talk to her .

In his desperation, he failed to notice that the folder was gone, and with it Viper. She was already back out into the streets, merging back into that endless reservoir of maddening energy. 

She would not return home just yet, though. There was no shortage of attention being paid her way, counterintuitive to what she needed to accomplish here, and a letter had been handed to the housekeeper that morning which Viper had begrudgingly taken and read. The contents of the letter had alarmed her greatly; she feared not for her personal safety, but there was something even greater at risk.

How did she know? Where did she learn? Am I being watched without my knowledge? Questions that would be nearly impossible to answer, knowing who had written the letter, but she knew this: she was obligated to a meeting at 2:30 PM at a little cafe just down the road, halfway between the museum and her quarters. And so she found herself there ten minutes early, wondering if this was a ruse and if she had just taken the bait.

Viper watched her cross the street and effortlessly part the crowd a few minutes later, taking note of how her every move was made with unearned confidence. She wondered if she was about to have a reason to regret this rendezvous. It was not a ruse, at least; that much was now clear.

“You’re late,” she said, ironic given how many times she had been late to an arrangement recently.

“You know how it is here. Nobody is in a rush. You are the only one who would ever be.”

“With good reason.”

“Oh, I’d love to hear it…but first, some coffee?”

Viper could never say no to that. Before long a blank-faced waiter drew up to their table, intuited their interests with little change of expression on his pasty face, then returned with a carafe of strong coffee and two thimbles of cream. Viper ignored hers and took the coffee as it was.

“Sarah Cross.” Her old subordinate let the anonym hover in the air a bit, judging Viper’s reaction. She offered none.

“Interesting choice of name,” she continued. “Simple. Functional. Unassuming.”

“Did you expect anything different, Amelie?” Viper asked, frowning.

“From you?” She laughed playfully. “Of course not. Though, SC …that’s a touch on the nose, don’t you think so?”

“I enjoy a little risk,” Viper said.

Amelie laughed again, but Viper had no reason to be amused. She had already intuited that there was an ulterior motive at play here, as there always was with Amelie Dessapins. She lacked the information needed to piece together what that motive was, but she was sure she could tease it out over the course of their unexpected rendezvous . She bided her time and took note of every move, every conversation piece that Amelie strategically chose to deploy. It was as though they were playing a game of chess over coffee and pastries, much like the game she had played with the museum guide - only this game was far more dangerous, and Amelie Dessapins was a far more cunning opponent.

“So tell me,” Amelie said, after their initial moves. “How has working for Valorant been?”

“You wish you could know.”

Amelie laughed, chipper in the face of such stalwart resistance. “I do hope it is well,” she said. “I mean you no ill will, you know.”

“Answer me this first,” Viper said. “What does Kingdom gain from watching me?”

“Kingdom’s not involved in this,” Amelie said. “This is entirely personal.”

“You?”

“I am the sole executor of this little operation. Kingdom has no idea. I am simply interested in your career, Sabine .”

She nearly spit her coffee out. “Don’t say my name.”

“Afraid you’ll need to go to ground so soon?”

“Tell me what you’re looking for, Amelie. These games always tire me.”

“I only wish to know what role you play in this great game… Sarah .” She put particular emphasis on the anonym, taking great joy in teasing Viper with it. “So much is unfolding right now. I have an inkling you have a front and center seat…and might even be a part of it.”

“Classified information,” Viper snapped. “I’m sure you’re familiar with that refrain.”

“All too familiar,” Amelie confirmed. “I got that same line from Kingdom. K/SEC even paid me a visit on a Saturday morning. Can you believe it?”

“Unfortunately I can.”

“It was all business, of course. They even sat down and made coffee for me. But it was the principle of the thing.”

“Get to the point.”

“The point is that Kingdom knows something, and you know something,” Amelie said, unwavering. “And I suspect it will be easier to get that something out of you than out of them. Plus, you’re less likely to show up to my house on a Saturday morning and handcuff me for indefinite detention.”

“Don’t tempt me, Amelie.”

Amelie found that funny; Viper would never, of course, and she knew that. But she had to play the game.

“I understand your reluctance to share,” Amelie said. “But think of this: we are on the cusp of something great. Something wonderful. I don’t need to pitch it to you. You saw the same vision, once.”

“Once.” 

“We are near to the utopia that we could only once dream of. Don’t you see it? A bright future, driven by radianite, built on its foundations. You’ve seen it.”

“I saw it. Once.” Viper’s tone was as bitter as her coffee. “That dream died.”

“You let it die.”

“It died because I saw the truth,” Viper snapped, feeling her lips curling back of their own accord. “The truth? The truth is this world is eating itself from the inside out for a snowball’s chance at a dying light. Every day we inch closer to that cusp, but it’s not greatness that awaits us. We’ll burn ourselves in the end.”

Amelie’s cheer faded. She realized then that the game was up, and her efforts at wearing down Viper’s defenses had been misguided. She realized then that she was going to have to pick a different approach. Viper could feel the cold radiating off her now, her demeanor completely changed.

“Your foresight disappoints me,” she said, “or lack thereof.”

“I’ll have none of your idealism.”

“You can rot in the dark while the rest of us move on. You have no one but yourself to blame.”

“What do you want from me, Amelie?”

Amelie bit her lip and furrowed her brow, as though thinking of the right answer. Their coffee cups were long empty; the remains of their pastries appealed to neither of them. This was over.

“Honestly? I wanted to offer you a hand.”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“Not out of pity,” she said, “but out of respect. I wanted to give you a chance after how Kingdom treated you. But I see now you don’t deserve it.”

“I wouldn’t have taken it anyway.”

“You will come to regret that,” Amelie said. “But I’ll trouble you with it no more. I’m sorry to say goodbye on such a low note.”

“Do it anyway.”

She had won, but she sensed this was not the end of their game. Amelie Dessapins could admit defeat in battle while plotting to win a war; Viper got the sense that the next step would be a full-blown offensive, one way or another. They parted ways without further words, and Viper remained behind for some time, deep in thought until the sun began to sink into the western sky and the crowd around her grew restless on cheap vodka and cheaper cocaine. When she was sure she wouldn’t be followed home, she hightailed it into the crowd and moved swiftly. 

Her relief melted the moment the housekeeper caught up to her.

“Hilde, I have work I need to do,” she tried to worm her way out of it. “Sorry, I-”

“It’s another letter for you, Miss Sarah,” Hilde said, with the same cheer as always. “She was a very nice woman! Seemed to know you. Friend of yours?”

“Oh…alright then. Thank you, Hilde.”

“My pleasure, Miss Sarah. Have a lovely night!”

Viper’s heart began racing. Amelie, what are you playing at? She gripped the letter with such force that it crumpled slightly in her hand before she could get to her room, where she tore the envelope open and felt her heart completely stop.

This is not Amelie’s handwriting. A cursory comparison between the two letters confirmed that. This was something else entirely. And left by someone who might know her? Viper felt her breath hitch in her throat as she began reading:

My dear acquaintance,

How happy I am to know that you’re here in Berlin with me. Take heart in knowing that I have not shared this particular fact with my colleagues; not yet, at least. That may change depending on your reaction to this message that I hope finds its way into your hands sooner, rather than later.

I have sorely missed you since our last, unexpected encounter in Manila. I sense that we have some unfinished business between us. While you seem like the type of woman who gets directly to business, I must confess I love a little game of chase. It’s one of the only ways to have fun in this otherwise dull, predictable world.

I have many interests, so let’s begin with art. I have a keen eye and an inquiring mind and I think you’ll want to know more. Find me at noon tomorrow at one of the illustrious municipal museums - you’ll have to guess which one. Guess correctly, or be fleet of feet. I’ll wait for you for only one hour. The code is “dogwood”.

See you tomorrow, pretty thing. 

Chapter Text

Viper rarely slept soundly, and tonight was no exception. She awoke at each hour to find that time was passing slower than she’d like, and she would toss and turn about it until exhaustion claimed her again. It could only hold her in its clutches for so long before she propelled herself to the surface and struggled out of the mud of fatigue again, invigorated by the promise of a forbidden rendezvous.

She considered, at first, phoning home and tattling on the mysterious letter-writer. Brimstone and Cypher would want to know that the enigmatic agents who had been stalking their operations had shown up once again, and would immediately move to crack down on them and try to catch them.

But that meant, of course, that her rendezvous would be cancelled and she would never get a second chance. So she gently returned the phone to the receiver, finished her coffee, pocketed the letter, and initiated the chase.

She had initially hoped that she could stake out somewhere adjacent to the museum district and catch Reyna off-guard, but that effort offered increasingly dismal dividends as the morning hours ticked away and the crowds only exploded in size. Faced with such an unruly mixture of color and style, she knew it would be impossible to pick Reyna out, much less approach her. As the clock struck eleven, she caved and accepted the nearly-impossible terms of Reyna’s game.

Nearly. There were just enough crumbs for her to follow the trail, enough moonlight for her to stumble along and find her way, enough reason to play the game even though she hated it.

Why was she playing along, anyway? Anyone else in her position would have gauged that her intuition was correct, and she should have called this in and waited for support instead of forging ahead on her own. Reyna was her enemy, an agent of an ambiguous group of clearly hardened professionals, and yet here she was engaging in a casual game of cat-and-mouse. How did she imagine this ended, exactly? 

Likely in a back alley, hands bound, with a bullet in the back of the head. But she had been there before, and Reyna hadn’t pulled the trigger. Why would she now? That knowledge, and the promise of something more, drove her to her first objective, possessed with a dogged determination to seek this woman out and corner her for answers. 

Fortunately Berlin’s finest and most prestigious art museums and galleries were all clustered together in an unofficial cultural district, tightly wedged between the neatly-trimmed hedgerows lining the Tiergarten and the soupy landwehrkanal. That meant if her guess was incorrect, she was not out of luck; she now realized what Reyna meant by fleet of feet. 

She’s having the time of her life with this, I’m sure, Viper grumbled to herself, slipping through the sea of humanity before her like a fleeing fish and hurtling herself into the nearest structure, which happened to be the city’s finest new private art gallery and also the most expensive to gain access to. The crowd was only the first hurdle; the next was an army of blue-clad, straight-backed attendants holding the line at a series of ticket booths, their discipline and form suggesting that any mischief would be met with a firm hand. She glanced at the ticket prices and bit her bottom lip hard.

“Any chance you could let a gal through?” She dared to step up and ask that with a straight face. “My…friend…bought my ticket, but she already went inside.”

The attendant managed the broadest smile possible. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t honor that,” he informed her, politely but sternly. “Tickets are individually purchased only. No exceptions are made.”

“Not even for a gal of my caliber?”

She tried to turn the heat up on him, offering an inescapable smolder and a subtle turn of her hips, but he was made of sterner stuff than the fellow she had subdued the other day. He simply maintained his gleaming smile and repelled her seduction with professional resolve.

“No ma’am,” he said, “not even for a gal of your caliber. Now, would you like a ticket?”

“Dogwood.”

“I’m sorry?”

The attendant’s grin faded ever so slightly, just enough for her to know that this effort would be fruitless. With a dramatic flourish of the skirt of her jacket she turned on her heel and marched away, feeling the attendant’s cold eyes boring holes in her back as she withdrew. 

She would not accept defeat yet. On to the next one. 

The modern art museum around the corner was much cheaper to enter but she wasn’t going to pay for a ticket if it would turn out to be worthless. 

I’m not here for art. I’m here for Reyna. 

And when she sauntered up to the ticket counter, doing her best to disarm the attendant, she felt a burst of hope as his eyes lit up.

“Dogwood,” she said, confidently. He leaned in and cupped his hand to his ear, as though he had heard her but wanted confirmation.

“Dogwood,” she said again, with further confidence.

The man then simply smiled and shook his head.

“Ich spreche kein Englisch,” he said, with an apologetic nod of his head. “Entschuldigung, hübsch Frau.”

She turned her back on him and moved on. 

The third museum was the same as the first, her reception cold and her options few. Having wasted nearly half an hour and with little time to spare, she dragged herself to the feet of Das Kunstgewerbemuseum once again, like a desperate supplicant begging for mercy before the throne. Its stark concrete and brick exterior rose impassively above her, beckoning her in but promising nothing. 

She entered with reduced confidence and could barely muster the enthusiasm needed to greet one of the attendants, who offered her a gracious smile as she approached. No tickets here, but she figured the passphrase couldn’t hurt to try; what else had Reyna meant by it? This was certainly part of the game.

“Need help, ma’am?”

“You could help me,” she said. “Dogwood?”

She said it with less confidence than before, feeling foolish, but a sparkle in the man’s eye like struck gold gave her renewed energy. He nodded, assessing her thoroughly and looking her up and down before he responded.

“She’ll be in the Baroque gallery. Straight, then second right. I think you know who you’re looking for.”

“I do. Thanks.”

Her disappointment turned to elation as her persistence paid off. She swept past the attendant, who understood her haste, and followed his instructions to the letter, breezing through one gallery after another until she found what she was looking for.

She wore a bright white dress shirt beneath a light beige overcoat, with darker pantsuit and boots to offer some contrast. If not for her hair and eyes, Viper might have missed her; but the purple features and those impossible eyes beckoned her like a beacon in the night, luring her in to a trap there was no hope of escaping from. 

“You owe me one hell of an explanation.”

“Then you owe me your time. Come, walk with me.”

Reyna was completely unbothered, equable and steady, meeting Viper’s blazing eyes with unrivalled confidence. Viper wanted to spin her around and punch her square in the mouth, and settled for meekly following at her side with her cheeks flushing with furious heat.

“You can usually tell the quality of a gallery by their adherence to theme,” Reyna spoke, as if Viper had bothered to ask her a question that she found intensely insightful. “Consistency is key to quality. Careful composition begets excellence. Sloppy organization leads to shame.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

Reyna grinned. “Would you like me to?”

“I’d like you to explain why I’m here.”

“I am. I ask you only for time, remember.”

“You’ve already taken plenty of that.”

“Well, anyway, consistency matters. A tawdry gallery will champ at the bit for anything its directors can get their grubby hands on. A person who truly values the spirit of art will fill out their exhibits carefully, hand-picking the things that really make the room feel whole.”

“Is that what you dragged me here for? To talk about art?”

“Are you not having fun?”

Viper wheeled on her with furious dismay, wagging a finger in her face. “I need not remind you that the last time we met, I could have killed you,” she snapped, angry that Reyna wasn’t bothered by this. “I could change my mind.”

“You could. But you won’t.”

“You’re far too confident about that.”

“I’m a confident woman. Do you like that, too? Or is it just my body you’re after?”

Viper stepped back, squinting, not sure of how to respond to that. Reyna had a way of disarming her that was uncanny; she also remembered that they were in public, and wandering eyes were beginning to take note of the two of them. She was not about to start a fight in the middle of one of Berlin’s most notable art galleries, much less kill somebody. She had to play her moves carefully.

“What is it you want from me?” Viper seethed. “Is this blackmail? Or are you just doing this for your own amusement?”

“It is fun,” Reyna admitted, “but there’s more to it than that.”

“Then you’d best start talking.”

“And you’d best keep walking.”

Viper obligingly strolled along as they passed into another chamber of the gallery, one that was less heavily-trafficked. This gave her more leeway to put pressure on Reyna and try to extract something from her, but if things got ugly…

Well, you have been in worse spots.

“Tell me something,” Reyna spoke up. “Do you think the people who run this gallery truly comprehend the spirit of art?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Humor me here.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“I gave you a clue.”

“You love giving me clues, and little else.”

“Take a look around you. Does the art feel consistent, unified, thoughtfully selected?”

“...these are chairs and tables. Pieces of furniture.”

Reyna nodded, satisfied. “Yes, they are,” she said, “and they still constitute art, no? Anything can be art with the right touch, and sufficient passion.”

“Are you playing smart with me?”

“You might be playing dumb, Viper.”

The use of her code name caught her completely off guard. As though unhitched, she leapt at Reyna, grabbing her by the lapels of her jacket and pulling her in far too close for comfort. Reyna’s smirk never faded, even when Viper jerked hard on her coat and shook her, as menacing as possible. She smelled of citronella and lavender, and the remnant notes of a morning coffee quickly consumed.

“How. Do. You know. That name.”

“I have my means,” Reyna said calmly. “But I won’t give up my secrets without a little-”

“Pressure?” Viper tightened her grip and drew Reyna in closer, bathing in the warm, overpowering scent of lavender that clung to her like a fine mist. “I can arrange that.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

“You keep playing this game and I absolutely will.”

“What? Going to take me back to your little rented room and beat me to a pulp? What would Hilde think of that?”

Viper froze, having forgotten that Reyna knew exactly where she lived down to the very room. Oh. Oh no. Sensing Viper’s realization, Reyna’s smile widened and an impish delight emerged in her sparkling eyes.

“Oh, forgot about that, did you? She even mentioned which room you-”

“Name your price.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Name your price,” Viper seethed, releasing her grip on the woman’s jacket. “For letting all this go. For letting me go. We have resources. We can make a deal.”

Reyna appeared puzzled, and then burst out into genuine laughter - loud enough to attract attention from further down the hall, where an elderly couple peered around the facade of an entryway to see what was amiss. Viper felt that same heat return to her cheeks with fresh vigor. 

“You think I’m letting you go?” Reyna asked. “After all this? No, no. This game has just started.”

“Whoever is paying you, we can double it,” Viper promised.

“I have no doubt you can,” Reyna said. “But it’s not money I’m after, nor satisfactory employment. I have both, thank you for asking.”

“Then maybe piss off and abandon your little game.”

“No.”

And for the first time since this encounter began, Reyna’s eyes darkened, and something serious overtook her. Viper stepped back, as though she were about to be struck, but Reyna did no such thing. She was far more reserved than that, and knew she still had control of the situation to boot. 

“If you want answers to your questions, then the game continues,” Reyna said. “Those are my terms.”

“You terms are terrible.”

“You’re not having fun, I take it,” Reyna teased. “Don’t worry, we can up the ante.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“With a good time,” Reyna said. “No more letters. The game gets a little more complicated from here on out.”

As much as Viper wanted to walk away and leave this behind, never to speak to her again, she was rooted to the spot. She had to know what the next step was, and where Reyna was taking this.

It’s because she has information , she reassured herself. She’s going to slip up and let something out. She thinks she’s playing you, but it’s the other way around. That’s why you need to keep this up.

“Alright,” Viper decided. “Tell me what you want me to do. I’ll play along, but only for now.”

Reyna beamed. “I must admit all this talk has made me thirsty. I’m fond of wine bars…especially if they’re fortunate enough to overlook a lovely riverside view. Do you think you can find my perfect one before 6 o’clock tomorrow?”

“You’d better believe it.”

“I like the confidence,” Reyna said. “ I certainly like that in a woman. It suits you. See you soon.”

The date settled, Reyna strolled off in the opposite direction, exiting the gallery and rejoining the river of humanity that flowed through the main anteroom and leaving Viper behind to ponder just what sort of mess she had talked herself into here. 

She decided, firstly, to give herself some credit for what she considered to be a victory.

You stood your ground, fended her off, and won.

Well, maybe she hadn’t quite won yet, but she had held her own against Reyna’s rhetorical ruses. She knew the other agent would be seeking information and would use subtle tricks and shrewd ploys to extract every little droplet of useful knowledge she could. Viper had never been a social butterfly, and found herself often lacking in that department, but she knew how to counter social engineering and protect herself and associated interests. 

That being said, Reyna had made that exceedingly difficult.

As much credit as she wanted to give herself for resisting, she could not help but admit that Reyna was impossible to ignore. 

Was it her lustrous magenta eyes, that shifted confidently from person to person and assessed them thoroughly in a single glance, missing nothing as they did so?

Was it her rich, flowing black hair that ended in bright purple tips, perfect as though she had it dyed that very morning, pooling down the back of her neck and shoulders so tantalizingly?

Was it her bladed jawline, her sharp nose, her bright cherry-red lips, her glittering bangles, the deep violet studs in her ear?

Was it the confidence in her walk, the certainty in every turn of her head, the playful way she laughed when she knew she had her prey in the palm of her hand, the way her very skin seemed to radiate an entrancing energy that lured you in?

It was none of those things, individually. It was the whole of her, the complete package, that had captured Viper so thoroughly. Beautiful, and terrifying, and now oh so real once again.

She reflected on the why of it as she muddled about in her room packing necessities and clothes for at least three days of stay elsewhere - given that Reyna knew exactly where she lived, even down to the room number, staying here was no longer an option. She would keep the room reserved but seek temporary shelter elsewhere to turn down the heat on her back.

“I’ll be back in a couple of days, Hilde,” she informed the housekeeper curtly. “Just traveling. Enjoying the countryside. Nothing to worry about.”

“Please enjoy yourself, Miss Sarah,” Hilde said, cheery as ever. “And where should I redirect any gentle lady callers who come looking for you?”

Viper froze, her throat closing up rapidly. Her discomfort must have been evident, for Hilde chimed in.

“It seems you weren’t expecting it, then,” she said. “Pleasant surprise?”

“It was.”

“Well, then, I’ll-”

“Just let them know I’m gone. Collect any mail for me. Thank you, Hilde.”

“My pleasure, Miss Sarah.”

Miss Sarah. Viper wondered if Reyna knew that anonym, too, or if she hadn’t dug that deep yet. She prayed that she wouldn’t dig any deeper and risk finding something real, something dangerous. She stepped back out into the street with apprehension and a list of local wine bars that fit Reyna’s description accurately.

Her first stop was Deadlock, who appeared remiss that Viper would even think of such a suggestion as switching quarters. When Viper explained the situation (leaving out some key details for her own sake), the taciturn Norwegian was more accommodating.

“You’ll be safe here,” she reassured her, showing her to a spare mattress in a side room. It was cramped, and unlit, and dustier than she’d like, but it would suit her needs for the time. “We keep a rotating watch on the street corner every night. If someone’s out for you, we’ll rough them up.”

“No need to go that far, I think,” Viper said. “Just need to lay low for a bit.”

Deadlock pursed her lips. “As you wish.”

They were happy for the extra company, though, and Viper took their banter to mean they were coming around to her. The ice had thawed and in its place was an odd companionship that developed by necessity. Deadlock’s sisters were bored out of their minds, she could tell; they were fighters, not used to the waiting game that was espionage and surveillance. They lounged on couches and on chairs, limbs hanging off at odd angles and heads lolling on tense shoulders, boredom slowly sapping them of life as they waited for a call that would never come.

“You know, there are probably better assignments out there for you,” Viper said to Deadlock, as she took a seat and made herself comfortable.

Deadlock narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean your team is in dire need of some action, is what I mean.”

Deadlock cracked a smile. “Yes, they’re itching for a fight,” she agreed. “I can only do so much for them, though. We have been doing our part, though.”

“Monitoring from afar,” said Pillar, the one with the tight crewcut and dark eyes that seemed to wander around Viper too much. “We do our part.”

“We’ve been tracking a radiant presence that’s been going back and forth from the west side of the city to the east,” Deadlock informed her. “There’s some level of collaboration going on here.”

“Could it be something as mundane as a local resident with family on the other side of the wall?”

Deadlock shrugged. “I don’t know. We need to keep tracking it. Give Pillar time, and she’ll have your answers.”

Much as she wished she could give them more of her time, she had work to do and little time to do it, and part of that work involved poring over what she had stolen from the museum the other day. 

It was entirely in German, of course. She could have slapped herself for expecting something differently. Now aware of how much work was before her, she put her head down with pen and paper and began translating the contents, studying the photographs and sketches as they came. The dossier was full of information, much of it banal and irrelevant to her aims, but there was some material on the nature of the artifact exhibition that caught her eye.

Of particular interest were three peculiar artifacts dating back to the 5th century, among the oldest in the collection and also the most esoteric. Viper had never seen anything like them; compared to the greater body of the collection, they presented unusual, even unsettling geometric patterns and were reported as “warm to the touch”, though notes scribbled in the margins of the dossier wondered if this was due to external factors. She was nevertheless fascinated by these three items in particular, two spheroids and one cylindrical object that was large enough to fit both of the others within it. They had no names; they were simply registered as Ghanaian artifact, c. 5th century CE. 

Time had passed rapidly. A clock registered 4:30. She had taken far too many liberties with her day and was now behind where she wanted to be. Alarmed, she raced to find the nicest clothes she had brought with him and throw an outfit together and be out the door to race down to the river.

“Where are you going, off like a shot?” Secunda challenged her before she made it to the door.

“I have an arrangement,” Viper said.

“Dangerous for you to be going out alone if you’re being followed,” Deadlock warned.

“I know,” Viper said. “It’s not my first time. I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself, Valorant.”

The four women watched her as she practically battered the door down in her rush to get out and slammed it behind her, evacuating the building in record time and leaping across the street and pushing aside passerby as she raced for the riverfront. 

Thankfully wine bars were more uncommon in Berlin than art museums, and she had fewer options to guess from. She was confident after yesterday but still felt strange asking the valet staff at the first location what they thought about dogwood . When they gave her strange looks and narrowed their eyes at her, she ducked her head in silent apology and walked off, feeling uncomfortable.

Fuck you, Reyna. Why can’t you just arrange a meeting like a normal person?

This game is stupid. I’m only playing because I need what you know. That’s it. No other reason.

And why had she put extra effort into her dress and clipped earrings in and spent time touching up her hair before going out? Well, appearances always mattered in this line of work, she reasoned. No sense in looking slovenly now, you’re a woman of style and you need to be consistent with that.

The second wine bar was even fancier than the first, and more promising for that. She felt her wallet begin to shake in despair in her handbag as she approached the valets, who greeted her with bright smiles and even brighter eyes.

“Dogwood.”

They nodded. She felt a surge of relief.

“She’s on the boardwalk,” they informed her. “She’s waiting for you.”

How did Reyna organize all this? 

You can’t ask her, she knew. She’d have to wring it out of her like water from a rag, but carefully and surgically and without giving away her own goals for the game. Reyna had clearly planned this out in advance and had an advantage over her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t score some wins by being careful and making decisive moves. She made a detour into the bathroom, checked her hair, took a deep breath, and prepared for another night of thrilling conversation, witty banter, and strategic moves. 

She spotted Reyna before Reyna spotted her. The woman had spared no expense on her outfit; the fur-lined purple corduroy overcoat that topped an airy, lightly-woven undershirt with a V-neck collar must have cost a small fortune, judging by the overall quality, much less the way it flowed and folded around her body so perfectly. She was pretty sure that the belt she wore had a buckle of real gold, too, burnished and full. That buckle of gold caught the light in just the right way to blind Viper as she approached, ruining her planned ambush.

“You catch on quite well,” Reyna said. “You’ve noticed by now I have peculiar tastes?”

“You’re rich, we get it.”

“I only have rich benefactors,” Reyna chuckled. “Come, sit. I’ve not yet ordered.”

“How polite of you.”

Viper recoiled at the sight of uniformed, stern servingmen bringing them wine bottles and glasses, unfamiliar with these customs and increasingly looking like a fish out of water. If Reyna found it amusing, she withheld her laughter; she simply seemed delighted that Viper had found her way here.

“I hope the effort of finding me did not exhaust you,” she said, folding her hands neatly as the servers poured out generous glasses of a rich, deep red wine. “We have so much to talk about, you and I.”

“Funny. And here I thought you were the one who had exhausted yourself.”

“Oh trust me, I can talk at length about so much more. But why don’t you tell me a bit more about yourself.”

“Not a chance.”

“Oh, I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.”

Reyna found amusement in that, as though Viper were a complete amateur at this and didn’t have at least a couple tricks up her sleeve. She found that assumption insulting, and turned the tables on her.

“Dogwood.”

Reyna pursed her lips. Her eyes narrowed slightly. That had caught her off-guard. 

“What does it mean to you.”

Reyna shrugged. “It was a randomly selected catchphrase. Something that would be memorable.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Viper called the bluff instantly, sensing something amiss in her reaction. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Reyna’s grin returned in full force. “You caught me.”

“You’re good, but I’m better.”

“Well, I owe you an explanation then,” Reyna said. “As a reward for your keen eye and sharp mind.”

“Don’t flatter me. It’s unbecoming of you.”

She secretly was buzzing on the inside, her heart pounding faster. You’re just nervous, she told herself. Don’t be nervous. She’ll know. That will cost you your edge .

“When I was a young girl, I lived on a broad avenue lined with gorgeous flowering dogwoods. Every spring the world was brighter and more beautiful for it. I was infatuated with those blossoms every time I stepped outside. They caught the light of the sun in a way that few other things could.”

Reyna was reminiscing and Viper was not going to interrupt her. She waited for something she could dig her claws into. She didn’t know enough about plants, unfortunately, to reach any conclusions yet.

“Mamá would take me out beneath the blossoms and tell me all the ways they could heal the human body and soul,” Reyna said. “She wasn’t right about all that, of course, but as a child it was a wondrous trip. Blue skies under a bright sun and beautiful dogwood blossoms…some days, I miss it.”

“Mexico, then?”

“A fine guess, amiga.”

Viper sensed it based on her accent rather than the description of her core memory, but a win was a win. That wasn’t imminently helpful, but she filed that factoid away for the time being.

“So why wine?”

“Ah, it’s my turn to ask a question, amiga.”

“Is that how this works?”

“It’s only fair if we take turns.”

Reyna raised her glass for a toast which Viper begrudgingly met. She had to admit, Reyna’s taste in wine was excellent; the dark red was warm, decadent, and positively enthralling. It had been chilled just enough to make it roll smoothly over her palate, while not too much as to bite into its pleasant taste and mouthfeel. She immediately took another sip, which was apparently a faux pas in Reyna’s eyes.

“Ah ah ah,” Reyna chided her. “Greedy girl.”

“Excuse me?”

“You owe me two answers, now.”

“I owe you nothing.”

“I’ll ask the questions all the same,” Reyna said, unruffled. “Do I make you nervous?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“The kind you’ll answer politely and honestly,” Reyna said. She raised her glass for another toast. Viper reciprocated slowly, cautiously.

“I’m not nervous around you.”

That was a lie, but she was able to bluff effectively enough for Reyna, who smiled and offered another toast. She bought it, thankfully, but Viper’s heart was pounding and her stomach was churning with looming unease. 

“Second question, then,” Reyna said. “Your tastes in art. What excites you? What’s been stimulating you?”

“I am not an appreciator of art.”

“No? Then why visit the museum if not for art?”

Viper had an immediate realization that Reyna had, again, managed to stay a step ahead of her without her even knowing it. She had either seen, or somehow known, that Viper had paid a visit to Das Kunstgewerbemuseum before this “game” had even begun. It felt as though nothing she was doing could be kept a secret.

“Now, you wouldn’t lie to me about this, would you?”

“Of course not,” Viper said, through gritted teeth, trying her best to play along. “I have an inkling that something is happening at this…particular museum.”

“And what could give you that idea?”

“You tell me, Reyna.”

The tables turned back and forth. Reyna took it all in stride, emptying her wine glass with a final toast and licking her lips with satisfaction.

“You are on the right track,” Reyna said, promisingly. “You still don’t know what you’re up against.”

“And let me guess, you won’t tell me.”

“There’s a price to be paid for everything, amiga,” Reyna laughed. 

“Name the price.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

So they were back at square one, she reasoned. Everything she tried to turn against this nightmarish, gorgeous woman ended up piled on her, in turn. There was simply no winning this game, unless she refused to play. She considered that option, but then Reyna spoke up again.

“Exhibition night will be a wonderful affair for all involved,” Reyna informed her, “except for our friendly exhibition director, who will be struggling to schmooze with the crowd while keeping his cool.”

“He’s in on it?”

Reyna tapped the bridge of her nose. “Of course, I can’t lead you to him,” she said, “you’ll have to do that on your own…”

It was more than she had imagined she could glean from Reyna. And eagerly volunteered? What was the catch here? She felt as though she was being baited, and the hook would soon bite into her cheek and dig in and not let go. Anxious, she downed the remainder of her wine and made to leave, something Reyna appeared to understand.

“I’ll pay,” she insisted, “my treat.”

“So chivalrous.”

“But before you go, I want you to know.”

“Know what?”

Reyna’s features darkened almost instantly. She took Viper’s wrist and tugged with surprising force, pulling her in so that her ear was close to Reyna’s dark red lips and dangerously sharp tongue.

“That night in Kabul. For a long moment I so desperately wanted to see your blood trickle down my fingers…along the lines of my palms…rolling hot over the outline of my own veins in my wrist. I thought about it. I even regretted that I didn’t do it, after we had parted ways.”

“Why didn’t you?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Because,” Reyna chuckled, as though it were obvious, “you gave me something even better. The promise of this. Something to look forward to. You gave me you .”

“I’m flattered,” Viper said. In truth, she was far more than that. Her blush gave it away, but she could blame it on the alcohol in her system now.

“I’m honored you accepted my game,” Reyna said. “You had every reason to walk away. But you didn’t.”

But I didn’t . Any chance she had was gone now, too. She was knee deep in the mud and there was no way out but down, farther into Reyna’s clutches. She wagered there could be worse fates.

“If we’re going to continue this game, can we at least make it a bit more fair?”

“Fair?” Reyna echoed the word, then laughed. “I have been fair and more…”

“If you want to see me, name a time and place. Otherwise, you’re out of luck.”

She feared that her bluff would be called, but Reyna seemed to enjoy the aggressive gambit. She smiled, lifting her shoulders and leaning in to get closer to Viper, too close in fact. 

“You have a deal,” Reyna said, her voice low. “May 2nd, 7 PM. Kunstgewerbemuseum.”

“Going to the exhibition, are you?”

“I have a friendly exhibition director to attend to, after all.”

“And you’ll let me in on your little plot?”

Reyna beamed. “Only if I deem it worthwhile,” she said, in a tone suggesting that would take an immense effort on Viper’s part. “See you at the museum then, pretty thing. Don’t be late.”

Chapter Text

Viper wore her finest to the gallery that night, ensuring she would fit in perfectly with the crowd that was attending the opening ceremony while still being ready for any contingencies that might emerge. The suit was a little too snug around the waste, pressed her boobs up more than she would like, and the overcoat was not her favorite shade of green, but it was a fine testament to high fashion and earned her respectful looks from each member of the Ståljegere.

“Good luck out there,” Deadlock said, clasping a firm, powerful hand on her shoulder. “Call if you need anything.”

“It’ll go by in the blink of an eye,” Viper promised. “I’ll tell you ladies about it tomorrow morning.”

“Looking forward to it,” said Pillar, with a flirty wink.

“Don’t bring home any strange men,” Secunda warned, with wicked glee.

“Be careful. And enjoy yourself,” said Farsight, cheerfully waving her goodbye. 

Deadlock closed the door behind her without another word and then she was on her own. She summoned every last reserve of social energy she had for the effort ahead and made her way down the street to the Tiergarten district to chase up the only real lead she had.

The night was young and the air was warm and the trees were breaking out of their hiemal slumber and extending their creaking limbs skyward, anticipating the upcoming summer just as the throng of attendees were. It was unusually warm for this time of the year, even though it was already early May, and Viper found herself sweating in her suit by the time she reached the museum door, washed along by a river of people. She was alone, which she knew would attract some undue attention, but she hoped that would not be the case for long. 

The museum’s antegalleries had been fully converted into what amounted to a recreational space for the rich and connected, the exhibits pushed aside for bar booths, lounges, a string quartet, and all manner of hors d’oeurves carried by a brigade of black-suited waiters bearing silver and copper platters. Before she could so much as ask, Viper was attended to by multiple of these waiters offering everything from deviled eggs to wine-poached anjou pears delicately sprinkled with cinnamon and clove, an alluring array of appetizers and treats that she had to ignore in favor of her current objective. She would have been happy enough with a cup of espresso and a cigarette, but she sensed that nobody here would be offering that particular combination. 

She spotted Reyna first. Again. Maybe Reyna had planned it that way, or perhaps she had simply been taken in by the impressive display of wealth and influence around her and had not noticed Viper approaching. 

“You came,” Reyna said, the moment she laid eyes on Viper.

“You knew I would.”

“I had my doubts about you, honestly.”

“And why is that?”

“You take your job too seriously,” Reyna chided her. “Espionage should be thrilling, stimulating. Why must it always be skulking in the dark and bullets in the back of the head?”

“Because that’s what it comes down to,” said Viper.

“Nonsense,” said Reyna, brushing her off. “Take off your cold steel blinder and allow yourself to live. Come, come. With me now.”

Viper’s frustrations with Reyna’s insistence were quickly melted by the way she used her words; she was insufferable, and yet Viper would go to great lengths to suffer her, judging by her compliance. She allowed herself to be taken by the hand and led through the gallery, past booths of auction items and easels showcasing current galleries and hinting at the galleries that would be unveiled tonight, and past endless knots of people dressed to the nines while sipping at glasses of champagne and armagnac that would cost the average working man a month’s salary. Viper, isolated from this world her whole life, could not help but squint at them in thinly-veiled disgust.

“Your upbringing was limited,” Reyna said. “Am I right?”

“That’s a very polite way of saying I grew up poor.”

Reyna chuckled. “I try to be accommodating.”

“I see no need for this much excess.”

“Not even on occasion? I have a hard time believing that you’re not enjoying yourself tonight.”

She wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here, but Reyna’s presence was helpful. At the very least, it had allowed her to dodge keen-eyed gentleman suitors who would have noticed her alone and imagined they had a chance. 

Reyna’s hands were warm and surprisingly soft, too. She found herself gripping them tightly as they walked, squeezing every so often as if to reassure herself that Reyna was still there, right beside her.

“The museum director is still here.”

Viper felt something in her chest tighten. “Maybe you should make an introduction for me.”

“I thought about it,” Reyna said. “But that would put a damper on our little game.”

“You’re obsessed with this game of yours.”

“It keeps life exciting and unpredictable. You refuse to throw caution to the wind.”

“That’s now how I do my job.”

“Again with the job talk. Must we stoop to that?”

“I just want to see results,” Viper said, then rapidly changed the subject. “That day in Vietnam. You saved me from a certain death. Did you intend to?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play with me, Reyna.”

“The information you seek requires some information in turn,” Reyna said. “So if you’d like to-”

“Ask me. Ask me anything. Do it.”

Her willingness to play now caught Reyna off-guard, and she stuttered briefly before regaining her composure. Viper took a secret delight in watching her stumble and nearly fall. Her assertive tone had clearly not been expected.

“I’ll tell you,” Reyna said, “if you tell me…a name to call you by.”

“Viper. You already knew this.”

“Oh, not quite close enough for personal terms, are we?”

“You can use my code name as much as you like. But you’ll never get further than that.”

“Harsh, but I accept your terms for now,” Reyna mused. “And you are American, no?”

“I thought that was already clear.”

“It is easy for someone as professional and sharp as yourself to mask your background,” Reyna said. “Knowing that, now…yes, I did intend it.”

“You attacked your own fellow agent. To save me?”

“I did.”

Viper spent far too long trying to tease out some hidden motivation in Reyna’s words, or the hint of a lie on her lips. But Reyna spoke so confidently and responded so quickly, and had no real reason to lie about this particular incident. That just left Viper with more questions.

“Why did you do it?”

“Because he was going to kill you.”

“He’s literally your ally,” Viper hissed, pulling Reyna in closer unexpectedly as their conversation began to run into sensitive territory. “You and Chamber play for the same team. Don’t try and tell me you don’t. Do you just flippantly turn on your allies when it’s convenient for you? Turn on a whim?”

“Hardly flippant,” Reyna said, feigning offense. “It was all calculated. He simply hadn’t earned the right to kill you like I have.”

Viper’s stomach did a flip and lurched unexpectedly. “Charming.”

Reyna laughed. “You know, I thought about saying you owe me,” she said. “But after Manila…well…”

“Let’s not talk about that.”

“Suddenly shy?”

“It’s unnecessary.”

She wasn’t shy, but she was aware of how many people were around them, hovering from booth to booth or idly wandering and waiting for the main event to start. Every single one of them could have listened in at any point in time and picked up more information than they needed to know.

Why does that matter, anyway? You’re literally talking to an enemy spy-

“Your organization,” Reyna said, picking up a different topic. “I’d like to-”

“The hell you will,” Viper cut her off sharply. “I’m not about to share anything more.”

“It was worth a try. You’ve been quite talkative, after all.”

“That’s different,” Viper said. “You may have me disarmed, but I’m not stupid.”

“And here I thought you were a generous woman.”

Reyna appeared quite confident that she could still eke something out of Viper, but that was a line in the sand that could never be crossed. Protecting the Protocol was a priority objective for her, and to that end she had trained herself for years to be resistant not only to cruder physical methods but also more acute psychological methods of drawing information about the organization from her. Reyna must have known that, but it didn’t stop her from trying.

A microphone boomed, the crowd quieted, and upon a hastily-erected stage a tubby old man tottered up to the stand and wiped his brow in front of the assembled crowd, nodding at them in acknowledgement. Viper wondered if this was her person of interest. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man spoke, his voice a hoarse croak amplified into something even worse by the microphone. “If I may…my valiant colleagues and I have been working on this new exhibition for the last six months, steadfast as ever. And tonight, our efforts-”

Viper felt a tap on her shoulder. She whirled around into Reyna’s arms.

“Forgive me,” Reyna whispered, “I have business to attend to.”

“What business?”

But before she could so much as eke out an answer, Viper watched Reyna vanish into the crowd, her bright eyes the last thing she saw of her. She sensed something was amiss and that Reyna had been pulling the wool over her eyes. Cautious, she retreated towards the back of the crowd and away from the stage as a revolving door of suit jacketed old men and distinguished dames took the stage to speak briefly, followed by light applause. 

Any one of these could be our person of interest, she realized. Their speeches were all so vague and noncommittal that there was nothing she could glean from any of them, apart from a general passion for their work and appreciation for their colleagues. They were still dropping hints about the exhibits’ contents, without revealing anything discrete, thus making her job that much harder. She began to tune them out, just as two firm hands alighted on her shoulders and spun her around to face bright eyes and a wry smile.

“Surprise,” Reyna whispered.

“You and I need to talk.”

And before Reyna could resist, Viper dragged her away into a nearby alcove, out of sight of the crowd which was still fixated on the cohort of speakers onstage. 

“So drastic, Viper-”

“Shut up,” Viper hissed. “Start talking.”

“I went to the bathroom.”

“The hell you did. What’s your game here? What are you stealing?”
“You know my game.”

“If you don’t start talking, I’m about to bathe this alcove in your-”

“How about we play a new game?”

Reyna was so utterly unserious about all this. The corners of her mouth were teasing a smile, her hands were at her sides completely passive, and she spoke with calm, controlled confidence that infuriated Viper. She tightened her grip on Reyna’s shoulders, but that only served to give her more ammunition.

“You’re upset, dear Viper,” Reyna said. “Perhaps you need to relax. A glass of champagne, perhaps?”

“Tell me the plan,” Viper said. “What are you stealing? And what does it matter to you?”

“It matters little to me. It’s above my pay grade,” Reyna said. “But I understand you are-”

Viper violently pushed her back against the wall of the alcove. A dull thump was followed by a gasp, and Reyna’s glee faded. She realized this was more serious than she had expected.

“You lie,” Viper seethed. “You lie like an ashamed child. I can see it in your eyes.”

“You wound me, Viper. I take you out on a date, and you-”

“I am not going to follow you around like a leashed dog,” Viper said, tightening her grip on Reyna’s lapels and putting more pressure on her. “I’ve been playing your game, but I have my limits.”

“Viper, you’re going to attract undue attention.”

“Let it be so,” she snapped. “Maybe they’ll put you in handcuffs and take you in. As you deserve.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me.”

Reyna had called her bluff, but the unexpected aggression had subdued her somewhat and she was ready to compromise. 

“I’ll confess,” she said, regaining her composure, “that we do have a defector here to our interests. He’s not exactly a director, though.”

“You said he was.”

“He’s an ambitious man,” said Reyna, smiling. “Fancies himself a cross between the ancient academic and the modern bureaucrat. He aims for a higher position, and with it title. Such ambition made him easy to keep under our thumbs.”

“Our thumbs? You mean you and Chamber?”

Reyna laughed, a brief but invigorating trill that sent shivers up Viper’s back and spine, causing her to involuntarily shudder and press her body in closer. Reyna must have noticed.

“Cold, Viper?”

“Why did you laugh at me?”

“You’re very close to me, you know.”

“Why did you laugh.”

“Because you’re missing the bigger picture,” Reyna said, as though it were obvious. “We are just two pieces of a bigger puzzle. Rich benefactors , remember? There’s so much more to this than Chamber and I.”

“Are you doing hits for a private entity?”

“Chamber would, but I am not so debased as to stoop that low.”

“A rival museum?”

“No, you’re farther off the mark.”

“It’s a political thing.”

“Warmer…”

“The Soviets. You’re working with the Soviet Union, aren’t you?”

“Smart girl.”

The hall resounded with thunderous applause that shook Viper out of her intense, myopic focus on Reyna. Her grip loosened and Reyna sensed her opportunity to escape, and did so with unexpected grace, whirling out of Viper’s hold and sidestepping her in the blink of an eye.

“The man you’re looking for is imbued with mottled confidence and marked by a familiar sign,” Reyna whispered. “That’s all the hint you’re getting. See you shortly.”

“Mottled confidence? What the hell does that-”

And before Viper could take hold of her again, Reyna slipped away like a minnow in a current and rejoined the crowd. Viper could do nothing to her there and doggedly returned to mingle, trying to make sense of Reyna’s clues.

Imbued with mottled confidence. Mottled? What did that mean in this context? It was understandable while still being perplexing, maddening purple prose that Reyna had purposefully picked to piss her off. So what did it mean, then? Was he nervous about how this was going to play out? Worried about the future of his career should he be fingered for an imminent crime?

A familiar sign. This one was even more difficult to come to terms with. What sign, exactly? That could be anything…fuck you, Reyna, you leave me with so little to go on. I ought to find you and drag you outside and-

“Good evening, liebe. Would you mind a dance?”

Someone sidestepped into her view and was already extending a hand to her. He was one of the museum’s administrators, she recognized him from his stage presence, but he was decidedly not her person of interest. He was confident, but in a weird and uncomfortable way that made her turn her back on him immediately and without further word.

She forged a path through the crowd like nectar through a sieve, suffering an agonizing pace as she pushed her way past couples and clusters of conversationalists seeking out her person of interest and growing increasingly frustrated. She passed multiple museum staff, each of whom failed to fit the bill based on her interpretation, and she wondered if there was something she was missing and had failed to translate from Reyna’s hints.

Then she saw him - blonde hair, baby blue eyes, a sequined bowtie, brimming with confidence that faltered at a key moment when she made eye contact with him. 

Somehow, he knew that she knew. But he stood his ground as she approached, perhaps reconsidering her threat as she smiled at him and acted as aloof as possible.

“And who are you?” she asked, as though she already didn’t know. “You must be the man of the hour.”

“And why do you think that?” His answer was measured, cautious, but expectant - as though he had realized his initial reaction was unwarranted, and this was just another clueless sycophant approaching him to congratulate him on a job well done.

“You look the part,” she said. “A man who is proud of hard work and exhausting effort.”

“Well, both of those are true,” he laughed. “I cannot claim all the credit, of course-”

“But you are the man behind it all, no?”

“I am…the curator of the new exhibition, yes.”

“And it’s all your doing? You brought this all together, surely?”

She guessed correctly. He smiled and raised his glass to her in toast. “That would be correct, I’m afraid.”

“No need to be afraid. You should be at ease. Tonight is for you.”

For you to fall right into my hands, I hope. She noticed the pin he wore on the lapel of his suit, and took stock of it before parting ways. It was incredibly similar to the spherical objects she had seen among the stolen documents she had studied, almost an exact match. A familiar sign .

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you,” she said, by way of farewell. “I’m grateful to be here tonight.”

“As am I.” His confidence had faded somewhat; he had seen her eyes travel to the button on his lapel. Did he know? Maybe he did, or maybe this was the mottled confidence that Reyna was talking about. He’s nervous. What time is this supposed to go down? It must be soon…the exhibit will be unveiled shortly-

She found her way back to Reyna without even intending to do so. Reyna had been traversing the crowd with unparalleled serenity, above all of the clamor and conversation like she was part of the museum herself. When she saw Viper, she smiled.

“I knew you would find him,” she said. “You’ve yet to disappoint me.”

“Spill, then. What’s the plan?”

“Oh, if I were to-”

“Reyna.”

She was starting to understand how to sharpen her tongue to the point that Reyna would cave. Given how thoroughly she had participated in Reyna’s little games, she expected this would come. Reyna nodded her assent.

“It’s almost time,” Reyna said, her voice low, deliberately blending with the conversations around them. “The plan is in place. Or it was, until you showed up and figured him out.”

“How much is he going to take?”

“Only what can fit snugly in a small travel suitcase. Hardly worth it’s weight.”

“Then what value is it to your benefactors?”

“I don’t know. Again, not my paygrade.”

She wanted to seize Reyna by her lapels and drag more answers out of her, but she spotted the curator out of the corner of her eye. His mottled confidence had rotted away fully, exposing the real face of terror beneath. He knew she had found him out, and he was making his way towards the nearest exit - which allowed them to only briefly make eye contact, and encouraged him to redouble his efforts.

“Don’t try and stop me,” she warned Reyna, but Reyna already knew that was hopeless.

“I never intended to,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ve earned this.”

“Are you going to ambush me in a dark alley ten minutes from now?”

“My place is here,” Reyna said, “to schmooze and play at heartstrings. I cannot speak for my other colleagues…”

“I’ll handle whoever else your side throws at me,” Viper snapped, her hand racing to the faint outline of the holster beneath her dress, pressed flush against the skin of her thigh.

“Until next time, then,” Reyna called, by way of farewell, as Viper was already racing off for the exit after the wayward curator. “Happy hunting, pretty thing.” She smiled to herself, turned on her heel, and melted into the crowd again. 

Viper danced from curb to curb, racing down side streets and cutting through alleyways in relentless pursuit of her prey. He was fast on his feet, and had a head start on her, and she was in heels, but he could not hope to evade her for long. She was closing the distance, and he was becoming desperate as he banked hard to the right, jumped over a low fence, and entered the expansive green ocean of the Tiergarten. 

By day the Tiergarten was a beautiful stretch of wood that presented relief and a change of scenery for those tired of cobblestone streets and stark concrete. But by night, the forest took on a haunted ambience that made her measure her steps carefully. There was plentiful shrubbery for assailants to hide in, inadequate lighting across the park’s otherwise well-maintained pathways, and the leaves shifting uneasily in a cool spring breeze cast menacing shadows that danced in serpentine fashion across the ground before her, forcing her to slow down and scout her surroundings. 

Her prudence was rewarded as she heard something in the bushes ahead shuffle in place and fell to her stomach a second before the trigger was pulled. The bullet sailed over her head and off into the treeline behind her. She was rolling to the right and into the shrubbery before the shooter could get a second shot off on her.

Whoever they were, they were not the curator. He had continued running, terrified of her, and almost certainly unarmed. Struggling with her overcoat, she drew her pistol, got back on her feet, and advanced cautiously with three shots fired into the darkness.

The shooter had fled, firing a single potshot in her direction that made her duck but was far from the mark. 

She had not intended for tonight to end in a running gun battle through downtown Berlin, but that was exactly what she was doing now as she dashed off into the darkness, fixing her eyes on points of interest ahead to try and spot the shooter before he spotted her.

Another two shots in the darkness, but this time she didn’t stop. If they hit me, they hit me. She had no time to hit the ground again and seek safety; she responded in kind with three shots, cognizant of her limited ammo. 

A pool of light appeared ahead and within it was the shape of a man, running and looking behind him. He carried something small in his hands, which he aimed at Viper; the bullet missed, and so did hers. But now she could see her opponent, and she redoubled her efforts to catch up with him. As the distance between them closed the risk of him making a shot on her only expanded, but he did not even bother trying to aim at her. In the middle of an open green space, within which was a small shack and a lean-to bathroom, he stopped. 

Viper found that confusing, and also stopped, then slowly approached. The figure turned towards her, but the nearby light poles left just enough shadow over his body to prevent her from identifying him until she drew to within thirty feet, and he greeted her.

“Bonsoir, chèrie.”

“It’s you.”

She should have recognized Chamber by his swagger, or by his style, or by the perfect coif of his hair, but not until he spoke did she realize who he was. His weapon remained at his side; his shoulders remained slumped, his posture relax, his face lit up with a smile. He was too confident for his current situation, and she aimed to rectify that. She kept her pistol level with his chest.

“Raise your weapon and I’ll put a round in your head,” she warned.

“I have no such intentions, madame.”

“I’d prefer if you put it on the ground.”

“As you request.”

He was oddly compliant, but Viper was satisfied that the tables had turned and now he was under her gun, and not the other way around as it so often had been. He had scrambled his ambush and now she was the one in charge, taking the lead of the situation and cornering him in…well, he wasn’t exactly cornered, but if he ran in any direction she could drop him with a single shot.

“Odd how the tables turn,” he said, recognizing the irony of the situation. “I had never suspected-”

“Where is he?”

“Where is who?”

At that moment, Viper was aware of footsteps behind her, but they were the heavy footfalls of interlopers who did not care that their presence was noticed. Spreading out behind her rapidly, they drew up and raised their weapons and clicked safeties off.

“We have him in our sights, Viper.” Deadlock’s voice was sharp like taut piano wire. “He makes a move, we’ll cut him down.”

“Now this is unfair,” Chamber complained. “Five against one? Where is the honor?”

“Want me to shut him up?” asked Secunda. “I don’t like his tone. He’s too confident.”

“Quite an unkind judgment,” Chamber said.

“Shut your mouth,” Viper ordered. The Ståljegere were now drawing up on her flanks, keeping their barrels trained on Chamber, who had not moved an inch as explicitly requested. She was grateful for their presence, but how had they known? Are they spying on the spy? Or did something else trigger them?

“We found a radiant presence unexpectedly crossing over from the other side of the wall,” Deadlock informed her, as though reading her mind. “When we noticed it, we rushed out to help you.”

“And how did you know where I would be?”

“Followed the gunshots,” Farsight said. “Not hard to miss.”

“We were almost certain you had gotten yourself into trouble,” Deadlock said. “But it looks like you’ve handled it quite well.”

“Disarming a radiant with nothing more than a pistol? Color me impressed,” said Farsight.

Viper felt something in her body freeze and stiffen, like ice in her veins. She turned to Deadlock, who noticed something was amiss.

“He’s not a radiant,” she said.

“Pardon me?”

“He’s not a radiant.”

“Then who did we-”

A barrage of gunfire erupted from the darkness and the dull thump of something heavier roused Viper into action, and she flung herself to the ground again. An arrow embedded itself in the turf just inches from her.

An arrow?

More gunfire. Something behind her exploded. She felt hot metal and caked earth tumble over the back of her dress and scattered over her exposed legs, and somebody screamed, a mix of terror and pain. 

Chamber had taken his gun and run, taking advantage of the sudden chaos. She fired two shots at him, but both missed. More gunfire came in response, then another arrow landed nearer to her. It grazed the side of the foot and embedded itself in the heel of her shoe. She recoiled in pain but remained in her position, knowing that if she got up and ran she would make herself a larger target.

Darkness coalesced in the air like a looming wave and snuffed out the lights one by one. Viper was keenly aware of writhing tentacles before the mist enveloped her, absorbing the sound of the gunfire as though she had been plunged underwater.

And then, an entirely different sensation took hold of her. The tentacles retreated, as though facing the advance of a new opponent, and the world around her turned black, and then purple. There was a light, somewhere in the distance, but she couldn’t pinpoint its source.

A figure emerged from the gloom, bathed in a dull mauve gleam that swam in her eyes and projected strange geometric figures on the ground in front of her. She tried to get up and face the figure, but she could hardly move; she was nearly paralyzed, as if shot, though she felt no pain. The figure approached, just close enough for her to see the gun in his hand and the grin on his face.

“Chamber told me much about you,” he said. His accent was difficult to place. Chinese? No. More specific…

“He’s roped me in to this, so it was his idea. I will give him credit.”

He spun the chamber of his revolver several times, playing with it just as he was playing with her. She stared up at him, hate in her eyes, but she could not move. This was it.

“He wanted me to kill you tonight, in fact, if I got the chance. But where’s the fun in that?”

“Do it,” she spat. The words felt foreign coming out of her mouth. Somehow, she was distinctly aware that she was no longer in the Tiergarten; at least, she had been temporarily removed somehow. 

“It’s unfair. You’re already hurt. I can’t have a fair fight in that case.”

“Do it.”

“I’ll leave you with this.”

He reached into the pocket of his heavy white sweatshirt and extracted a small piece of paper, which he flicked in her direction. It sailed carelessly through the air, alighting gently before her. It was a simple little token, a business card of sorts, with the imprinted image of a withering flower on it, crowned with black thorns. A lilac? She could barely tell in the low light. 

“We’ll see each other again, soon,” the assassin promised, retreating back into the gloom now. “I’ll tell Chamber you were happy to see him.”

The purple light dissipated, the darkness returned, and then she was spat back out into a familiar scene. At some point she had lost her hearing entirely, and her ears rang violently.

It didn’t last, but it had abstracted the whirlwind of violence around her and drove her into a sort of fugue state in which she had been spared the fate of her allies as the gunfire died down and the chaos came to a close. Their attackers withdrew into the woods, leaving nothing but a cold, aching silence and firm black marks on her bare skin and a feeling of emptiness that made her queasy. Measure by measure, second by second, she realized that her hearing was returning (in spite of the violent, angry ringing that rattled her entire brain) and that they had been defeated.

Viper took stock of herself first, and realized none of her injuries were fatal, or anything even approaching that. An arrow had grazed her heel and taken off a portion of skin, and a bullet had narrowly flown over her shoulder and had left a tiny rivulet of blood that ran cautiously down her arm. 

The Ståljegere lay dead or dying upon the impassive earth, their bodies mutilated and torn apart by a careless hail of bullets, and weapons more sinister. Their attackers had fled, choosing not to establish lordship over the battlefield; perhaps they considered their objectives complete, and had left the remnants to die. Viper rose on unsteady feet, discarding her weapon, approaching those who were still living.

Pillar was taking her final breaths, her abdomen punctured in multiple points by bullets of varying caliber. She stole a final glance at Viper, nodded at her as if to acknowledge her gift of life, and then expired on the ground, her blood staining the earth.

Secunda and Farsight were already dead. They had barely been able to draw a bead on their opponents; their magazines were likely full and their effort to rescue her had been for naught. She barely knew them, but she couldn’t help but feel a deep, stabbing pang of sympathy for their wasted blood.

The only survivor was Deadlock, and her survival balanced on the edge of a knife as her condition was visibly critical. She writhed on the ground, tragically conscious in spite of her wounds - two bullet wounds to the leg, and serious injuries to her right arm. An explosion had sheared away much of the skin from her forearm, completely torn her hand off with the exception of a single digit and some attached muscle and protruding bone. Shrapnel had peppered that which remained relatively intact, rendering her entire forearm and elbow joint a bloody, mangled mess. Viper did not understand how such a wound could be survivable, but she was not one to give up hope even with just cause for doing so.

“My sisters…my sisters…” Deadlock croaked, barely making the words out.

“Lie still,” Viper ordered, crouching over her and desperately seeking material for a tourniquet. A less stubborn person would find the effort pointless.

“My sisters…are they…”

“Lie still, and breathe,” Viper said. “Focus on me.”

“I can’t…”

“Steady. Don’t struggle.”

“Are they okay-”

“Focus on me.”

"My sisters. Are they-"

"I need you to focus on me, okay?"

"O...kay."

Deadlock choked on her own spittle and fell silent, but remained breathing and alive as Viper shredded the collar of her overcoat into thin strips of fabric and produced an emergency tourniquet to buy precious minutes.

What followed was a blur of noise and distress, the aftershocks of trauma rearing their ugly head and muddling the world around her as the medevac helicopter swept overhead and drowned out the barking of police dogs. Buffeted by rotorwash until she was numb, she watched as the medics lifted Deadlock’s nearly-lifeless body up and into the med bay and immediately got to work as police swarmed the park around her, turning it into a nightmarish ocean of blue-suited bodies and bright tactical flashlights that drowned the greenery out.

At some point, the VLT/R picked her up to bring her back home. She did not know when that was, and fell asleep the moment she sat down. The nightmares began immediately.

Chapter Text

Dr. Nanette McFadden existed at an unprecedented confluence of powerful leader and loyal subordinate, exerting a strange influence on her fellow researchers but never taking command of them in spite of herself. Sabine had at first mistaken her for a superior, and was surprised to find out that her own title was the superior one, and that Nanette was a junior in her lab.

“I wasn’t on the search committee because I’m a manager,” Nanette admitted, with a wry smile that disguised her pleasure at having pulled the wool over Sabine’s eyes. “I’m just the best pick of the litter down here.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“I think I did, in fact, fool you.”

Sabine privately fumed about it for a bit, but she knew she had found a friend in Nanette. If nothing else, she would be the second wheel on weekly bullshit sessions where they could complain about upper management, the eternal lack of funding, the creepy guy who ran the Magnetics division, the mediocrity of the cheap coffee that Kingdom provided - and a thousand other things they found common ground on.

Well, scratch one of those items. Force Green was well-funded; too well-funded, in fact. Some of the most respected researchers on the Kingdom Fabrications roster had been shoehorned into this vaguely-defined, oversight-bereft research group on the far fringes of the company’s portfolio. Given a series of advanced labs with all the cutting-edge equipment they could want for, the little assembly of engineers, chemists, and physicists spent long days and even longer nights babying their passion projects under the harsh glare of overhead fluorescents and beneath three stories of offices and workshops that masked Force Green’s presence beneath Kingdom’s feet.

It took Sabine several weeks to realize that hierarchy was a suggestion down here, not a reality. Everyone operated independently and only nominally reported up to Kingdom’s leadership, which was far more concerned with their flagship products and more traditional research efforts than with whatever quirky shit Force Green was cooking up in the basement. That meant broad autonomy for her and Nanette to pursue whatever objectives they felt like pursuing, and to push the limits of their equipment without pesky oversight or nagging review boards.

And before long, Sabine began to feel like she was going somewhere. Her lab was spotless, her equipment was calibrated daily, her assistants and researchers were top-notch personnel, and she couldn’t imagine a better second-in-command than Nanette McFadden. 

Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t.

It started, as it often did, with men. Rather, a man, and a particularly obnoxious one at that. He made a decisive entrance one day, complete with an entourage of assistants and investors who tailed him as though he were leaking dollar bills from a gaping hole in his pompous ass, and wasted no time in asserting himself to the first face he found.

“Things around here are gonna change,” he declared, to wild eyes and confused frowns, as he strode into Sabine’s lab space. “And boy, are they gonna change fast.”

Sabine had just stepped out of the lab for lunch and hadn’t the faintest clue what was going on, but one look at him told her most of what she needed to know. He was dressed to the nines, and proud of it, flaunting an array of top-line fashion items that only a C-suite salary could comfortably afford. He had the eyes of a man who was used to scouring the world for potential rivals and gazing down at perceived inferiors, and the jowls of someone who had too much money for steak and lobster on the dinner plate. The moment he spotted her, he snapped to her and strode over, arms at his sides and pride puffing up in his chest.

“You must be one of the senior researchers here,” he said, pulling up to her as though he were a drill sergeant approaching an errant recruit. “You’re the only one who looks like you’ve got a clue. The rest of these slack-jawed eggheads can’t form a single sentence.”

“Can I help you?”

“Does it look like I need your help?”

Her tone did nothing to help her situation, and only inflamed him further. His entourage was trickling in to her lab, filling up the room and generally presenting themselves as unwanted nuisances in her space. She crossed her arms before her chest in a silent challenge, and as an implied aegis. 

“What I need from you is information,” he said. “Payroll, papers, project tracks, programming. I need to know what you’re up to down here and damnit, I need to know fast.”

“And who are you to need to know all of that?”

“Your new boss, if you didn’t get the memo, nancy.”

He had found a way past her shield and stabbed her right in the gut. Sabine generally prided herself on being well-informed and ahead of the curve, but this had come out of the dark and struck her with no room for preparation.

“Says who?” she challenged, not quite sure if this was some prank or bit being played on her. “Nobody informed me of that-”

“Nobody needs to inform you, sweetlips,” he cut her off, to her chagrin. “Nobody needs to keep you on the ball. You do your thing, you give me what I want, and that’s it. Okay? That’s what being the boss entails. Okay? Jiminy Christmas, you people down here are insufferable already…can’t get a word in edgewise without…”

And muttering to himself as though she weren’t right behind him, he stalked off, commenting on the state of her lab and the adjacent offices and making a rude remark to one of the physics team’s researchers when he nearly ran into him. He disappeared through the same double doors he had entered through, back into the “normal world” where he had come from. 

That was her first encounter with Pruitt Barnes, and while she didn’t know it yet, it would be one of her best. The next two years would test her endurance and willpower in ways she could never have imagined when she first stepped through Kingdom’s doors. 

Through the grapevine she learned that major changes were afoot in Kingdom’s C-Suite, and Barnes was one of those changes. Nanette had friends in the finance office, courtesy of her dashing good looks and irresistible charm (and her way of tugging at heartstrings, and pursestrings, when she needed to), and had learned the full story two weeks later.

“Big family name, old money, cutting-edge finance program,” she informed Sabine, the next time she walked into her lab. “Vanderbilt.”

“Pruitt? Well that explains a lot.”

Nanette smirked. “He came in all hot and said he was the man to right their ship,” she said. “Has a bunch of grand ideas, and you know how old men just loooove those.”

“They’re suckers for it,” Sabine agreed. “You’d think, though…they’d see through it? Eventually?”

“He must have made a big impression, because there’s already talk of promoting him.”

“Promotion? To what?”

To hell, she hoped, but she knew it would not be so. Pruitt Barnes had caught the eyes and ears of every suit in the building and had established himself as their saving grace after years of poor investment choices and mediocre stock releases. Kingdom had a solid reputation over decades of reliable manufacturing and design, but taking on contracts for the US Army had burned much of that and scattered the resultant ashes to the wind. As the quagmire in Vietnam grew ever more unpopular, so did Kingdom’s contracts, and with loss of reputation came loss of customers. With the war over, those contracts too had dried up, leaving them with precious little. 

Things were, in a word, grim.

“I don’t trust him one lick,” Sabine said.

“Oh, me neither,” Nanette said. “But I think we’d be wise to weather him.”

“Really? He’s intolerable.”

“Agreed. But what choice do we have? He’s fresh fish, and we’re not in good graces anymore.”

“He’s going to be a bigger thorn in our side if we let him go.”

“Let’s play his game for now, Sabine. Let him think he’s got us under his thumb. Then we’ll see.”

Nanette’s plan grew on her as the months inched by and Force Green became the target of audits, review projects, and any other pointless micromanagement efforts that Pruitt Barnes could come up with. Hierarchy had gone from a suggestion to an implication to a mandate, and the autonomy they had once been granted was burned away by ceaseless efforts to bring their operations into line under a new “entrepreneurial plan” aimed at making up for the loss of the contracts that had seen them through much of the last decade. 

Even Nanette changed, but to Sabine it was for the better. She ignited a fire that burned only ever hotter as the pressure from above grew in force.

Their relationship only tightened over the year as they closed ranks with their fellow junior researchers and analysts, intent on protecting the division they had come to love. They had spent years running their own experiments alongside their contractual obligations, and when the order came to put that to a halt, Nanette and Sabine led the revolt.

“I will draft the letter, if you deliver it,” Nanette informed her one day, during a visit to her workstation.

“How certain are you that this won’t just end up with us getting fired?” Sabine asked, still hesitant.

“Not sure enough for you, I’d bet,” Nanette said, with a laugh. “Will you do it, Sabine?”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” she said, “and because we both know I’m not the talker here.”

They both laughed, because they knew what was at stake. An endless stream of missives from Barnes and his auxiliaries, who in their neverending crusade for control had far overstepped their boundaries, overrode any caution they had. They had pushed both Nanette and Sabine to the brink, and past it, and enough was enough. Their futures were on the line together, and likely the futures of their entire department. There was nothing to lose now.

“Are you nervous?”

Sabine mulled over the question, the letter not yet in one hand, the other fishing for a cigarette. “No.”

Nanette beamed. “Don’t lie to me, now,” she chided. “You only smoke inside when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not smoking.”

“Just grabbing a cig for no reason, then?”

“Okay, so what if-”

“I’m nervous too, Sabine,” Nanette admitted. “But that will not stop me from defending what I believe is right. We’ve been doing great things here together. What right do they have to stop that?”

Together. There was something pleasant about that, a light sensation that hummed in her brain and energized her, while simultaneously reminding her that none of her endeavors had been achieved on her own. She put the cigarette back into its pack and pretended it didn’t exist. Moments later, Nanette handed the letter over, professionally sealed and stamped as though it were coming from some royal court half a world away. 

“All yours now.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a second opinion?”

Nanette shook her head, smiling nervously. “If I ask for that, I might reconsider.”

“Let’s not have that happen.”

“If they fire you, be sure to give me a ring. I’m walking out of here if they do.”

“You’re too kind to me, Nanette.”

“Just keeping our ranks closed. You’ve got this.”

Apprehensive, Sabine took the letter and took her first steps towards those dark double doors that led to the topside world, firing the next shot in an escalating war.

The letter did not get them fired, but the pressure was building, and their resistance didn’t help. Kingdom produced their own “conciliatory” letter a week later, which was anything but, and which was almost certainly handcrafted by human resources specialists in closed-door meetings to maximize their efforts at sowing dissent and dividing Force Green’s personnel. 

The effort was not successful.

“Self-righteous bastards,” was all Nanette had to say when she read the letter. She crumpled it up and tossed it into the wastebin. “And who do they think we are? Doormats in labcoats?”

“That seems to be the assumption, yes.”

“They think they’re the fucking victims here.”

“And they probably believe that, too.”

Sabine fished out a cigarette and lit it up quickly. The burst of nicotine did little to assuage her frayed spirits, but it at least improved her focus in the moment and steadied her pounding head. Lazy wisps of smoke curled up toward the low ceiling of the utility room that they had converted into a sort of command center for their war effort, ensuring that every researcher and analyst in the office knew where to find them in the event of trouble, or if they needed a reassuring speech.

Speaking of, Nanette was much better at those than Sabine was. One could be forgiven for thinking that Nanette, with her silver tongue and disarming rhetoric, was the one in charge of this effort. But Sabine had borne the brunt of the action and her cold facade and unbreakable resilience were the core of this effort. It was that same resilience that had kept her going in her early days at Kingdom, and now it was proving to be her greatest asset against them as they turned on her.

“Jameson submitted her resignation today.”

“She did? What changed?” Nanette’s surprise was genuine. Sabine was not surprised at all.

“They started going after her outside of work,” Sabine said. “I didn’t catch on until it was too late. Late night calls, surprise meetings, talk of rewards for defection…they work quick.”

“That’s dirty.”

“They play dirty up there.”

So we have to play dirty, too. But their resources were far more limited, and Kingdom was slowly sloughing away junior researchers and administrative staff, the weakest members of the force who were also the ones most desperate to keep their jobs. Nobody wanted to remain aboard a sinking ship, but Kingdom’s executives had cleverly masked their financial concerns and promised hefty rewards and promotions to those who would, in their words, defect from the rebellion. 

“A rebellion, they’re calling us now,” Sabine said. “As if they’re taking up arms to crush us.”

“That might as well be their next step,” Nanette sighed. “We’re in rough seas, Sabine.”

“Not sinking yet, though.”

“And yet, the tide’s against us.”

“Can we stop with the sea metaphors?”

Nanette cracked a smile. “Can’t help it,” she said, mischievously. “Blame my upbringing.”

“You’ll never truly escape Boston, will you?”

“Afraid not, Sabine. Much as I might try.”

Moments of levity like this were quickly dispelled as they returned to their respective workstations and resumed whatever it was they were bending their will and minds to. In the absence of hierarchy they had been allowed to pursue whatever projects they deemed most personally rewarding, and that culture might be at an end; they had decided to take advantage of it while they still could, and to that end Sabine was knee deep in some extraordinarily unique tests.

Her lab remained in the throes of organic chemicals testing and preparation, a consequence of years of serving defense contracts. She had lost track of how many toxic liquids, defoliating aerosols, and noxious gases she had concocted and itemized over the last three years; more importantly, she had lost track of the much more esoteric experiments she had once pursued.

Inert gases, electron spalling, novel material exploration. 

These had been a core part of her boldest research initiatives many years ago, and now she intended to resurrect them while she still had time. Most of it might not pan out; hell, almost all of it would be dead end after dead end, with no time to really pursue her objectives. But she’d be damned if she didn’t try while she still had Kingdom’s resources and her lab at hand. And best of all, Nanette.

“Physics team has tossed a few more rocks your way,” Nanette informed her as she entered the resonance chamber, where their most expensive equipment was situated. “Figured you might want to have a look.”

“Are they just dumping their garbage on me again?”

“Probably,” Nanette chuckled, dismissive. “But hey, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth…”

“I swear, they’re just giving up now. Can’t even be bothered to take out their own trash,” Sabine grumbled. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the dimly glistening, chiseled purplish mass locked in to the sample chamber. Outside of the stairway-like extrusions on all four sides, it was almost perfectly smooth, and unusually dark, almost like obsidian.

“Is this radioactive, by chance?” she asked, cautious.

“It’s some unusual cobalt sample, they said,” Nanette informed her. 

“So, extremely radioactive.”

“Looking forward to pulling out your lead suit?”

Sabine smiled. There would be no need for something that extreme, but her smile faded as she approached the chamber and got a real good look at the material they had given her.

What was this? It was noted as primarily cobalt-60, with trace elements throughout, but the initial readings she received from it were completely unexpected. She ran the same test three times, and received the same results - and only then did she call Nanette over for a second opinion.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Sabine grumbled, perplexed and in need of more coffee. “This shouldn’t have this sort of electromagnetic…well, anything.”

“Could the sensors be broken?”

“You calibrated them yourself,” she reminded her. 

“Well, thank you,” Nanette beamed. “I take pride in my work. But I’m not perfect.”

“I ran the test four times.”

“Then it has to be the source material.”

Nanette was always good at this “second opinion” thing, but they were both stumped when they jointly ran the typical test and got the same atypical results. The sample hadn’t degraded, changed, or even moved since she had started with it; so what the hell was she working with, and what made it that way?

A week later and she had made little headway with the strange sample - neither had Nanette, in spite of their best efforts. They had bombarded it with unique ions, tried to shear it apart with magnets, and had conducted a number of novel tests to determine what was giving off such unique electromagnetic properties.

Nanette slept little, and Sabine slept even less. Three more researchers had quit Force Green, pressured or outright bullied by Kingdom corpos into resigning unexpectedly.

The halls outside of her lab, once alive with intense conversations and eagerly shared results and lunchtime laughter, had never felt more dead and empty. 

Kingdom had even unplugged the coffee machines and refrigerator from the breakroom, depriving Sabine of everything except for her closest ally.

Nanette remained resolute in spite of everything, sharing Sabine’s lab space through the thick and thin and always waiting in the wings for her turn to take up the shield. When Sabine was feeling lightheaded, or frustrated beyond reason, or just needed to shut her eyes and grab an hour of desperately-needed rest, Nanette was there to relieve her.

But the writing was on the wall. They could not fight for much longer.

“I think our game is up,” she confessed, as they both stood over a computer screen watching a new batch of readouts come through. “Look at us, Nanette.”

“I never thought you’d be the one to say that, between the two of us.”

“Me neither. But look at us.”

A mirror nearby would have been handy; it would have revealed their bloodshot eyes, split and dried lips, frizzy unwashed hair, and slumped shoulders. It would have revealed desperation, despair, and an intense desire to achieve one last breakthrough after years of leading the charge. It would have revealed two women taking their last stand, waiting for the inevitable.

“We still have hope yet,” Nanette reassured her, breaking a weak smile. “You still have cigarette money.”

“Damn right I do.” As though prompted, Sabine snapped one out of her pocket and lit it. But the pack was lightening, and her “resignation” was on the horizon. How many more days did they have before this was all shut down? With them leaving, Force Green would effectively cease to exist, and much of their work might be for naught.

“What’s today?” Sabine asked, to no one in particular.

“Friday. I think.”

“Friday. Late.” She thought out loud. “Everyone up there will be heading home.”

“What’s that mean to you?”

“We have two days, then. Come Monday, the hammer will fall.”

“And we’ll be out of here.”

“We will.”

“Sabine?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to give up?”

“...are you even asking me that question?”

Sabine Callas was not the type to give up, even when the writing was indeed on the wall. And so armed with fresh purpose, she and Nanette nodded at each other and went to work. She downed her last cup of coffee (cold and bitter, not that it mattered much to her), reset her experiment parameters, and closed her eyes.

Twenty-four hours went by in the blink of an eye.

The fluorescents overhead never waned, the only constant in her world anymore, it seemed.

More ions, stronger magnets, fluctuating atmospheric pressures, various gases in the chamber, even radioactive isotopes - through it all, the answers remained beyond their grasp. The sample hadn’t changed at all, either, as the baseline tests confirmed. They remained as of yet unable to extract its secrets, until Sabine hit rock bottom and proposed one last desperate leap.

“We overwhelm it,” she said, as Nanette listened intently. “Bombard it with radiation. Push our systems to the max.”

“There are risks inherent to that, Sabine.”

“I know there are.”

“We could damage the chamber beyond use.”

“I know.”

“And if we do?”

“Then all the better for us, I’d say.”

What use will it be to us when we’re gone? This was do or die, and if she was going to kill her lab, all the better to keep it out of Kingdom’s unscrupulous hands. It was her lab after all, and had been for years, and this would be her final glorious hour before she had to give everything up and walk away in defeat. 

Nanette was apprehensive, but agreed to the plan after some convincing. Sabine refused to do it alone; it had to be a team effort, and she had to be onboard. They spent hours preparing the chamber and keeping a close eye on the sample, ensuring it had not changed or defected from expectations. It remained itinerant, almost sterile, as though unaware of what it was about to endure. When Sabine pulled the trigger and began the bombardment, she sensed for a moment that this was all for nothing, and they were just blindly charging at a brick wall, with impact mere seconds away.

But something did happen.

Nanette saw it first in the readouts, practically jumping out of her seat and running over.

“Something’s happening,” “The radiation sensors are going berserk.”

“Are they breaking?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let me see, then-”

The initial burst of bright ultraviolet light from the chamber nearly blinded her. Only a split second reaction, and Nanette’s shoulder, allowed her to save her eyesight, and even then she was temporarily blinded by what she initially thought was an arc flash from their overloaded equipment. The lab was awash with a dazzling sheen that died down almost immediately, leaving in its place a dull glow from within the chamber.

Their equipment remained active, doing its best to bombard the sample with the most radioactive ions they could pull from their limited stock, but the radiation in the chamber had actually decreased in the wake of the arc flash. The light was no longer a brilliant starburst, but was now a dim, pulsing green hue that emanated from a fragmentation in the sample. Crackling seams marred the once-smooth surface of the sample like pulsating veins full of deoxygenated blood, and the sample almost seemed to hum now with a muted resonance. 

“It’s…changed.” Nanette was the first to break their shared silence, overawed.

“I don’t know how,” Sabine admitted. “It’s different, though…”

“Very different. Radiant. Beautiful, even.”

“What is it?”

“I think, Sabine, that this is the thing that will save our jobs.”

Little did either of them realize just how much of an understatement that was as they stood in the middle of the lab, bathing in a sickly green light that began to intensify with a newly-found life of its own, radiant and perfect.

Chapter Text

Any memory of the flight back to base was lost in a sea of nightmares and the endless chirping of medical alarms. Viper tossed and turned in and out of fitful sleep, her body exhausted and her mind fighting a battle she had no chance of winning.

The nightmares had returned in full force, and with them came the terror she felt at the mere memory of her greatest personal failure. Every moment spent revisiting familiar faces and places was laced with the looming horror of dooming all of that to premature destruction.

The blame is squarely on your shoulders. She had made the decision, and every instance where a loss of control was possible left her horrified at the potential consequences. She slumped over in her seat and closed her eyes and massaged the soft flesh of her temples, averting a looming migraine as she struggled to stay awake.

When they arrived, a horde of technical and medical personnel raced out onto the tarmac and retrieved the frail, pale form of Deadlock for emergency surgery and stabilization. During the flight she had been intubated and connected to multiple intervention devices, but more effort was needed. Her outlook was not grim, but there was hope for her yet.

Viper wandered out onto the tarmac as the VLT/R powered down and found only one familiar face she could find solace in. Killjoy stood at a distance, arms wrapped around herself, her familiar yellow jacket standing out in a sea of blue and black. 

“I failed the mission,” Viper said lifelessly. “I failed us.”

“Are you okay?” 

Viper drew in a deep breath of cold, heavy air. “I’m fine, yes,” she said. “But I need to file my report to Brim.”

“Viper, you look exhausted.”

“I’m fine.”

“Will you at least share some lunch with me?”

Killjoy would never forgive her if she said no. Reluctantly, she trudged after the engineer down to the mess hall, which was mercifully empty on account of Sage taking many of her agents out on a training mission. Killjoy produced a bucket of fried chicken and cans of cold soda pop and Viper indulged, a rare treat for her. Bright, bold red letters spelled CHICKENJOY across the width of the bucket, accompanied by a friendly bee mascot with a chef’s toque.

“The hell is this?”

“It’s chickenjoy,” Killjoy said, with a mouthful of food. “Do you-”

“I know it’s chicken. Where’d it come from?”

“Oh, that. Neon took Jett home for the weekend and brought back food.”

“They did what now?”

Viper nearly choked on chicken and had to steady herself against the cafeteria table. Killjoy’s eyes widened in alarm and she reached across the table as if to support her. She recovered before that sort of intervention was needed.

“They did what now?” Viper asked again, no less alarmed.

“Neon wanted to take a trip home and see her dad,” Killjoy said. “He’s sick, so-”

“And she just decided to up and fly a VLT/R for this?”

“Well…yes.”

“You know that is an enormous breach of Protocol policy. Rules. We have them for a reason.”

Killjoy reddened in the face and Viper realized she was talking to the wrong person. Killjoy was not responsible for sorting right from wrong and punishing noncompliance, and she had done nothing wrong. She was not the person to be chastising for this breach of conduct.

“I’m sorry,” Viper apologized hastily. “I know it’s not your fault. I am just surprised.”

“It was just a little two-day trip. Nothing major, and they said they were being safe, and-”

“It is not our policy to use cutting-edge, multi-million dollar aircraft for day trips and fried chicken.”

“Brimstone didn’t say we couldn’t.”

“Did Brimstone even know?”

“Well…”

She thought it likely that he knew now , after the fact, and in his eternal wisdom had decided it was not worth the punishment earned. He and Viper had always sparred over policies of discipline and enforcement, with Brimstone’s approach taking the higher road but leaving them exposed to such blatant malfeasance. Viper knew she couldn’t push too far, but she pushed wherever she could. 

She decided then that “chickenjoy” was not the thing she needed in the moment, politely excused herself from Killjoy’s pleasant company, and then made her way down to the medical bay to visit their unfortunate guest.

Deadlock’s condition had barely improved, though that alone had raised her from “critical” status to “serious” status, thanks to the efforts of their excellent onsite medical techs. She had moments of consciousness, in which she was able to communicate her comfort and pain levels to the medical staff, but she remained heavily sedated due to the damage she had endured. What remained of her left arm was little more than gauze upon gauze, a veritable doner skewer of bandages held together by medical staples, kinesiotape, and hope. Without Sage, there were few options for her.

“When is Sage expected to return?”

One of the medics looked at her with bleary eyes, thinking as he checked the medical readouts again following the latest intravenous injections.

“Two days,” he said, weary. “Two more days…”

“Not enough time.”

Sage’s abilities, while miraculous, had time constraints. The human body could only be suspended in a state of death or extreme dismemberment for so long before even Sage’s powers stopped being effective. No guardian angel could be perfect.

“How is she doing?”

“Overall?” The medic paused again, thinking. He had been one of the first ones to stabilize Deadlock, and twelve hours of endless effort had drained him. “She’s stable. Not quite where we’d like her to be. But much improved.”

“Good. We can at least keep her alive.”

“We can do more than that.”

Word was surely getting around the base that a stranger was in their midst, and she was short an arm and then some; Viper had tried to concoct a plan for bringing this up with Brimstone, and every effort had proven abortive. When she finally met with him, after getting updates on Deadlock’s status, she decided that plain brutal honesty was the best path forward. 

“I made the call,” she said. “And I believe I made the right one.”

“Explain yourself, then.”

“She would have died if we didn’t bring her back,” she said. “Any standard medevac would not have secured her in time.”

“You should have reached out to me.”

“If I did, we would not have secured her in time.”

The truth was she had been in a fugue state, and had not even weighed her options. She just knew that the woman was dying, and she had to save her. She did the only thing she thought useful, and had no regrets about it.

“If you think I made the wrong decision, Brim, then tell me straight.”

Brimstone sighed and sat back in his chair. “I don’t.”

“Then what are we even talking about?”

“Sage will resist this, you know.”

“Let her.”

“She will not like your decision.”

“She never does.”

“Don’t make this an issue with her.”

“I don’t intend to.”

That was true, for once. This had nothing to do with Sage and everything to do with her split-second decision-making, and believing she was in the right. Deadlock’s future was in flux, just like her life and health, and so there would be several days before that conversation would come to fruition; but she knew Sage would be angry about this, and perhaps rightfully so. If the positions were switched, and Sage had showed up to base with a random radiant who was bleeding out on the pavement, Viper would have been furious with her.

“I will put in with Sage and smooth this over with her,” Brimstone said. “I just want your mission report.”

“I fucked up.”

“Things happen, Viper. Write out your report, talk about what went wrong, and give your honest assessment.”

“That is my honest assessment. I fucked up.”

Brimstone sighed again, and she could hear the joints in the back of his neck popping as he settled further into his chair.

“Get some rest, Viper,” he said. “I think you need it before anything else.”

Brimstone should have known better than to tell her that. The first place she went was her lab, and only after four hours of sorting through her paperwork stack and calibrating her equipment did she allow herself to return to her room and rest. But even then, she refused to sleep; she knew what would come with that territory. And so, fatigued and weary, she plodded back to the cafeteria, wrinkling her nose at its faint smells of greasy chicken and savory homemade hot pot. The coffee grinder was not up to her standards and the jet fuel it doled out was increasingly bitter and gritty, but Viper would be the last person to complain about it. She was grateful for the steam on her nose, the heat on her lips, and the energy in her blood moments after draining the cup and refilling her thermos with more in anticipation of a long night ahead.

It was around four in the morning when Sage and her crew returned from their mission. Viper’s wristwatch buzzed with a message from one of the landing bay techs, and not long after she heard excited voices and hurried footsteps in the hallway outside of the clinic. It sounded like their mission had gone better than expected. She did not rush out to engage, but waited in the wings like a snake in the grass waiting for an ambush. 

Somehow she knew Sage would come.

“I imagined you’d be here,” Sage said, as she stepped in and hung her scarf up on the coathook. 

“So Brim told you already?”

“Which room is she in?”

All business, Viper noted, with distant approval. At the very least, Brim’s efforts had defused Sage’s initial anger. She imagined the phrase turnabout is fair play may have been used.

They both entered Deadlock’s room, which Viper only now realized was the same room she had woken up in after her resurrection. It was the most complex of all of the treatment rooms, equipped with advanced diagnostic and intervention machinery, a host of cutting-edge monitors that were currently hooked up to the aforementioned invalid, and Sage’s own personal tools. The overheads were only slightly less harsh in here, basking the room in a sterile off-white light that made Viper wince when she looked up.

“How is her condition?”

“You would be better equipped to answer that than I am.”

“I’m asking you…because you brought her here.”

“She’s doing better. Awake, from time to time, but still recovering.”

The big question that remained up in the air was her missing limb - and what to do about that. The medical team’s efforts had so far been focused on stabilization and nutrition, feeding her through multiple IVs to avoid exerting her. Her condition stabilizing and improving now, the question would almost certainly come up - among other questions.

“I cannot do much for her at this point,” Sage said. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

“It would be risky.”

“You can’t just say that and not tell me.”

“There are ways for me to try,” Sage said curtly. “But I haven’t tested these abilities in-”

She grew lost in thought, staring down at Deadlock’s immobile body, her chest only barely rising with each breath. She could move and breathe and think on her own but her future was still in flux and it troubled Viper to see a once-lively individual reduced to such. 

“Do what you need to do,” she insisted. “I know what you’re going to say, though.”

“Are you trying to start something, Viper?”

“I just know you. And I know that you will fight my decision.”

“She is a stranger.”

“She’s a trained soldier and a disciplined individual. I can attest to that myself.”

“She’s a radiant hunter, Viper,” Sage said, putting little effort into disguising her anger. “You know what those words mean to me? To people like me? To the other agents here?”

“Whatever her past occupation might be, we have nothing to lose by recruiting her,” Viper insisted. “She would be worthy of our high standards.”

“I don’t doubt that, Viper. What I doubt is whether she’s worthy of our ethics.”

“I don’t think that worth rejecting her over.”

“Maybe you don’t. But some of us do. Did you ever consider what others think, Viper? Or are we all just barriers to you, a thorn in your side stalling whatever you have planned?”

Sage turned back to Deadlock, who had not stirred at all during the course of their conversation. She was sound asleep, and Sage sighed heavily, rolling her sleeves back above her elbows.

“I will see what I can do for her nonetheless,” she said. “I took an oath, and I will uphold it.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Her thank you was the emptiest it had ever been, but that didn’t matter for Sage, who set to her task with due focus and precision. Skilled in both medical tools and her own abilities, Sage tended to favor the latter, and needed no scalpel or instrument to begin working on Deadlock. She picked up one of her orbs, cradling it tenderly in the palm of her hand and studying her patient carefully, then laid her hand on Deadlock’s forearm and began her work.

Deadlock’s forearm recoiled, and then lashed out.

“Don’t touch me,” she snarled, her voice gravelly. “Don’t you…fucking-”

Sage attempted to sidestep her and shift her hands further up but Deadlock, now awake and thoroughly aggravated, threw her shoulder in protest and then attempted to roll onto her side to grab at Sage. She managed to obtain a brief hold on Sage’s wrist before the healer retreated, stepping back from the bed and from her now-angry patient.

“Get away from me, you freak,” Deadlock said, her eyes wide open now and glaring straight at Sage. “Don’t touch me.”

“I am here to help,” Sage reassured her sternly. “I can help you heal faster, if you consent to my aid.”

“I don’t want your help,” Deadlock snapped. “I don’t need it, either-”

She winced, as her efforts translated to an unexpected burst of pain, and settled back into her previous position on her back. But when Sage attempted to approach again, her eyes shot open and she raised an arm as if to strike her, and Sage wisely retreated again.

“Sage is our most skilled healer,” Viper reassured her. “I can vouch for her.”

“And how do I know she’s not here to finish the job her other freak friends started?”

Sage maintained a cool demeanor, but Viper could see the pain and anger flickering beneath her calm disposition. At the same time, she could not blame Deadlock for her unwillingness to cooperate, given what had happened to her. She put herself between Deadlock and Sage, hoping to avert something disastrous and keep tensions at a low simmer at best.

“If you can trust me, you can trust her,” Viper said. “She’s one of us.”

“I wish I could do that, Viper, but I’m not letting her anywhere near me.”

“She can heal you.”

“I’d rather die than let her lay hands on me.”

The fire in Deadlock’s eyes and the angst in her voice suggested that was not an exaggeration. 

Sage shook her head. “Alright, then. I will not deny a patient their autonomous rights,” she said, declaring her forfeiture with undeniable frustration. “I’m going to get some sleep. Goodnight…or good morning, rather.”

Sage stalked out of the room, leaving the two behind to clean up whatever had been disturbed in the brief fracas. Scalpels, handheld monitors, and assorted cleaning implements had been knocked free of their moorings or scattered onto the floor when Deadlock had rocked her bed and Sage had stumbled into a medical cabinet, and Viper quickly rearranged it all as best as she could. 

Far be it from me to feel any sort of sympathy for Sage, but…

“She does want to help you,” Viper said. “It’s part of her duty.”

“And my duty is to hunt down and restrain those like her, to prevent them from doing harm on the rest of us,” Deadlock shot back. “Or it was, rather.” She looked down at her bandage-encased upper arm and grimaced. “I don’t know what my duty is now.”

“I understand how you feel,” Viper said.

“Do you? Do you really know what it’s like to lose three of your own in the blink of an eye? Your entire unit, your family, wiped out before you can even cry their names?”

Viper couldn’t answer that question, because Deadlock wouldn’t let her. The anger came surging back into her eyes and she shifted under her covers, as though trying to break free of some restraint.

“They were my sisters. If not by blood, then by everything else that bound us together.” Tears formed in her eyes, crystalline under the impassive fluorescents. “I would have gone to hell and back for them. I suppose, in a way, I did.”

She laid back down, her energy spent. Tears flowed freely down her pale cheeks, now flushing red with her unleashed anger. She stared up at the ceiling and shut her eyes, biting back more tears.

“I should have joined them.”

“No.”

“I would prefer an honorable death with them than this.”

“It does not need to be that way.”

“But I prefer it would be.”

Deadlock was clearly not fit for conversation, and Viper turned her back and made to leave the room. But Deadlock stopped her in her tracks one last time, her aching gravelly voice pulling Viper back in like a fishing line reeling her in with an unseen barb.

“Tell me something,” she said, “you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Do you see them the way I see them? Or are you blind to it, willfully or otherwise?”

“What. Are you talking about?”

“The radiants here. And I don’t think your healer is the only one. I sense that there are others, though I don’t know how many.”

Deadlock seemed to have a special intuition for radiance, even without any additional tools.

“You would be correct,” said Viper. “We have our own radiant agents.”

“And you willingly share your living space with them? Your food, your drink, even your own security? Do you…fear them, at all?”

She knew what Deadlock wanted to hear: an echo of her own sentiments, a mirrored likeness of her own anger and frustration. She knew her own answer, too, a complicated one that built on that anger and frustration, mixed it with curiosity and confusion, and dipped into deeper emotions as of yet fully unexplored. She also knew what the correct answer was, given the situation and the late hour and everything going on in her own head. And so she sighed and shook her head, placing one hand on the threshold of the door and finding her way to the light switch from there.

“Get some rest, Deadlock. You need it.”

She did not answer the question as she turned off the light, let the pneumatic doors silently slide shut behind her, and left to go get some coffee and think for a while.

“I’m telling you, you’ll like them if you just listen-”

“They’re not my style, Jett!”

“You don’t know that, though. Come here! Listen.”

Viper avoided Neon’s wandering eyes as she reluctantly took the headset from Jett and placed it over her head. Neon did the same, hastily glancing back to Jett, who always made a point to ignore Viper.

“Just wait for the chorus,” Jett said excitedly. “Blondie’s on top of the charts. You’re gonna love them. So freakin’ good!”

“Jett, I don’t know, it’s not my-”

“If you listen to just one song, I owe you a six pack of Spike Rush. I’ll even get the watermelon flavor.”

“...okay. Deal.”

“Two songs, I’ll make it two six packs.”

“Jett!”

Neither of them looked at Viper, and Viper didn’t look at them. She had eyes only for her coffee machine, seeking her third refill of the day. As quickly as she could, she filled her thermos and then beat a hasty retreat back out into the base’s innards - making her way not to her lab like usual, but to the medical bay. 

She didn’t anticipate running into Skye, though.

“Careful there, tall dark and handsome-”

“Stop calling me that.”

“-you’re gonna ruin that lovely sweater of yours if you spill on it.”

Viper grimaced, appreciative of the compliment but not in the mood for small talk. She had better things to do, and Skye sensed it, but the trainer’s curiosity got the better of her.

“What’s the rush, anyhow?” Skye asked, pelting her with questions as she walked on. “Your lab’s the other direction.”

“I have work to do.”

“Outside of your lab? That’s a new one.”

Viper stopped in her tracks and wheeled on Skye. “What do you want?”

“I’m just giving you a hard time for kicks,” Skye said. “Forgive me for having a sense of humor.”

“If you want to give me a hard time, the least you could do is give me a helping hand.”

“Oh? With what?”

Viper hoped she would not regret this, but after last night’s fracas with Sage she didn’t have many options. The healer was shaken by the incident and while Viper knew that Deadlock could not inflict any genuine harm, she understood Sage’s reservations about treating her. 

And so, on to Plan B.

“What’s her situation, then?” Skye asked as they slipped into the clinic. It was unusually empty; most of the overhead lights were even out. 

“She’s stable, but still in need of substantial treatment and continuing intervention,” Viper explained, to the best of her ability. “Wound debridement, musculoskeletal extension surgery, and she’ll need PT when it’s all done…”

“Sounds like she had a few hard knocks, then.”

“More than a few.” Viper reached the door to Deadlock’s room and paused. “Are you willing to help her?”

“If she needs it, then I’m obliged,” Skye said, then she frowned and paused. “Where’s Sage, then?”

Viper hesitated. “It’s a bit of a long story. I’ll tell you later.” She wondered if Deadlock would offer the same reaction as she had last night, or if Skye could manage something different. 

Well, you’re about to find out.

Deadlock was predictably visibly asleep when they entered, the soft pneumatic door and the flick of the light switch failing to rouse her from what was likely a very light slumber. At the very least, she was good at pretending; Viper knew after last night that she could take no risks here. 

“Where are all the medics?” Skye asked.

“I don’t know. But they’ve topped her off,” Viper said, tapping the line of the freshly-filled IV. There was also a half-empty canteen of water at her bedside. She was getting nutrition and fluids, at least, even if her road to recovery would be long.

“This is a lot, Viper,” Skye warned, showing sudden apprehension. “My abilities are more limited, I’m not sure if I-”

“Sage cannot do it.” Viper did not explain further. “I need you to at least try. Please. I’ll be here at your side.”

Skye’s apprehension remained, but her sense of duty and mildly reckless disposition won out. Cracking a wry smile, the fear still showing in her eyes, she drew multiple intricately-carved trinkets out of the pocket of her cargo pants and rolled them around in her palms.

“I’ll never be accused of backing down from a challenge,” Skye said. “Though, again, I have to warn you lass, I’m no surgeon…”

“Not asking you to be. Only asking for you to see what you can do.”

She knew now that Deadlock was awake. She had visibly shifted, almost imperceptibly; to a normal pair of eyes, the fluctuation in tension in her exposed upper shoulders and the increased tightness in her jaw would have gone unnoticed. But Viper saw, and Viper knew, and Viper waited uncomfortably as Skye assumed her position and maneuvered herself over Deadlock.

“Trinkets are funny things,” Skye explained, unprompted. She set them aside on a desk, sharing space with a variety of scalpels and monitoring tools. “Once I activate them, they…can be anywhere, really. I just need them to get me started.”

“Like a vehicle battery,” Viper said.

Skye grinned. “Odd comparison, but quite apt,” she said. “Now that I’ve got them, I-”

“Touch me, and I’ll throttle you.”

Deadlock’s voice was gravelly, dry. Her eyes remained closed but Viper had no reservations about her ability to lash out accurately in the blink of an eye. Skye’s hands hovered over her shoulder, bony fingers grasping for flesh that would deny them purchase, sleeves rolled up to the rugged joints of her elbows.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Viper. I know you’re there.” Deadlock spoke calmly, but there was a fury boiling in her words that threatened to erupt. “I told you last night, I’d rather die than let her lay hands on me.”

“Sage isn’t here,” Viper tried to reassure her. “Not to worry.”

“Not to worry? Not to worry? Do you even hear yourself?”

“Deadlock. Listen to me-”

But Skye preempted the appeal she was preparing, wasting no time in bringing Deadlock’s attention to herself instead and presenting herself in the most comforting, non-threatening way possible.

“Hi, honey. How are you feeling? What’s your pain like today? Can I have your name?”

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s fine, sweetie. I know you’re in pain. I’m not going to hurt you further, I promise.”

“I doubt that very much.”

But Deadlock did not move to either retreat or attack; she remained locked in place, like a tortoise attempting to weather the advances of a predator. Her eyes were fixed on Skye, now, who was moving her hands slowly and cautiously.

“I just want to ease your condition a bit today. Check your vitals, too, if that’s alright?”

“Please don’t-”

“I’m not doing anything yet. I want to be sure it’s okay.”

Something about the way Skye spoke, and the reassuring tone in her voice, and the warmth in her eyes and the ease with which she moved her hands while avoiding touching Deadlock, seemed to move the needle just slightly. Deadlock did not vocally consent, but she nodded, recoiling as Skye’s hands finally landed on her shoulder.

“If you’re going to poison me, do it quick-”

“No poison, honey. I haven’t even activated my trinket yet. If you really don’t want this, I will leave. It’s up to you.”

Viper didn’t know if that was truth, or bluff. There was no way for her to tell, and she couldn’t sense radiance like others could, equipment or not. But Deadlock appeared at ease, at least enough to allow Skye to move her hands down Deadlock’s biceps and to her forearm, or what remained of it. The bandages were thick with dried ointment and browning blood, and were wrapped far too tightly. When Skye tugged on them, Deadlock winced.

“They really screwed the pooch on this one, lass,” Skye grumbled. “I’ll fix this first. Don’t worry. Just some scissors, and fresh gauze…”

Viper stood by to watch, just in case she needed to leap in and intervene, but Deadlock was steady. Her eyes never left Skye’s back, watching her every move like a hawk waiting to pounce, but she never did pounce, even when Skye laid her wound bare. The healing process had been slow and much was still exposed that should not be; Skye went about her work with quiet determination, and before long Deadlock’s wounds were covered in a much finer series of wrappings that were better organized.

“How does that feel, now?”

“It’s fine.”

“Better?”

“Sure.”

Deadlock’s reluctance did not stop Skye, who now prepared herself for the more complicated part of her plan. She hesitated, but Deadlock nodded at her affirmatively.

“Do what you have to do,” she said, “but if I feel so much as a-”

“You’ll feel very little, if anything,” Skye reassured her. “This will be like Christmas mornin’ for you.”

“Sure.”

Deadlock winced when Skye’s hands alighted on her skin again, but then she relaxed, comfortable and reassured by Viper’s presence but also by the evident care in Skye’s style. She explained to the best of her ability what she was doing, and what effect it would have; she asked for consent constantly, and tried her best to keep Deadlock at ease with casual conversation.

“You’re a funny lass,” she said. “Where d’you come from, anyhow?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Just bullshittin’ for kicks,” she said. “Small talk makes this easier for me.”

“Norway.”

“A dinkum Viking! Well I’ll be damned.”

Deadlock managed a weak smile. “Not sure if I should be offended, or amused, at your stereotype,” she said. 

“Prefer the latter, understand the former.”

“You’re a funny woman.”

“Aww, and you’re sweet…for a Norwegian.”

Deadlock frowned, but Skye just laughed.

Deadlock was still tense, and actively shied away whenever Skye first moved her hands, but Skye had broken down many of her defenses and was going about her work with relative ease. Viper had never expected this; she was almost ready to let her own defenses down, and enjoy the back-and-forth between the reserved caution of Deadlock and the easygoing ribbing from Skye.

Then the lights went off and plunged the entire room into darkness.

A normal power outage would have immediately been ameliorated by the flickering of a dozen emergency striplights around the door and the baseboards, but nothing came to life now. The darkness was total, uncompromising, and terrifying. Viper heard Deadlock gasp, then begin to panic.

“No, no, no,” she choked out, accompanied by the sounds of her furiously fighting against her covers and Skye’s grip. “No! What did you do!? Why did you-”

“I didn’t do anything, lass, easy now,” Skye tried to calm her. “Easy now, hey, don’t fight me-”

“Did you do this!? What happened!? Oh, God, no no no …”

The darkness was all too familiar for them, but for Deadlock this was a new sensation. She had not yet experienced these blackouts, clearly, for the panic set in and her confused shouting devolved into a panic babble where individual words could barely be discerned. She kicked and fought and shuddered in her covers, and she was pretty sure she heard Skye get hit once or twice. But Skye toughed it out, as she was wont to do, and managed to soothe Deadlock as the lights remained out.

“Easy now. Can you feel my hand in yours? Squeeze it if you can.”

Deadlock steadied herself, though her breathing remained ragged.

“Good, tight squeeze. That’s it. Bloody hell! Not that tight!”

Viper stepped forward, reaching out for support, but only managed to jam her fingers into a steel medical cabinet. She recoiled back to the wall with a hiss. This one was taking its time, and was longer than the previous blackout.

“What is it?” Deadlock’s voice was nervous, fearful, more so than Viper had ever thought. Did she think she had died? Or something worse? No, she had said it herself: I would rather die . She must have thought this was something worse, without realizing what it actually was.

“Power outage, honey,” Skye reassured her. “It will pass.”

“It’s so dark. And so sudden-”

“It’s alright. We’re here with you. It’s all good. This too will pass-”

And it did pass, as something in the distance whirred with a pained mechanical groan and the fluorescents flickered back on bit by bit, returning to life along with everything else. Having grown acclimated to the darkness, Viper blinked and recoiled from the sudden light. 

The room was in a bit of disarray, as Deadlock’s panic had caused some disruption, but otherwise everything was back to normal. 

How long had that been? Two minutes…closer to three. How long were the others? Not quite as long…

As Viper did the calculations in her head, she took note of Deadlock’s reddened face and Skye’s troubled eyes. They were looking at each other now, not focused on anything else - Skye firmly gripped Deadlock’s right hand in hers, holding her steady and squeezing it every few seconds. Deadlock was distressed, but had contained her panic, thanks in no small part to the radiant agent sitting at her bedside and holding her hand.

“Almost three minutes,” Viper said. “Our longest one yet.”

“It passed, though,” Skye said. “We’re good, aren’t we blondie?”

“They’re getting longer,” Viper said. 

“But we’re good.”

“Yeah. We’re good.”

She felt Skye’s piercing eyes on her and realized she needed to play along. Deadlock was at ease, but only because she was convinced the danger had passed; she did not realize just how little they knew about the phenomenon, or how long it had been happening. But she felt safe, and that was what Skye needed to finish her work and pull the covers back up over Deadlock’s shoulders, tucking her in with a pat.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” she teased, though the Norwegian seemed to think otherwise based on her glower. “It could’ve been much worse.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Deadlock said. “But…thank you.”

“How do you feel now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, we’ll try again tomorrow. How’s that sound? Good plan?”

Deadlock still wasn’t so sure, but she made up her mind and offered a firm nod yes . That was all Skye needed to conclude this session, gather up her trinkets, and call it a day. The moment the sliding door clicked shut behind them, she exhaled dramatically.

“It’s not an easy thing, in case you were wondering,” she said, as she and Viper walked back out of the clinic. “I make it look effortless. Not so.”

“What are you talking about?” Viper raised an eyebrow.

“My trinkets, of course. They’re powerful little buggers, but it doesn’t come for free,” Skye said. “Hell, I could take a nap right now.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” As if you could ever, Sabine. You’ll never let yourself rest until you have no other choice.

“Well, all the same, tall dark and handsome, it’s been a good morning,” Skye said, still cheery in spite of the exhaustion evident in her eyes and in her step. “Say, what are we going to do with that pretty blonde lass, anyway?”

Viper felt a tension return to her jaw and chest that had been absent for a precious few moments; the tension of indecision, uncertainty, and the expectation of a future discussion with Sage that was sure to be unpleasant. Come to think of it, she had never expected a discussion with Sage that was anything near pleasant.

“Can’t say I know for sure,” she admitted. “Not my call.”

“You are a big boss around here, no?”

“Not as big as I’d like.”

“Nuts to that,” Skye grumbled, though it was in good spirits. “Well, would you mind doing something to keep her around? I’ve taken quite a liking to her. Maybe one day she’ll even tell me her name.”

“I wouldn’t mind arranging that.”

She had an inkling that Skye would mind it even less.

Chapter Text

In spite of her efforts to address the sensitive subject as carefully as possible, Brimstone would brook no dissent. She left their meeting that morning knowing she had been defeated.

“The pressure is on, Viper, on you and I,” he said, with no reservations. “I don’t have many options.”

“And you think she’s the better option than I?”

“She’s my only option here, Viper. This isn’t a job for you.”

That stung in the moment, but realistically Brimstone was right. Every encounter she’d had so far with radiants had resulted in near-catastrophe, as if the world wanted to prove her inferior somehow. Sage, for all her faults, possessed one advantage over her: the radiance that had, ironically, saved her life. 

“I had a call this morning with NATO chiefs and DoD higher ups. They’re pressed, and they’re pressing us in turn. We don’t have a lot of wiggle room, to say the least,” Brimstone said.

“Give it to me, straight, Brim.”

“They want answers, or they cut the funding to everything but critical projects. It’s as simple as that.”

“That’s oddly decisive of them.”

“People are afraid, Viper. These blackouts have people on edge, and some are pointing fingers in places they shouldn’t be. Frightened people make poor decisions. Nobody wants that, especially right now.”

She sensed that the threat wasn’t an empty one. If news reports were any indication, some Americans were ready to riot over the as-of-yet unexplained blackouts that seemed to be occurring more and more frequently, and for longer durations. There had already been contained violence in a couple of cities, and while nobody had been killed yet, it was only a matter of time before a spark lit the metaphorical fuel. Moderate political figures could only do so much to assuage the fear, especially as tensions overseas were building and a presidential election was coming up.

“Look at it this way,” Brimstone said, appealing to her rationality. “Sage is the person here who is most likely to at least get some answers. When we have those, we can rally ‘round and figure out where to go next.”

“Brim. Please don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not trying to-”

“If you’re just looking for an excuse to reassign me and keep us separate, no need to lie about it,” she said. “I won’t begrudge you.”

“Viper…”

It was unfortunate that their meeting had to end on such a sour note, but there was nothing more to be said between them. Her only consolation was that she was returning to Berlin, and possibly returning to the only person she could find comfort in right now.

It was strange seeing the city again, normal and alive and functioning, after the terrifying experience she had endured in the Tiergarten that had ended with the near-complete annihilation of the Ståljegers. If there was any remaining concern about the implications of that violent episode, Berlin’s population did not show it; one could almost be forgiven for thinking nothing had happened, if not for the headlines on every newspaper that were still talking about the event in manic bold print. She had to avert her eyes as she passed by newsstands on her way to a brand-new safehouse set up for her on the southern edge of the city’s eccentric Winterfeldtplatz neighborhood. 

Cypher was already there to greet her when she arrived. She felt she should have expected this, but his presence surprised her all the same. Her hand raced to the holster hidden beneath her cardigan before she realized who she was about to draw down on.

“This is my house, I might remind you,” he said, in a tone of mocking reproach. “There are rules here, you know. The first rule is no murder-”

“You should have announced yourself.”

“On the contrary, a guest should be the one to announce themselves,” Cypher said. “Oh, and the second rule is no shoes in the house. You’re breaking that one.”

“Don’t make me break the first one,” she growled. 

“Do you want to know the third rule?”

“I think I’ll pass.”

He only found that amusing, and resumed his work with a whistle, turning back around to the stack of nearly a dozen imposing CRT monitors he had assembled in what had once been a quaint, pleasant living room. It had now been turned into a veritable security nexus, one of Cypher’s many hideouts that he had established over the course of years in global surveillance and skullduggery. To Viper, it seemed quite voyeuristic, but she had to admit they would be far behind the curve if not for Cypher’s intelligence and connections. 

“Could spare a little more budget for some interior lighting here,” she said, taking note of how dark the house was.

“Light attracts unwanted eyes,” Cypher said. “Darkness keeps them at bay.”

“There’s a fine balance to be struck.”

“Are you here to judge my safehouse, or are you here to work?”

“I can do both. I’m a capable woman.”

“Well, our mysterious assailants have withdrawn to sanctuary with little trace. They’re professionals, these people,” he said.

“I know that already,” she said. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“They’re on the East German side of the wall. That much is clear. How much assistance they’re getting is still up in the air. But they’ve all evacuated.”

“There may be one remaining here.”

Cypher turned to her slowly. She sensed he was squinting at her under his mask, though his facial expressions were always kept a secret; but she sensed his suspicion, and immediately moved to counter it.

“There is one who was gathering key intel,” she said, hastily. “She had a connection to the museum. She may still be here wrapping things up.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. Call it a hunch.”

That’s a funny thing to call Reyna. Cypher probably saw through her like thin paper, but he refused to press the issue. 

“Well, if you insist on hitting the streets, I’d do it sooner rather than later,” he advised. “If they’re still here, they’ll be going to ground fast.”

“With luck, I’ll find them first.”

She had one trick up her sleeve, and she was going to use it until she ran out of options. Leaving Cypher and his dimly lit safehouse behind, she hit the streets of Winterfeldtplatz with renewed determination. 

Her first three targets were a dismal failure, each one more embarrassing than the last. She approached confidently, as though she were expecting a rendezvous, but the humiliating results suggested no such thing had been planned.

“Dogwood!”

The friendly, pencil-mustached bartender paused wiping the glass off and offered a curious look, then asked her to repeat it. She did not, and beat a hasty retreat, leaving him confused.

“Dogwood.”

The maitre d' shook his head as though she were speaking a foreign language. Maybe she was, to him, but the code should have stuck. She disappeared into the crowd before he could apologize and ask her if she wanted to make a reservation.

“Dogwood?”

The bouncer cracked his knuckles and advanced at her in a threatening manner, barring access to the club and any access to her promised rendezvous. She defused the situation by smiling and feigning inebriety before hastily merging with a crowd of incoming partygoers, disappearing down a side street to recover her breath. The sun was now setting over the city and creatures of the night were coming out to play - art students, painters, second-shifters, itinerant travelers, and every quirky creation in-between. 

So where are you, then, in all this beautiful mess? Goddamnit Reyna, you couldn’t make this easy. You can never make it easy.

Part of her was beginning to believe that there was nobody here for her; she would stay for a week, clean up the mess she had left behind, make some connections and have some meetings, and then be done, as she should be. But there was a part of her that itched for something out of the ordinary; something unexpected, something unacceptable. She itched to see those bright magenta eyes and that terrifying, leering grin again, and most of all she yearned to hear a familiar raspy voice in her ear say those three words that captured her more than any handcuffs or zip ties ever could. 

But Reyna refused to materialize out of the dark, sticking to the lengthening shadows and leaving her to dance around in the streets like a fly on a lure, bouncing from bar to club to bar like a lost pinball until she felt herself begin to roll down the chute towards home, exhausted and disappointed. She had made a giant circle, walking most of the neighborhood and then some, and had nothing to show for it.

Cypher was still at work when she returned, but they said nothing to each other. There were no words to exchange that hadn’t already been parlayed, and he perhaps sensed her disappointment even if he did not know its source. She stepped outside for a smoke, chugged a glass of water, considered a bite of a cold sandwich, then threw herself onto her bed and sighed, exasperated.

Maybe it was a foolish hope. Maybe she was wrong after all. Maybe it was a lost cause, and she was lost for trying to capture it again. 

She set about her work the next morning with grim determination, abstaining even from a morning smoke and quickly downing a cup of bitter black coffee before she hit the streets again. She had a lot of ground to cover, and much more that needed to be covered up. 

For starters, Das Kunstgewerbemuseum: it was spectacularly empty today, even though it was Saturday, likely on account of the news spreading far and wide about the art heist that had successfully been carried out. While most eyes had been fixed on the tabloid headlines that spun lurid tales of a violent debacle in the Tiergarten, more refined persons would have taken note of the museum’s humiliating admission to the brazen theft of multiple pieces from their newest featured exhibit. Those reports would have spread, and no doubt had prompted questions such as: how? Why? Will they ever be found?

She hoped to answer at least one of those questions today. But she took a detour first, out of sheer personal curiosity, retracing steps that felt years old now. It was almost another life that had brought her here, shoulder-to-shoulder with an enigmatic magenta-eyed beauty whose detached manner was simultaneously enraging and enrapturing, leaving her wanting so much more. That night could have been magical under different circumstances, but there was no turning back time to something that could not be. She stalked through the empty gallery and took note of how many pedestals, cases, and tables were empty. 

As she expected, the quantity of material stolen was minimal, barely noticeable if you didn’t know to look for it. Here and there were open pedestals or displays that appeared a little emptier than they should be, but even a discerning eye would chalk that up to some backstage machinations, decisions made by stern directors in bespoke suits who knew what they were doing and had good reasons to act. Without the context, none would guess that a theft had occurred.

“I suppose you’re Miss Cross.” The voice behind her was frail, sad, unpleasant. She turned around to see a similarly frail, sad, unpleasant man looking back at her. “Am I correct?”

“You have it right,” she said. “Sarah Cross, FBI.” The lie was so well-rehearsed, so familiar, that it had become natural. No slip of tongue could betray her now.

“Thank you for coming here today, Miss Cross,” the man said. She had guessed he was the museum’s vice president, a certain Gerhardt Koebler, one of the museum’s more notable authorities and a 30-year veteran on its roster. “I hope you’ll forgive my fatigue. It has been a long…well, a long journey since that fateful night. I do not wish to describe much of it, unless you aim to press it out of me and wring me for every last drop.”

Don’t be so dramatic, old man. He spoke with undeserved defeatism, as though this were over. It most certainly was not, and Viper was here to see to that, but he might not realize that yet. He invited her back to what was clearly a well-used conference room, at least in recent days, that was littered with the desiccated remains of late-night meetings and lengthy interrogations.

“The coffee is cold,” he informed her curtly. “But if you still want some-”

“Gladly.” She wasn’t about to be discerning now. 

“I can tell you much, but it’s everything I’ve already told other authorities,” he said. “So if you think that-”

“I want to hear it from you. Not from them.”

She knew that the local police had already opened a case, and then passed it on to bundespolizei interests, where it now lie. She also knew that some information had been shared to overseas intelligence agencies, and an actual FBI agent was already on the case. But this frail, sad, unpleasant old man knew none of that. He only knew that the last month of his life had been unnecessarily hard and trying, that one of his most valuable employees had run off after conspiring behind his back, and that the FBI had sent “Agent Sarah Cross” to investigate and cross-reference him.

“I’m an open book,” he admitted, “so ask what you will.”

“These are easy questions. In fact, you can probably already guess at them.”

“The artifacts in question were nothing special. I presume you already know that?”

“Tell me more about them.”

Unbeknownst to him, she had retained the stolen dossier, its absence unnoticed in the chaos. She had pored over the pictures and diagrams of the various artifacts multiple times, trying to suck out as much information as possible as though she were a starving mosquito. Unfortunately, she lacked the cultural context and familiarity with the subject matter to do anything more than educated guesswork about things like intentions, objectives, and possibilities. 

“Their net worth, overall, was no more than $50,000,” he said. “Not a meager sum by any means, but at risk of succumbing to undue pride, Miss Cross, there are paintings in this museum worth-”

“So if not for money, then what?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Motives, Mr. Koebler,” she said, growing cross with him to put the pressure on. “You suggest they didn’t steal these artifacts for money.”

He appeared perplexed, his eyes shifting back and forth across the breadth of her shoulders and his fingers idly drumming on the table.

“I, well…” He stammered, incoherent for a few seconds. “It’s just a guess, knowing that…they’re not worth much…”

“Was there any specific cultural significance to these artifacts?”

“They’re freshly unearthed and were still under review. Ghanaian, but from the 5th century. Very rare.”

“Could it be that there was a prestige element to this theft?”

“Perhaps. They are unique artifacts, nothing like them in the world…”

“Or perhaps, a wish to harm the prestige of this institution?”

She was putting thoughts in his head, wondering how he would react, knowing he lacked the acquired talents to ward off her efforts at leading him down the road she wanted him to tread. Completely unaware of the purpose behind her questions, he answered every one in detail for the next forty-five minutes, until she felt she was satisfied.

“This will all be helpful,” she said, a pit forming in her stomach as she looked at the clock. “But I’m not done here.”

“You’re looking for Mr. Fischer, aren’t you?”

“Naturally.”

Hermann Fischer was the museum’s Director of Staffing, and he was a far more charismatic and forward fellow than his employer was. He strolled into the conference room and made a beeline for her, catching her off-guard when he extended a scrawny arm for a handshake.

“You wouldn’t be the first person to speak to me about this, nor the last, I expect,” he said, as he took a seat.

“And why is that?” 

She hoped she could catch him immediately. She failed.

“Well, I did hire our erstwhile curator, after all,” he said, with a conciliatory nod. “I accept some of the burden of failure on my shoulders.”

“He must have made a good impression on you before, no?”

“Oh, of course he did…and for a time after that…in fact, all the way up until that night, I had never suspected-”

“Tell me about him.”

She wanted to learn about him, really, but sometimes the best way to learn about a person was to tease out what they thought about others. Hermann Fischer, over the course of their conversation, was careful with his word choice but let plenty slip about himself that Viper picked up on. He was overly confident, cocky even, and seemed to pick up on random minor details when he wanted to mask something more significant. She wasn’t convinced yet that he was in on the scheme, or that he was hiding something, but her hackles were certainly raised. 

“So all this time, you never caught on to anything,” she said.

“Not a whisper of a thought.”

“No emails, no phone calls, no faxes?”

“No indication.”

“And what does that suggest about the rest of your staff, then?”

He froze, but only just briefly; a lesser man might have revealed something more, or grown angry, or broken down and confessed. But Fischer just smiled, regaining his composure rapidly.

“They may be indolent, or perhaps inattentive,” he said. “But if you mean to suggest that anyone else on my payroll is-”

“I suggest nothing. Just following every lead I have.”

“Of course. That’s your job, isn’t it Miss Cross?”

“Unfortunately so.”

She couldn’t wrangle much more out of Hermann Fischer, but her suspicions were at least shored up by their meeting. Even with more information, she couldn’t help but feel empty and burdened with a peculiar sense of longing as she left the museum that afternoon. So much time had passed over the course of her discussions that morning - time that could have been spent in pursuit of what she really needed, rather than what she simply had to do. She wasn’t averse to doing her work and doing it well, but there was something more pressing at the back of her head and in tight knots buried beneath her chest that made her uneasy.

You can’t go home tonight without trying. You’ll never forgive yourself. You’ve already wasted enough time, so…

So she took a detour from her anticipated route, and quickened her pace, and decided to be more selective this time. She could waste time lining up for every bar, gallery, and event this side of the wall, but it would be just that - a waste of time. 

Think. What does Reyna enjoy? She has high aspirations, and an impressive budget. Wine bars, art galleries, where the nouveau riche scoff at the ancienne statut. 

She had truthfully only known Reyna for a few days, but this was her best guess. But then, she stopped herself again, as a new thought popped up like a sprouting weed.

What if Reyna doesn’t want to be found? Then she would eschew her regular habits and seek to be unpredictable. She will diverge. She’s trying to lay low, and not be discovered, and she’ll be haunting a peculiar hideout now. 

Well, whether or not Reyna wanted to be found, Viper was going to find her. A new plan in the wings, she raised her wristwatch and sent a brief message to Cypher.

HOME LATE . She kept it vague beyond that. Then she turned on her heels and marched in the opposite direction of their safehouse, in the direction of the wall.

Abutting the Winterfeldtplatz neighborhood on its western side was a quaint strip of apartments and dingy commercial lots known colloquially as Skigebiet, or “The Ski Resort”, a nod to the preferred activity of many of its patrons. It was a dimly-lit and claustrophobia-inducing complex of underground clubs and windowless discotheques that hosted frequent events and parties that could put even the debauched denizens of Winterfeldtplatz to shame. It was the last place one would expect to find a high-class lady wasting away her evening, and it was the first place Viper was going to look for her erstwhile opponent.

She descended a series of weathered stone steps into what might have once been a dungeon, judging by the exterior. The decor of wrought iron bars, heavy steel sills, and protruding lamps with greasy incandescent bulbs gleaming within offered little suggestion to the contrary, and the broad-shouldered and dark-eyed bouncers had even less comfort to give her. Nevertheless they showed her in after a brief patdown, followed by a quick exchange of dollar bills that would allow her to keep her service pistol on her person. 

“Drinks are cash only,” the bouncer informed her gruffly. “And if you want to ski, I suggest you-”

“Dogwood.”

The word left her lips before she could ponder it further. The bouncer looked at her dully for a moment, like a particularly confused cow, and then something lit up in his eyes.

“You’re looking for her?”

“You must-”

“Follow me.”

The interior was nothing like a dungeon, to her relief, and was actually quite pleasant and airy. High ceilings and expansive dance floors created the illusion of a spacious establishment, and the club was not quite fully packed at such an hour. The absence of a crowd and a sharp eye allowed her to spot her quarry in advance, though she was already being led over there. She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved, terrified, or both.

The bouncers left her at the table and Reyna looked up at her, appearing almost bored, as though she didn’t recognize Viper. For a moment, that frightening possibility passed her mind. 

“Reyna.”

“It’s a table for one.”

“There are two chairs.”

“So there are.”

“If you want to stop me, then stop me.”

Reyna shrugged, rolling her head from shoulder to shoulder. She took that as a sign to continue and roughly drew the chair out, scooting herself in with just as much force. A weaker-willed woman would have been intimidated, but Reyna was playing it cool and unbothered, her eyes traveling across Viper’s body in a way that gave her chills but also made her feel oddly, deeply warm.

“What brought you back to me? Surely, I could not have left you wanting this much, pretty thing. Or are you here to start something new?”

“I have a name, you know, and I’d like if you use it.”

Reyna beamed at her. “It’s fuck you , if I recall correctly,” she said. “Is that right?”

“Depends on how tonight goes.”

“Then let us hope it goes according to your plans.”

“We have unfinished business, you and I. That’s the plan.”

She helped herself to the bottle of wine and poured a glass out vigorously, something Reyna seemed to find amusing, because a smile curved up her lips and she reclined back into her chair.

“And here I thought I gave you all you wanted,” Reyna said. “A thrilling game of chase, a satisfactory farewell…I even gave you the man you were looking for.”

“He escaped, you know,” Viper said, angry. “And he led three of my comrades to their deaths at the hands of your agents.”

“Oh, did that happen? How unfortunate.”

Reyna raised her glass and sipped serenely, completely unbothered. Viper had never wanted so badly to grab the stem of the glass and tip it forward and pour wine in Reyna’s face, but Reyna anticipated that and seized her wrist before she even made it halfway.

“Oh, oh,” she chirped, chiding Viper as though she would a mischievous child. “None of that, now. Let’s be civilized and think about the consequences of our actions.”

“You killed my allies.”

“Technically, I did no such thing. I was at the museum the whole time.”

“You’re responsible by proxy. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to believe you’re independent from the others?”

“I play my role, and they play theirs,” Reyna said, shrugging. “If I wanted to execute your friends, I would have happily done so.”

“You’re pushing your luck.”

“And what are you going to do about that?”

Nothing rash, of course; not yet, and not here. After all, she had only just now found Reyna again; what would the point be if she threw her away? There was so much more she wanted before she would allow herself to escalate this, so she endured Reyna’s acerbic comments for now.

“I couldn’t help but notice you left the code at the door,” Viper said. “Were you planning this?”

“Hardly. I never imagined you’d show up.”

“And yet, you did. Why else would you tell them what to expect?” She paused, refilling her glass. Reyna’s eyes followed the arc of the bottle as it tipped over and filled Viper’s glass nearly to the brim. “ Dogwood ,” she said, smacking her lips as she did so. “I imagine you speak it everywhere you go. You must have tried a dozen different places before you found me here.”

“And so what if I did? Do you think I’m desperate?”

“I never said that.”

“I am playing by the rules of the game. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I want bombastic and exciting.”

“And yet, you’re trying to stay hidden. Why bother with the code?”

Reyna laughed, taking a much bigger drink than Viper had expected. She seemed caught off-guard, and was trying to pretend she wasn’t. Viper liked that, and began to feel more confident in this engagement.

“Don’t pretend it was a coincidence, Reyna. If you didn’t want me to find you, there are a hundred places you could be right now.”

“No, no. I knew you’d find me, one way or another,” Reyna admitted. “I’d rather you find me on terms I can manage. Terms I can enjoy .”

“And can you manage me, here and now?”

“I’d like to think I’m doing a fine job at that.”

“Well, you have my attention.”

“And I seem to be keeping it, too.”

The bottle was dangerously tempting. Viper was dangerously comfortable. The club was becoming dangerously crowded; too many unknown variables, careening from one end of the disco-dungeon to the next, too much for her to keep track of. Reyna might have sensed that, or picked up on something else, but she saw an escape route open up and took advantage of it before Viper could lay in further and draw her into a trap.

“I did not intend for tonight to be a late night, I’m afraid,” she said, sighing as though perturbed. “I will be calling it quits shortly.”

“The hell you will,” Viper growled. 

“You should have shown up sooner. I would have gladly whittled the hours away with you.”

“I just got here. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Are you intent on keeping me?”

“We have unfinished business,” Viper reminded her. “And a nice talk will go a long way to finishing that.”

“Oh, poor you. I have been giving you nothing but a nice talk,” Reyna said, with an exaggerated flourish. “What more could you want from me? Would you like me to spill? Or perhaps you’d like me to-”

“I want answers, and I want them from you. Nothing else will suffice.”

“Well, I am all questioned out tonight.”

“Don’t you dare move.”

“Or what?”

“You walk out on me here, I won’t hesitate to shoot you in the back.”

“With what? The bouncers most certainly-”

Something fierce in Viper’s eyes made Reyna halt, and she realized that her assumption was wrong. Viper did not even have to shift her cardigan in such a way that Reyna could see the black fabric of the holster beneath.

“Oh, you’re a sly one,” she said, a genuine compliment coming from her. “And here I didn’t think you had it in you. You’ve caught me red-handed, without care.”

“You should know better. Snakebite is deadly, after all.”

“Will it assuage you if I set a time and a date?”

“You’d best think fast about it.”

“Tomorrow night. A little club down the street called The Game . You will know it when you see it. Find me inside, at a booth for two. 2100 hours?”

“Planning on a late night?”

“You tell me. Yes or no?”

Viper emptied her wine glass and imagined shooting Reyna right now, right between her eyes, before she could even react. It would relieve her of certain problems, and create others. She decided it would not yet be worth it.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll see you then. No need for dogwood this time, querida . Don’t enjoy yourself too much beforehand.”

Querida? That was a new one. Viper’s lack of familiarity with languages she had studied years ago came back to bite her as Reyna, in three graceful moves, rose, sidestepped an oncoming reveller, and vanished into the crowd without so much as a farewell. She supposed that a new pet name for her to think about was as good of a farewell as she could get; when she had decided not to think about it anymore, she too rose from her seat and left the empty glasses and bottles behind, wondering what tomorrow would bring. 

She left a few $100 bills on the table and called it a night.

“Here, and here.”

“Are you sure?”

“I have to be sure.”

Killjoy wiped sweat from her brow and blinked several times, trying to bring her tired eyes into focus. They had been at this for nearly six hours now - two of those hours alone spent weeding out any remaining bugs in the prosthetic’s onboard sensors. Everything had to be perfect, or their effort would be for naught - and Killjoy had borrowed too much of the Protocol’s limited radianite stash for this to fail. If it didn’t work, Viper would kill her, and would kill her twice over once she learned that she had lied about the amount of radianite needed for the prototype. 

“Hold it steady, now,” Skye requested, herself straining to maintain her grip while not pushing too hard. “It’s going to take a moment.”

“I’m holding.”

“How sure are you that this is going to work?”

“I’m positive it will be perfect,” Killjoy lied. She had to be, yet there was no way of taking care of every variable case. The statistics, the engineering, the physics…it was all in her favor. And yet, there were too many fail modes for her to comfortably commit to an optimistic outlook.

“Well, this thing sure is heavy,” Skye grunted. “How many stones you say it is?”

“I do not remember. Just keep fusing…oh, and here, can’t forget this tendon-”

Another half hour later, and they shut off the anesthetic drip and detached some of the monitors. Deadlock did not yet wake, but she began to show signs of increased awareness and motor function as her body came to. When she woke up, she stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before she spoke.

“Did it work?”

She was hesitant to test it, just like everyone else. Skye stepped aside, happy to leave this one to Killjoy.

“Well, let’s run some tests, shall we?” She did her best to put on a smile and maintain a positive attitude. “First and foremost, let’s-”

“Give me a gun.”

Deadlock’s voice was scratchy, the result of hours without water and the effects of anesthesia on her body. But she was fully awake and aware now and made her request with stern voice and a knit brow.

“Well…ach, how do I…we cannot just bring a gun into the clinic, that is-”

“Then a barbell. A water bottle. Something. Let me test my grip.”

There was a water bottle nearby on the patient prep table that Killjoy tenuously passed over. Deadlock took it in hand, gently retracted it, and then frowned as she attempted to bring it closer. The prosthetic fingers clamped down on the bottle and crushed it in one swift motion, spraying water all over her bedding, as well as Killjoy.

“Well. The grip works,” Killjoy said, blinking water out of her eyes and wiping her face clean. “That’s…a good sign.”

“I was not expecting that,” Deadlock said, by way of apology.

“No, no, it’s quite alright. It will take some time to master your new appendage,” Killjoy brushed her off. “It is…a marvel of technology, is what it is.”

“I need it to work.”

“It does work-”

“No, I need it to work,” Deadlock repeated. “For me. Do you understand?”

Killjoy took a few seconds to understand the implication of her words. She turned to look at Skye, who offered nothing but sympathetic silence. Thank you, but no thank you , Killjoy thought, wondering if they had made a poor decision and all this work was for naught. Skye’s abilities were useful but now the talking, it would seem, was being left to her - and this was not Killjoy’s forte.

“Well, we do have some other tests we can try,” Killjoy said, hoping to reassure her. “How about-”

“Give me your hand.”

“How…about- what, my hand?”

“Give me your hand.”

Deadlock held her prosthetic arm out. Her biceps shook slightly, another after effect of the anesthetic and the unique sensation of nerve endings interacting with artificial fibrous nerves for the first time in history, but the prosthetic hand was steady. Killjoy felt a fresh wave of sweat break out on the back of her neck, glancing over at the shattered, crushed remains of the water bottle now lying infirm on the floor.

“I…how about we try to-”

“I need this to work. Can you trust me?”

“I can.”

Skye spoke for the first time since Deadlock woke. She sensed Killjoy’s discomfort, and moved in to offer herself up as tribute in her place. 

“Here. Give me your hand,” Skye demanded, now standing where Killjoy was. “Give me your-”

“How do I know you’re not going to hurt me?”

“All this time, and I’ve not hurt you once. Isn’t that right?”

Deadlock’s icy glare did not melt but her resolve wavered all the same. Skye had been caring for Deadlock for weeks now - in and out of the clinic, day after day, offering comfort at a minimum and necessary medical services when most needed. The very same Deadlock who rejected Sage outright, glaring at her whenever she so much as entered the room to check on her vitals, had allowed Skye to do almost anything she needed.

“You’re right,” Deadlock said. “Okay.”

“I trust you, so I need you to trust me. Alright? We can do this together.”

At risk of having her wrist crushed into a bloody, bony pulp, Skye extended her arm. Deadlock did the same, and her fingers danced tentatively on Skye’s hand before they touched and held there. Skye gripped her, then Deadlock gripped her, and for a moment Killjoy dreaded the inevitable failure. But nothing happened, and measure by measure Skye helped pull Deadlock up to a sitting position, at which point Deadlock released her hand and let her arm fall back to her side.

“A little tight,” Skye said, grinning. “But you did good.”

“Did well,” Deadlock corrected, then sheepishly: “Thank you.”

“How do you feel?”

“Still uneasy. Water?”

“I’ll need to get a new bottle.”

Skye offered her services, and Deadlock then turned to Killjoy, who could only now allow herself a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” Deadlock said, in turn. “I don’t know how you did it.”

“Science, passion, and three weeks of experimentation,” Killjoy admitted. “But…it worked.”

“It does feel weird.”

“I suppose you’ll get used to it…not that I would know, since I-”

“Thank you, Killjoy. For your support, and for everything.”

Killjoy was not used to her talent being so appreciated. Even Viper was more reserved in her congratulations - not out of personal enmity, but because Viper was Viper and socializing was a secondary priority to all of her work. Killjoy found herself grinning like an idiot, and immediately stopped.

“Ach, look at me,” she groaned, “I shouldn’t take credit, it was a joint effort-”

“You led it. Thank you for giving me my strength back. I promise I will use it to do whatever your leadership will ask of me. Tell Brimstone and Viper I accept their offer. I will join your outfit.”

Chapter Text

Berlin was never dark and lonely, even in its earliest hours, which was her favorite time to step out and savor the cool morning air and the kiss of nicotine on her tongue. Even at a little past five, with the sun still far below the horizon and dawn’s promises yet to come to fruition, the streets were alive with nocturnal activity - some coming, some going. The parties never stopped here, she realized - they only paused temporarily to allow the revellers to catch their breath, fix their hair, clean their faces, and find terra firma again after a night out with their head in the clouds. It was not a life she could live, but she found it oddly entertaining to watch another partake. 

A message from Cypher roused her from her predawn reflection. 

TALK QUICK?

She stubbed out her cigarette with a sigh. As long as it was quick, she figured there was no harm. 

“I’m leaving soon, Cypher,” she said when she stepped back inside. “Make this quick.”

“Just a catch up, no harm. Remember, we’re playing for the same team.”

“I wouldn’t forget.”

She realized her tone came off as more abrasive than she intended. In reality, it was because she had something far more important to fix her mind on; but she refused to admit that to Cypher, or even hint at it, even though she knew he already sensed that something was amiss.

“You were out later than expected last night,” Cypher said. He was brewing some fresh coffee and cleaning off their cramped kitchen’s serving counter for breakfast. “Just couldn’t help but notice. I hope everything’s in order.”

“What are you, parenting me?”

“Only observing, as I do.”

“You should observe me less,” Viper suggested sharply. “I’m not the target of our investigation.”

“But it all comes together as part of the bigger picture,” Cypher said, clasping his hands together. “I am just curious to know what you found, and why you were wandering so far afield.”

“It’s a sensitive subject,” Viper said. “I’ll fill you in when I’m ready to report. No sooner.”

“Duly noted.” He didn’t believe it one bit, but he could tell when he was pushing his luck. Viper was grateful for the coffee, downing it quickly in spite of the scalding heat, then left without another word. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but the last thing she wanted was an interrogation with no escape. Cypher’s job was to see all, and know all, but there were things she particularly didn’t want him seeing, and she had to find a way to keep him in the dark, at least in regards to her imminent nocturnal rendezvous.

Her entire day was consumed with thoughts of Reyna and imagined scenarios of how their encounter would play out, and just what sort of venue it would play out in. Even as she went about necessary business - which included a visit to the local police administrative offices and the filing of some of the most tedious paperwork she had ever encountered - she couldn’t help but wonder how it would pan out.

There were mixed emotions welling up inside her and tangling around each other, forming a sort of horrendous tumbleweed that grew in size until she felt like her chest was bulging outward from all the associated anxiety.

There was loathing for the woman who had casually discussed the killing of her associates in cold blood, and seemed to not be bothered at all by the untimely deaths of all but one of those brave Ståljegers who had come to her rescue. Viper had not known them for long, and would not be able to bring herself to call them friends, but they had been her allies and had supported her to the very end. 

There was anticipation too, though. It was almost giddiness at the prospect of seeing her dark purple eyes, her impish smile, her sharp jawline, and her gleaming gold bangles that teased the contours of her neck like the fingers of a rival fighting with Viper for her attention-

And there was jealousy. Jealousy, and for what? What reason do you have to be jealous? You barely know her, and yet something angry stirs in you. She would reject the notion outright that she was jealous, but the thought of someone else taking Reyna’s attention away from her made her recoil as if to strike. She would suffer no competition for her attention.

There was fear, too, but not a fear of death or harm. Somehow, she felt they had moved past all opportunity for that. If one of them wanted to pull the trigger, or spike a drink, or withdraw a hidden blade in the dark and put it to soft, helpless skin, then they would have already done so given the plethora of opportunities that had already been presented. No, it was another, more ineffable fear that she felt. A fear of rejection? Of loss? Or of a missed connection, even…

She spent far too long kicking around Berlin after her meetings, unwilling to go back home before dark. She had no appetite, except for coffee and cigarettes, which she duly indulged in, and when the proposed hour loomed she took her time meandering down to the “Skigebiet” district, which was unsurprisingly already packed in spite of it being a Sunday. It took her no time at all to find the club that Reyna had referred her to.

The Game was squished between a brick-fronted bookstore that advertised itself as the “spearhead of anarcho-syndicalist collectivism” and an open-air smoke bar that generated its own nicotine-tinged fog. While Viper was no stranger to the product, she found the notion of social smoking off-putting under most circumstances, and was quick to insert herself into the mercifully short line to get into the underground club, which also happened to resemble a dungeon (a trend she was beginning to think was purposeful). The bouncers here were younger, greener, and overall less intimidating than the ones at the other club, and she didn’t even receive a patdown upon entry, as a few sly winks and a deliberate sway of her hips saw her through the dark green double doors without so much as a question about her intent. She was grateful that the bouncers at least had the decorum to keep their eyes to themselves as she walked away, abandoning the seductive facade the moment they had admitted her.

Reyna was not hard to find this time; rather, Reyna found her first, appearing from behind a pillar and accosting Viper like a predator pouncing upon prey. 

“There you are.” Reyna’s low growl was like honey in her ears, rousing every hair on her body from her arm to the back of her neck and stopping her in her tracks. “You’re late, pretty thing.”

“By five minutes.”

“Fashionably late, then,” Reyna chuckled. “First round is on you.”

“Ask nicely and I just will.”

“We’ll finish some of that unfinished business if you buy the first round. How about that?”

“You have a deal.”

Reyna walked her over to the bar, but wine was not on the menu tonight; when Viper tried to request a bottle, she received a gentle nudge against her shoulder.

“I’m feeling daring tonight,” Reyna said, her lips dangerously close to Viper’s ear, sending a violent chill up her back and freezing her on the spot. “I want something different.”

“Well don’t make me guess-”

“Two bourbons. On the rocks,” Reyna said, taking over. “And a spritz of lime on one.”

“I’m paying,” Viper said.

“How kind of you to offer.”

Reyna had completely, utterly disarmed her within a minute of their meeting. What was happening to her? Every defense she had spent years perfecting, for any possible situation, had just been rendered meaningless. She was beside herself, but Reyna would not give her a second to breathe, for the moment they had received their drinks Reyna led her over to a nearby standing table that she had reserved.

“Table for two, and I meant it this time,” Reyna said.

“How thoughtful of you.”

“I was unprepared last night. You’ll have to forgive me.”

“Only if you truly mean to finish up some business we have.”

“Oh, that,” Reyna laughed. “Yes, since you are so insistent-”

“I will not talk around this all night,” Viper warned. “I’ve come here for you.”

“Well, you found me.”

Other way around, actually. It was almost as if she had allowed herself to be ambushed. Not in a thousand years would she ever have let her guard down like that, but Reyna had become an exception, and for what? Two glasses of warm bourbon and some pleasant company?

“I sense you’re here for business, rather than personal purposes,” said Reyna, casually tossing strands of inky black hair over her shoulder before attending to her bourbon. “Might I tease some details out of you?”

“When hell freezes over,” Viper spat. “I think you could already guess, anyway.”

“Cleaning up after the mess I left,” Reyna said, grinning.

“Someone has to do it.”

“I will remind you that I had nothing to do with that particular aspect of the mess,” Reyna said. “I am merely a pawn in this game. I played my role and did so obligingly.”

“Oh, spare me.”

“No, truly,” Reyna insisted seriously. “I am here to draw eyes away from the hand in the cookie jar. And it seems like I’ve done my job quite well, if you are anything to go by…”

“I’ve found that particular hand, I believe.”

“Oh, have you now?”

“Give me some credit, Reyna. I’m a professional.”

“Duly noted. Will you toast to that?”

Obligingly, she did, and found to her surprise that Reyna downed almost the entire glass before she could even blink. The radiant casually wiped her lips gently with the stub of a handkerchief, then beamed regally at Viper.

“I have fine taste, don’t I?” 

“In bourbon? You could do better.”

“Oh, do tell then.”

“If we were here to talk bourbon, I would give you a grand tour. But we’re not, are we?”

“Sadly,” Reyna mused, poring over her empty glass. “I would like a second round, though…”

“You’ll have to buy it yourself.”

“Harsh, but fair.”

She did just that, buying Viper precious time to breathe. The atmosphere of the club was stifling, sure, with the crowds and the wafting scent of liquor and the dark decor and the blacklights - but being with Reyna was part of the problem, too. She was left almost breathless after just a few minutes of conversation, as though it had been an immense effort and the strains of exertion were physically taxing her body. Why was her heart pounding so rapidly, as though she had been sprinting and not sitting the entire time? Why was sweat beading on her forehead, catching the gleam of low lights behind the bar top? And why did her fingers feel so tingly, as though anticipating a static shock that was yet to come?

“My team has evacuated Berlin, if that was a question on your mind.”

Reyna returned with not one, but two glasses of bourbon whiskey. She handed the other one over to Viper, who could not find the strength to reject it. She had barely touched her first drink. 

“I was thinking about it. They’ve become a top priority for my organization after what they did,” she said. 

“Ah, I can imagine they’ve become quite the thorn in your respective side,” Reyna said. “Tell me, what have you figured out so far?”

“Playing another game, are we?”

“Just curious about what you know. I’ll supplement,” Reyna promised.

Viper felt her eyebrows rise and her jaw twitch. “And why would you do that?” she asked, mouth immediately dry.

“You’ve given me so much by playing my games and following me around like a little lost duckling,” Reyna said, a comparison that made Viper frown and stiffen her shoulders. “It’s only fair if I give in turn.”

“And what if I decide to take it, instead?”

“Well, now that would be a welcome change of pace for us both.”

Viper leaned in, putting on the airs of someone who was in charge of the situation, as though control weren’t up in the air between the two of them. Reyna seemed to appreciate that and leaned in as well, as if protecting their conversation.

“The Frenchman,” Viper said. “Chamber. He seems to be particularly taken with me?”

“What makes you say that, now?”

“As if you don’t know,” Viper scoffed. “He pays special attention to me. He’s been the least bit concerned about protecting his affiliation and interests.”

“Chamber can be a bit of a wild card,” Reyna admitted. “Yes, he has interest in you. Sometimes I wonder if it borders on infatuation.”

“I don’t like that.”

“Neither do I, if it makes you feel any better,” Reyna said, and there was an odd turn in her tone as though she were mildly disgusted and trying to hide it. “But I have no control over him. He is given plenty of room to choose his missions and objectives, so long as it fulfills our greater purpose.”

“The purpose of your paymasters,” Viper surmised. “So the Soviets have you do their dirty work, is that it?”

“That’s not the way I’d phrase it.”

“They’re hiring radiant wild cards to operate abroad where their spooks can’t, or won’t.”

“Chamber is not a radiant.”

Viper paused on the edge of her drink, tentative, her certainty flooding out of her as though a valve had been turned and the dam had been breached.

“He’s not?”

“Your intelligence was wrong on that front,” Reyna said, grinning. “He likes to flaunt his special abilities and play pretend, but he’s no radiant. He’s just skilled, and gifted with cutting-edge technology.”

So, Cypher doesn’t get everything right, then. Now that comes as a surprise. What else was waiting in the wings to be revealed to her, then? Reyna volunteered exactly what she was looking for, without prompt.

“There’s another you’ve met who’s more reserved. He has an affinity for fashion that can best even Chamber,” Reyna informed her dryly. “I can’t say I’m fond of him, but certain…higher-ups insisted that he be integrated into our team.”

“KGB bloodhounds imposing their will on you, is that it?”

“It was the Stasi that recommended him, in fact.”

Viper thought that strange. Since when had the East Germans, nominally the stooges of their more organized counterparts in Lubyanka, ever held primacy over their handlers? Perhaps there was some underappreciated change in posture, but she thought it more likely that it was a case of a broken clock being right, and the KGB had decided to go with it rather than fight against the current.

“His codename is Iso,” Reyna informed her, “and he’s a very dry brick of a man. Tends to take his job far too seriously. Much like someone else at this table.”

Viper did not respond to that provocation, which only encouraged Reyna further; she was amused by how stoic Viper was trying to be.

“He’s also developed an interest in you, but he sees you as more of a challenge to be met in the field,” said Reyna.

“And how’s that different from Chamber?”

“Chamber sees you as a toy to play with.”

“He will come to regret that.”

“Maybe so, maybe not,” Reyna shrugged. “All the same, they are both capable assassins who excel at blending in. Their networks run deep, and their hideouts are many, and they have quite a bit of money to burn through. As do we all, I suppose.”

“You are having too much fun with this, Reyna.”

“Caught red-handed,” Reyna said, winking nefariously. “If we’re going to talk shop, I want to at least make it interesting.”

“Well, you’re doing a good job at-”

Wait. She just winked at me? Why did she just wink at me. Why do you care, Sabine?

It was hotter in the club, but not out of the blue; the heat had been building with the crowd, and multiplied by the drinks she was consuming. She had finished her first, and was on to her second, and the gleam in Reyna’s eyes suggested a third. She desperately wished she had eaten something today other than coffee. Her stomach growled but she had no answer for its protests, only the same emptiness she had plied it with throughout the day while waiting for this promised rendezvous to come. And now that she was here, and in her seat, and her drink was in her hand, she had immense regret over her past actions.

And still, she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. Her heart was beating faster and she was feeling a rush of anxiety, not necessarily a desire to leave but a desire to move and be active.

“Good job at what?”

“Excuse me?”

“You trailed off, querida,” Reyna said, taking great pleasure in teasing her. “Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps there’s something else on your mind…”

“A change of scenery would be nice,” Viper said, her throat dry. “Come with me?”

“You don’t need to ask twice.”

Reyna was the follower now, and Viper was in the lead, a position she had not anticipated holding tonight. Against her better judgment, which was now being thoroughly subdued by the waterfall of brown liquor she had put down her gullet, she led Reyna up to the bar and took two seats closest to the barkeep, who immediately assessed them as unique visitors and withdrew from his stockpile a curvy, lustrous bottle of gaudily-decorated brandy that Viper immediately identified as a vintage concoction. 

“Shall I pay?” Viper offered, deciding on a power play, already reaching for her handbag. 

“Oh, you don’t need to do that for me, querida,” Reyna said. “Two glasses. Neat, please.”

“Well, I have the money for it,” Viper said, reaching out quickly to stop Reyna. Their hands touched and immediately her fingers gripped Reyna’s knuckles, desperately seeking to intertwine themselves within her own. “Please, allow me to take this one. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“No need to feel inferior, now,” Reyna chided her. “Unless, that is, you’d like to.”

“No inferiority here. Think of it as me…taking my turn.”

“If you insist.” 

Why did she care? It didn’t matter. It would be smarter to save their funds and budget them appropriately, but this was a power play, and common sense had taken a vacation. Viper typically took great care in managing their expenditures and operations costs at the Protocol and had a no-nonsense policy for excessive expenses, particularly when it came to travel. Reyna’s handlers might be willing to let her get away with much more, but it would be to their eventual discredit and ruin, she always reminded herself. Now who would be the one discredited?

“You’re too sweet to me. I almost think you mean to ask for a favor.”

“I’m afraid you’re right. Is it a problem if I’m still talking business?”

“Can I tempt you with something more interesting?”

“I’m afraid you can’t.”

That was a blunt lie, and she sensed that Reyna immediately saw through it; she had a peculiar feeling that Reyna knew more about her than she let on and could tell how nervous and excitable she was in the moment. She had physical tells, sure; the way she drummed her bony fingers on the brandy glass, the way she tapped her foot idly against the bottom rail of the barfront, the way her eyes followed every little shake of Reyna’s bangles as she spoke. But she sensed that Reyna had a way of sorting out another person’s feelings even if they made an effort to mask them.

“I want to know about what you stole.”

The question was very forward; Reyna, surely, knew the answer? But the quizzical expression on her face and the darkness that seeped into her eyes suggested otherwise.

“I told you before. That’s above my paygrade.”

“And I sense that was a lie.”

Reyna had gotten away with it before, because Viper was nervous and events that fateful night had been speeding along faster than she could keep up. But Viper called the bluff successfully now.

“I may know a bit,” Reyna admitted.

“So you lied to me.”

“I must warn you, it’s secondhand information.”

“You lied to me.”

“So what if I did? It’s in the job description, after all.” Reyna flashed her an impish smile, and nudged her with a mischievous elbow. “Don’t tell me you haven’t lied to me yet…after all, I could start counting the times you’ve-”

“Tell me. I want to know.” She leaned in, much closer, but Reyna was not uncomfortable. “I need to know.”

“Why should I tell you?”

“What a great question. Why have you told me anything, at all?”

Reyna hummed contentedly, letting her shoulders slouch and her great black mass of long, gorgeous hair fall over her chest as she laid her head in one hand on the bar. Viper was captivated by the sight.

“I enjoy sharing with you,” she said. “It’s like…we have a little secret between us, you and I.”

“We’re enemies.”

“We are. And?”

“And what ?”

“We don’t have to be, if you don’t want to.”

Now this game between them had entered a dangerous new realm, Viper realized. If the other agent was bluffing, or was otherwise concocting something, Viper was ill-equipped to prepare for it and counter it. She had grown quite enthralled with her bourbons and was now sipping her brandy liberally, and was beginning to feel too light and airy. She needed to feel grounded, to find her center of gravity again, and there was only one surefire way for her to do that.

“I need to step outside and have a smoke really quick,” she said, which would be true one way or another - she couldn’t survive an environment like this without a breather. “If you don’t mind, I’ll…see myself out to that.”

“I do mind, but I suppose I could use a moment to myself, too,” Reyna said, as though this were some great trouble for her. “Do come back, though. You promise?”

“I wouldn’t dare otherwise.”

“I’ll find you on the dancefloor, then?”

“Wait, now hold on-”

Reyna was off like a shot to parts unknown before Viper could so much as mount a protest. Equal parts confused and frustrated, she slugged the rest of her brandy down like a veteran and handed the glass back to the satisfied bartender, who had been unusually attentive to them. She beat a hasty retreat through the throng of college students, painters, and beatniks who had now formed quite a knot of sweaty, sweltering humanity where once had been pure empty space between tables. This, it seemed, was as good as the “dancefloor” was going to get, leaving her apprehensive about meeting back up with Reyna after she was finished.

The bouncers paid her no mind as she exited and stepped back into an alley to catch her breath. It seemed they recognized her, or simply cared not at all for people they had already processed. The line outside of The Game had grown substantially with the hour, and people of all backgrounds and means were standing on the sidewalk in the midsummer heat for a chance to sweat even more in the grungy club. If she didn’t count herself among their number, she would find their predicament amusing; their getup likely didn’t help one bit, she figured. Not a single one of them was dressed alike, representing a hundred different subcultures and fashion lines and rebellious tendencies that would live and die in the span of a single calendar year, only to find fresh life in some new avant garde movement that would spring up out of the blue within weeks. When she was younger, Viper felt nothing but disdain for these people who wasted their time and money on such frivolities. Now, she found them intensely interesting at best, considering their waste to be more amusing than disgusting. Why should she care what other people did, so long as they didn’t get in her way? She stubbed the cigarette out prematurely, feeling the buzz in her head coming on - exactly what she needed to mount a fresh challenge to Reyna. 

She negotiated her return passage with ease, achieving it with a simple nod to the bouncers who remembered the frame of her face, the shape of her body, or (most likely) both. There was muffled unrest in the line-up of revellers anxiously awaiting their turn behind her, but she paid no heed to them. She had already earned her entry, and they’d have to earn theirs too. 

Fuck, the liquor is really kicking in now. You were never a heavyweight, huh Sabine? She had chosen her vices early and stuck with them, and alcohol had never really suited her. Sure she would indulge, but only when prompted, and would never volunteer herself for it. Reyna had once again interposed herself between Viper and her habits, eclipsing common sense and making her vulnerable. She wouldn’t complain now, though; she was feeling almost good .

Speaking of Reyna…

This is one crowd she would never stand out in . She sucked in a deep breath and found only the overwhelming musk of body odor and the sharp fragrance of cheap hairspray and eau de toilette catching in her throat like a swallowed razor blade. The crowd was upon her like a tidal wave and she was helpless, carried away by unfamiliar bodies in the rough direction of the bar and forced to fight just to surface and get her bearings. 

Reyna, where could you be? You would not run out on me . The thought had crossed her mind but she dismissed it outright, horrified at the notion. Surely, she wouldn’t? Maybe she would . 

Viper swallowed something thick and unpleasant and managed to escape from the crowd, if only momentarily, finding solace next to the bar once again. The bartender noticed her but she averted her eyes quickly. The last thing you need is another drink . Her head was already tilting back and forth like a globe on an unsteady hinge, and her chest was buzzing with a mix of apprehension and excitement.

Reyna, now would be a good time to show up. Ambush me. You’re good at it. Why can’t you do it now?

She wasn’t desperate, she just knew what she wanted now. The smoke had done a lot to clear her head and give her the space she needed and she knew what her next step should be. She just had to…not bump into everybody as she pushed her way through the crowd and tried to part a veritable sea of humanity on her way across the dancefloor, an effort that was rendered stillborn by a particularly tall and sharp-eyed blonde woman with buzzcut hair who reached out for Viper’s arm and found purchase there.

“Sprichst du Deutsch?” the woman asked, tilting her head as if studying Viper. “You look lost. Mind some company?”

“I already have some,” Viper insisted, struggling to be heard above the thrum of the bass and the wail of the treble around her. 

“Your company seems to have abandoned you,” the blonde noted, with barely-concealed glee. “You do look lost. Let me guide you.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

A third voice cut in to their conversation and Reyna appeared at Viper’s side, curtly cutting in. The blonde took the hint and quickly turned her back, shuffling back into the crowd as though she had never made a pass. Reyna was about to comment on the situation but Viper made the first move, and what a move it was.

“With me. Now,” she insisted, dragging Reyna off the dancefloor and into a nearby booth. It offered meagre privacy, but it was better than nothing; a long, thin sash of gaudy purple fabric was all that separated them from the rest of the world, but it was as good as anything. It gave Viper exactly what she needed to allow herself to pull Reyna in, stopping barely short of her face. 

“What’s this now?” Reyna asked, as though she didn’t know. “Suddenly found your verve?”

“I found more than that,” Viper said. “You said it before. What did you say before.”

“Before when?”

Viper struggled to remember the exact words. “You said I gave you something better. I gave you me .”

“And I want you still.”

“Then have me.”

Viper studied her thoroughly, her lips inches away, the contours of her neck enticing, her bangles gleaming, her cheeks firm and warm beneath her palms. She took far too much time, giving Reyna a way out, but Reyna refused to take it. When she realized that Reyna wanted this too, she leaned in and brought her lips to Reyna’s and stayed there for far longer than she ever expected. At some point, she broke away just briefly only to be enticed further by Reyna’s hot breath on her lips, which gave her the motivation she needed to plunge back in.

“People can see,” Reyna reminded her gently, between heavy, labored breaths.

“Let them look if they want. They can’t have you. Only I can.”

Viper’s hands had not traveled far but they were back on the lapels of Reyna’s dress and were subconsciously traveling down, seeking something more firm to grab on. Reyna’s hands were digging into the small of her back now and were playing along to their own rhythm, moving inch by inch both up and down, perfectly steady as though she were completely sober in spite of the three heavy drinks in her system. Viper realized that she was subconsciously trying to match her own breath with Reyna’s, and that made her suddenly feel dizzy. She stepped backward but Reyna made up for it and pulled her back in to another heavy, sultry kiss, with Viper reciprocating by stroking her bare neck and tugging at loose strands of hair to tempt Reyna into further mischief.

“You say they can’t have me,” Reyna breathed as they broke away, gracing Viper’s jaw and cheek with multiple kisses, each kiss a lit match on her bare flesh. “Does that mean you want me?”

“In more ways than you know.”

“Oh, I was expecting that. You did a good job of hiding it, for a time. But now…”

“Stop teasing me.”

“But I love teasing you,” Reyna complained. “You make it so easy to do…”

“I’m tired of the teasing. I want satisfaction.”

Reyna grinned. “I can give you that.” She took Viper’s hands in hers and then grabbed her wrists. “Come with me?”

“Where to?”

“The only place you want to be right now: with me. Trust me.”

Viper had trained her whole life to reject such propositions, to be fully in control of her situation, to maintain her defenses at any expense and let nobody in them. Even before she worked with Valorant, even back during her tenure with Kingdom, she had only rarely let others peer through the embrasures of her defenses like this. Reyna was now battering down the walls, figuratively and soon perhaps literally, and entering the castle without so much as a single ounce of resistance.

What are you now, Sabine? Are you a dead woman? Or are you on the cusp of ecstasy?

She was being hauled out of the club. She could walk on her own two feet, but she chose to let Reyna bear the burden for a bit. The fresh air on her face was nice, and it dissipated the pins and needles that had taken up residence in her cheeks, like a hibernating sensation roused by the tender warmth of spring. That same tender warmth had just left wet, hot marks on her lower neck and collarbone like brands.

“I have a hostel room,” Reyna informed her, pulling her down the street. “It’s warm, and secure, and pleasant.”

“Take me there.”

“Only if you so-”

“Don’t make me beg, Reyna. I’m going to make you regret it.”

There was enough of an assertive bone left in her body to back up that empty threat. Reyna laugh, a scratchy chuckle that carried into the summer night, but she could care less who saw them together. She was ready to fade into the darkness with her chosen partner for the night, and damn the consequences.

The consequences came knocking on a wave of bright, uninvited summer sunlight poring through the clear cracks in an otherwise begrimed windowpane. They pecked at the inside of her head until she reached for the nearest pack of cigarettes and fumbled around for her lighter, naked and warm.

The room was empty, except for her. The room was quiet, but for her heavy breathing and the click of the lighter striker as she flicked it on. The room was warm, poorly ventilated, latent with the residual heat of last night’s activities. But even then it was pleasant, and she imagined there were worse places she could be right now.

But it was empty. That was a problem.

Where is she? 

Viper remembered everything from the previous night. The cloud of alcohol was thick but not impenetrable, and she recounted everything perfectly.

Your hands on my wrists, careening with wild abandon up my forearms, to find a vibrant pulse at my neck. My hands at the small of your back, then on your hips, then tantalizingly close to the heat pooling in your core.

Your lips on mine, then everywhere else. Your mouth on my nipple, my mouth on the lobe of your ear. Your tongue on my bare skin, hot like a sweltering brand, a sensation I never wanted to admit I so desperately.

Our bodies together, naked but not afraid.

Where are you?

Her vision was blurry and her head swam with the burning embers of bad decisions. She rubbed at her eyes until she saw bright purple stars, then blinked them away one by one until she felt she could see clearer. Only then did she turn and notice the handwritten note on the bedside table, next to a slightly used handkerchief and an object she recognized as her handbag.

So I wasn’t robbed blind. That’s…nice? 

She had been expecting anything to happen last night. And yet, in spite of that, she had given everything up to Reyna willingly and enthusiastically, and Reyna had offered her the same, and practically begged for it at points. Still feeling as though a gaggle of geese were pecking away at her skull, she slowly rolled herself like a dislodged boulder over the cusp of the bed and reached for the note, straining to read Reyna’s light handwriting on similarly light paper:

Querida,

I’m grateful that I could have a taste of you last night. I yearn for more, but time will tell whether we can connect like this again. Let us meet five days and thirteen hours from now at a certain wine bar. Don’t be late. In the meantime, to thank you for sharing your embrace with me, I’ve left you a gift on the bathroom floor. I hope the arranging of this gift last night did not wake you. If it did, I owe you a drink the next time I see you.

Until then, pretty thing. Or rather should I say, “fuck you”? 

Cordialmente,

And there was no signature beneath that. Viper laughed to herself; why had she expected that? Perhaps she had hoped that Reyna’s facade would slip, and she would reveal something about herself that Viper was keen to know. But Reyna had managed to go the whole night without letting her guard down that far. 

You should have known better, she chided herself, but now there was something fresh to attend to. A gift, and specifically on the bathroom floor? Her mind raced through all of the possibilities, good and bad alike, and would never in a thousand years have guessed at what Reyna’s machinations had achieved this time. 

She recognized the erstwhile museum curator by his baby blue eyes, which were now widening in silent appeal as they fell upon her standing in the doorway. He wore only an undershirt and boxers, the rest of his clothes stripped and discarded of elsewhere, most likely by Reyna. His hands were firmly, almost excessively bound behind his back, along with his ankles, and the gag in his mouth was so tight that he couldn’t even groan or mutter at her. He only glared up at her, silently begging for a release she was not inclined to give him. 

“Poor you,” she taunted him, from her position of power. “You worked so hard for your escape. And this is how they treat you?”

If he thought she were sympathizing with his plight, she was doing no such thing. She proved that moments later when she approached him and rolled him onto his back with her foot, eliciting a wince as he rolled over onto his bound hands. 

“Quite a gift, indeed,” she mused to herself. “I suppose you’d like most of all to be set free, to forget about this little ordeal?”

He nodded solemnly.

“Unfortunate, then, that you’ve ended up in the hands of the ‘other side’,” she said, forming air quotes with her hands. “Don’t worry. We’ll take better care of you than they did.”

The curator struggled, but all he achieved was slamming his knee into the ceramic face of the bathtub, causing him to wince again. He rolled over against the bathtub as if in shame. Viper, meanwhile, stepped back out again; Reyna had surprised her, but her jaw was hardly on the floor over this. She knew exactly what to do, when to do it, and how to go about her next steps while carefully covering the tracks of last night. Recovering her wristwatch (which, thankfully, had also been left behind and politely tucked away behind her handbag), she strapped it back to her wrist and sent her first message of the day to Cypher.

GIFT FOR YOU. 

SEE YOU SOON.

With that out of the way, she picked up the hostel room’s phone and began dialing. Today was going to be a long day, and she was not about to waste precious time. 

Chapter Text

“You were out very late this time.”

Cypher didn’t know everything, but he knew enough; and it didn’t take a genius to tell that she had been occupied with another’s company last night. At the very least, the sweatshirt that Reyna had given her allowed her to cover up the marks on her lower neck and shoulders - of which there were far too many for her liking.

“I was doing some intelligence gathering,” she said, a flimsy lie.

“I’m sure you were. Hitting the streets all night?”

“Deep immersion.”

“Oh, I bet.”

Cypher could barely contain his glee, as he was wont to do when he was figuring something out in real time. She wondered how much better her life would be if she could buy him a collection of deluxe-size jigsaw puzzles to keep him occupied.

“I’ll thank you to not offer any further comments,” she warned him, as she strode over to the coffee pot and began setting up a brew. “I don’t need your input. I don’t care what you think.”

“You surely already know what I’m going to say.”

“Yes, and I’ll thank you not to mention it to anybody else.”

“And what happens if I do?”

She gauged her next moves carefully, her assessment impaired by the nagging remains of a simmering hangover. Cypher hovered in the doorframe, a masked gadfly, anticipating a thrilling game that Viper was not looking forward to playing. But she couldn’t just walk away and leave him there now; surrender was not an option in this game.

“I’ll trouble you to remember Beirut,” she said, impatiently waiting for her coffee pour. “Need I say more?”

“Ah. A drastic move. I advise you play that particular piece carefully.”

“It’s valid. You owe me a favor. Your own words. I would argue you owe me your life, in fact.”

“No disagreement there,” he said, with a friendly nod of his head. “But you can only play that piece once. I suggest that you think this through.”

“If it keeps you from asking further questions, I’ll call it in.”

“Was it that intimate last night?”

“Cypher.”

“Just personal curiosity,” he said, throwing his hands in the air as she made a menacing face at him. “Mum will be the word if you ask it. The favor is respected. Just remember my advice.”

“Yeah. I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks.”

“I sure hope you haven’t gotten yourself into too much trouble, Viper.”

“If I did, I certainly wouldn’t be here,” she reassured him. “Remember, Beirut.”

“I’ll keep my peace.”

She had him off her back, at least; it was a narrow miss, but she dodged the bullet with grace left to spare for the day ahead. She filled her thermos, grabbed a half-empty pack of cigarettes out of her luggage, and threw on a beret and her handbag before heading out to catch the next train to Frankfurt. 

The bundespolizei had been very busy throughout the morning, and had wasted no time in taking prints, soliciting a written confession, and performing their own interrogation of the subdued captive before shipping him off to Valorant. But he wasn’t bound for home base; Frankfurt was closer, and as luck would have it personnel were already there who could receive him. Within three hours’ time Viper was stepping off the carriage into a ludicrously postmodern reception station and flagging down a ride dispatched for her that would take her downtown. 

The Frankfurt location had not changed significantly from the outside, but the interior was a league apart from the drab, lifeless shell she had seen during her last visit. The personnel roster had rapidly expanded and interior construction had mostly finished, and it now more closely resembled a working, efficient intelligence gathering hub rather than a concrete monument to misspending. 

It had Killjoy, too; she was there this week, as luck would have it.

“Viper!” She almost dropped the bulky, rigid-framed computer she was carrying - a near-accident to the tune of ten thousand dollars. “If I had known you’d be here, I- well, I would have cleaned up a bit, I-”

“I didn’t know I was going to be here, either,” she said, reassuring Killjoy. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to judge the state of your lab.”

“It could be better,” Killjoy admitted.

“I’m sure it does the job. How are things going here?”

“Well enough, until they’re done with my new space back at base,” Killjoy said. “They’re taking their time with it, though, gottverdammt …”

“I will see what I can do to prod them,” Viper promised. After all, it was her effort that had initiated the process of giving Killjoy a lab space in the first place. The onus was on her to see the project through for the sake of her colleague, and arguably the greater good of the Protocol. Killjoy, as always, tried to stay humble and grew flustered over it.

“No, no, it’s really not a problem at all,” she complained, as she followed Viper down the hall. “I just…you know, it would be nice and all…if I could-”

“I will see to it, Killjoy,” Viper said, interrupting her. “No need to worry about it.”

“Ach, but I’m good at that.”

“There are many other things you’re good at,” Viper reassured her. “Would you like to join my meeting?”

“Now that’s one thing I’m not good at.”

Viper chuckled dryly. “I’ll take this one, then.” She would rather have it any other way, but there was nobody to take her place here. What would Brimstone say? Take one for the team, or something goofy like that. Deep breaths, Sabine. 

The meeting room was as stiff and dead as she could ever imagine it being. The three men at the table did little to avail her; Miklós Manár had buried himself in a manila folder, Art Aulepp was nearly asleep in his chair, and Julien Rouchefort watched her enter with the eyes of a hawk hungry for its next meal. She imagined that none of these men were intent on making this meeting any easier for her.

“About time Valorant showed up,” Aulepp grumbled, roused from his sleep by the hiss of the pneumatic door opening to admit her. “I’m beginning to think you all aren’t keen on playing-”

“We’re grateful you’re here,” Miklós interrupted, immediately seeing the irritation on Viper’s face. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Duly appreciative,” she said, cold as ever. “I’ll assume each of you gentlemen have been briefed.”

“Bundespolizei were here earlier in force,” said Miklós. “They shared everything with us and brought the subject in for detention.”

“And he’s having a gay old time with them down there still,” Aulepp quipped. 

The German investor, always quick with a witty comment and snarky rebuttal, was already getting on her nerves. She could tell she was in for a long meeting if she did not rein these three men in, and quickly.

“The intelligence gleaned from the interrogation is crucial for us,” Viper said, slapping her own briefing folder down on the table. “If we want to take advantage of this, we need to move quickly.”

“He’s already proven himself a stooge,” Aulepp complained. “How the hell do we know his information is accurate?”

“Interrogators are tracing his story for any telltale signs of deceit,” Miklós said. “If he’s lying to us, we’ll know-”

“And what if he knows how to hide it?”

“He’s a museum curator,” Viper snapped, tiring of him already. “Not a trained spy.”

“One can be both,” Aulepp pointed out dryly.

“Duly. Noted.”

He was testing her patience in a way that few others could. She only hoped they had all thoroughly read the briefings that had been provided to them, and were doing their due diligence in assessing the contents appropriately. That, of course, could be a majorly flawed assumption; Miklós Manár might read every word, but Aulepp was more concerned with his stock portfolios and squeezing every last drop of radianite into his business dealings and tech transfers, and Rouchefort appeared to be little more than a taciturn soldier on an assignment he despised. He made it very clear that he would rather be anywhere else than in this room with them right now.

Why are these the best partners we can muster? Are we truly that desperate? All the same, they were what she had to work with, and work with them she would.

She summarized the briefing in short order.

Three artifacts, unique dimensions, incomparable to any other archaeological find thus far. 5th century CE, Ghana, not attributable to any particular kingdom or polity.

The three artifacts are believed to be a part of a set, whose qualities are not entirely understood. Further opportunities for study were interrupted by the museum’s assertion that the artifacts be included in the display. 

The artifacts are reportedly connected to the First Light, though how this connects back to Ghana is unclear. The curator admitted he did not know. He admits the plan was to hand them over to Stasi agents, and they would then be taken into custody by Soviet intelligence personnel.

He claims he was a pawn and nothing more. 

Well, that part in particular Viper could believe, if nothing else. The way that Reyna had unceremoniously dumped him on the bathroom floor, exposed to any indignity she could imagine, had cemented that thought. He was useful until he wasn’t, and then he was tossed into the lion’s den by his erstwhile handlers, who had made their own escape - with one exception, Viper remembered, feeling warmth blossom in her chest at the mere thought of her.

Aulepp and Manár had no further thoughts to offer; Aulepp excused himself hastily for a “business call”, and Manár departed after informing her he had another meeting to attend. Rouchefort, however, stayed put.

“I’d like to see this little museum man,” he said. “If that is allowed.”

“Sure.” She figured she could make an exception, if she put in the effort. 

Rouchefort had no official clearance but escorted by her, he could go anywhere on Valorant’s property so long as he kept his peace. Ever taciturn, he made no attempt at small talk as they stalked through the now-lively halls of the European base and descended multiple flights of stairs to the sub-basement level - which was reserved only for utilities, and the detention cells.

Unlike HQ’s detention cells, which were designed with radiants in mind, these were simple barred cells with basic furnishings for temporary detention. In spite of this, the imprisoned curator appeared to be making himself at home, and was caught reclining on the bed half-asleep when Viper arrived.

“You again,” he said, when his eyes fell on hers. “I knew the moment I saw you that night, you’d be trouble.”

“Well, I did catch you bound and gagged in my bathroom.”

“Not that night. The other night. Opening night. What was supposed to be my triumph.”

Her breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat. How did he remember? He must be good at faces…surely, he wouldn’t…

“Yes, I remember you,” he said, cracking a smile. “I almost thought you were just a fan. A fellow appreciator of fine art. But I knew all too quickly you had caught on.”

“Smart man,” she said dryly. 

“Ironic, too, that I thought I had gotten away. I never imagined my saviors would toss me to the curb like that.”

“It happens.”

She had few words for him; he was clearly a talker, and keen on it, but she wanted information, not small talk. She sized up the room, pulled over a couple of flimsy plastic chairs, and sat on the other side of the cell bars with Rouchefort, who listened intently as they exchanged words.

“Honestly, you’re fucked, one way or another,” she told him. “Art theft alone is a big deal. Graft will net you some serious fines. Collaborating with Soviet intelligence? That could merit capital punishment, depending on who judges you.”

“I walked into this knowing it all possible,” he said. “I thought I was a brave man.”

“Are you not?”

“I’d like an exit strategy, if I could ask for it.”

“That’s a big ask.”

She wished she could step aside have a smoke right now. Wait, why can’t you? It’s your organization, your rules. Somewhere in the Valorant Protocol’s endless labyrinth of policy was a paragraph of small text that declared indoor smoking to be a nuisance and not allowed on Protocol sites - a paragraph she had almost certainly written. Knowing that Sage would happily use any transgression as a cudgel with which to torment her, Viper reluctantly kept her pack in her pocket and made herself wait patiently for this little confab to end. Besides, she didn’t like to smoke with company - particularly talkative company, which the museum curator definitely was. He was full of words and little else.

“I’m not about to throw you a lifeline, if that’s what you’re looking for,” she said.

“I won’t beg for it, though I would appreciate your merciful disposition more than you might know.”

“We can cut a deal if you talk. Spare you the worst of it.”

“Tell me what you want to know, and I will be your open book. Nothing will be held in reserve.”

So he was game, then. For someone who hates negotiations, you sure are a cut above , she thought. Or perhaps it was just easier to negotiate when you were a pretty woman offering a deal to a man behind bars. His situation was grim enough that he was willing to take just about anything.

He told her everything, and then some - even things he hadn’t mentioned to the interrogators. When she brought that up, he simply shrugged his shoulders and said they didn’t ask .

Reyna and her team were certainly on Soviet payroll. Reyna had confirmed as much, but the curator backed that up with solid evidence. He, too, had been receiving additional funds from the Stasi - hush money , she would have called it - to ensure his continued cooperation. 

There were other personnel who were in on it, too. Some lower-level museum staff had been convinced to join the conspiracy, and the museum’s staffing director was in on it too to ensure their complicity. As far as Viper was aware, he hadn’t been implicated in the conspiracy yet.

The artifacts were also unique, and had displayed properties analogous to samples of radianite, suggesting they contained trace amounts of radianite. That particular fact had been withheld from museum leadership - at his behest.

“I don’t know what they’re going to do with the items,” he admitted, when pressed. “I said as much.”

“If you were afraid to speak about that, you can speak freely here,” she reassured him. But he just shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said. “They wouldn’t tell me. I even pressed. I was met with threats towards my career, my property, and my person. You can understand my reservations in continuing, given that.”

That did tell her something, at least. It wasn’t perfect information, but it was something she could work with. She made a note to negotiate a reduced sentence for the man, or at least a circumvention of any capital punishment, and then left him to his fate. He would be transferred out of the building within the hour and taken under the West German penal system, which would treat his collaboration with the Stasi particularly harshly.

Once outside again, she offered a cigarette to Rouchefort. He gratefully accepted with a silent thanks. She normally would prefer they remained in silence, but she had a pressing question on her mind and was graced with the perfect opportunity to ask it.

“What do you know of the Ståljegers?”

She had already figured he might not know anything, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. It’s not like it was particularly relevant anymore, anyway. He raised an eyebrow and chewed on her question as he would tobacco, laboriously.

“Bits and pieces,” he answered. “Why? They’re dead.”

“One has survived.”

“One person does not make a unit.”

“But the spirit lives on in her.”

“Again, why do you ask?”

Even in casual conversation, he appeared defensive. His bearish arms were crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed at every word of hers. He was a soldier through and through; she assessed that she had to talk to him like a soldier to get anything out of him.

“Sheer curiosity,” she admitted. “It’s not easy work. They weren’t called hunters for nothing.”

“I have respect for their work,” he said, exhaling heavily. “But they could not see the bigger picture.”

“And what might that be?”

“It’s more than a radiant here, a radivore there. It’s more than drop in, shoot to kill, pick up and pack up for home. It’s more than missions. It’s a campaign.”

“I still don’t follow.”

“Because you’re guilty of the same thing, Valorant.” He pointed the cigarette at her as though she were to blame. “You do not see what you’ve locked yourself in to. You are blind to the short pier you are taking a long walk off of.”

Now she was the one appearing defensive, prickly as though personally slighted. “Don’t point fingers at me.”

“Take no offense. I know I’m not a smooth talker.”

“Yeah. I can tell.”

“In my eyes, you are playing right into the hands of fate. You hire radiants. You train them. You make them feel as though they belong. You give them what you think is purpose. As though you can make a difference.”

“And what if we can?”

“You won’t.” He shook his head pensively. “Mutually assured destruction seems to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Your reliance on them will only hamper you further, mark my words.”

“We are not reliant on them. They are agents, same as I am.”

“And you put them on equal footing? Therein lies your error.”

“There are exceptions. They are not rabid animals.”

“Not so, but they remain dangerous and unpredictable. They are not like you or I.”

“I don’t disagree.” She paused, thinking. “I just don’t know where to go from here.”

“Tread carefully, then. We all have one foot upon the precipice.”

And with that final portentous line, he stubbed out his cigarette, nodded farewell, and walked off into the cityscape. She had half a mind to pursue him, but decided against it. In spite of his odd behavior and waspish outlook, he was the most tolerable of the three men that she had been unfairly saddled with. He was interesting, at least, and offered her food for thought. She walked off into the cityscape herself, intent on fresh air and another smoke to mull over the events of the day and prepare for her trip back to Berlin. She sent a brief message to Cypher over her watch:

BE BACK SOON

…

NOT LATE THIS TIME

Tonight, at least, that would be true. 

The helicopter banked sharply over serried rows of Baltic firs and scraggly pines and swept past the outer expanses of the base before it shuddered to a near-halt over the yawning maw of inky black tarmac beneath them. Reyna took hold of one of the fabric loops hanging from the ceiling and steadied herself as it descended rapidly, then landed with a heavy thud and recoil fit to break bone. She was unharmed, but didn’t feel it as her stomach lurched, her radiance failing to calm the queasiness immediately.

The moment the rotors powered down and the bay doors opened, she found him standing there, pensive, his arms crossed and bared to the night air as though the cold were little more than a nuisance.

“I’ve been waiting,” Chamber said, straining to speak over the dying whine of the helicopter’s motor. “You took your time coming back to us. Enjoying your vacation a little too much?”

“You’ll have to forgive me, Chamber,” she said, measuring her steps towards him as she assessed his posture and sensed his veiled frustration. “The flight in was a little…turbulent. I’m in need of a drink before we talk of anything else.”

“You can’t use your ride as an excuse to wiggle out of this one, petite amie.” 

“Oh, you know me, Chamber. I’m never one to wiggle.”

“I know your tricks, Reyna.”

“What can I say. I’m a woman of taste, and I prefer riding a Kamov,” she said, sidling past Chamber and making sure she brushed her arm against his. “Mils just do not suit me.”

“A drink it is, then. Then we’ll talk.”

He was trying to be playful, keeping her guard down, but Reyna sensed that he was truly irritated and was trying hard to maintain his composure. All the better for you , she thought. It will make it easier to really wiggle when you need to.

As maintenance crews raced out onto the tarmac to tend to the afflicted mechanical beast behind them, they walked on. Reyna parted the cold bravely, wishing now that she had chosen employment with a warmer, more tropical country whose climate more suited her proclivities. Being that this was supposedly a Soviet intelligence base, it was flush with grim-eyed signals officers with paper-stuffed arms and rifle-toting motorpool guards who patrolled to and fro in their gleaming BMPs, creating the illusion of a proper military base dedicated to national objectives. The reality was far different, and anyone in the know would tell you that it was the radiants who were really in control here, and the red facade was only there for appearances.

Chamber made a habit of keeping the globetrotting alcoholic’s equivalent of a survival cache at each of their bases, working with military and intelligence personnel alike to ensure his minibar was stocked for guests as well as his own pleasure. Reyna had always been leery about accepting drinks from him (and most men, truthfully), but the words had already escaped her mouth and she had fires to put out. She gracefully accepted the snifter of brandy and slugged the heavy brown bullet in her glass before turning to business.

“Last I heard you were doing recon halfway across the world,” she said. “What’s changed?”

“Plans change, Reyna. Something I think you’d understand.”

“And what gives you that indication?”

“You tell me. How’s Berlin?”

Pasty shitstain. Somehow, he knew - or at least, he had a suspicion. Neither was good for her. She had to pass this off as something official.

“There’s cleaning up to do,” she said. “You know I never leave a job unfinished.”

“Oh, Reyna, petite amie. How little you must think of me.”

“Why, Chamber. What makes you say that? You know I simply cannot stop thinking about you.”

“No flirtatious remark will ease you out of this one, Reyna. I admire the verve, but we must talk shop.”

“I am talking shop, amigo .”

“You’ve been in Berlin for nearly two weeks after the rest of us wrapped up there. Does it really take that long to clean up?”

“There is much to be done that it seems you fail to appreciate. It isn’t all hair triggers and clean escapes.”

“I never said as much. You wound me, Reyna. I am a man of vast experience and wisdom.”

“Would that you would put it all to good use.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“I did my part, Chamber.”

“And what was that?” He seemed surprised that she had done anything at all. “You feted a museum’s grand opening for a few hours and dripped honeyed words into impressionable ears.”

“Is that all it is to you? How do you think the honey catches the fly, if there is no one there to set it out in the open?”

“Reyna, please. Do not give yourself too much credit.”

“Chamber-”

She paused for a moment, his lips on the rim of a brandy glass, hers on the verge of another lie. She judged him intelligent as ever, but unsure. He suspects, but he doesn’t actually know. Nothing has gone further up the line. This is personal, not professional. She moved before he could recover from a sip of his drink.

“Tell me, Chamber, are you jealous of certain liberties that I have?”

“There is not a jealous bone in my body.”

“Surely you want for things.”

“A man like myself wants for nothing.”

“Then why all this unseemly probing? I think I’ve unsettled you, and you don’t like being upset by me.” 

She chanced a deliberate flourish of her hips that she knew would unsettle him further. Judging by the way his lower lip trembled and his eyes widened, the effort had worked in her favor.

“I only worry about which team you play for.”

“Is that an innuendo, muñeco? You know that I prefer-”

“It is not an innuendo,” Chamber snapped. “I have my concerns about who you’re spending your time with, Reyna. That is all. Life may be a game for you, but there are rules you must adhere to if you want to play with us.”

“I’m guilty of no transgression.”

“You’re bluffing to the wrong person.”

“Am I?” He paused, screwing his face up. 

“You’re familiar with the art of business deals, surely,” she said, pushing a different angle now. “Let’s come up with a deal.”

“You wouldn’t be making a deal if you were doing nothing wrong.”

“That’s big talk for someone who’s lining their pockets with illicit weapons money on the clock. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you muñeco ?”

She was playing a very dangerous game now by revealing that card, potentially depriving her of a future boon over the Frenchman, whose jaw clenched but whose temper remained moderate as he absorbed her words and carefully considered his answer.

“One only wonders where you got such ideas from,” he said, pretending to be amused. “ Illicit weapons? Why, I would never dabble…”

“Chamber. You must fancy yourself so charming.”

“I’ve been told as much many times over, in fact.”

“You have your charms, yes. But that will not save you every time.”

“What is your price, then?”

“My price?” Reyna thought that was already implied. “My silence for your silence.”

“Is it that simple?”

“It can be, if you would like it to be.”

There was no sense in driving a hard bargain now, as Chamber could always escalate this up the chain of command, and Reyna’s little ploy would turn the tables on her. No one wanted that, of course, but if Chamber felt sufficiently threatened by her provocation he knew what his recourse was. She didn’t want to press him that hard; only hard enough to squeeze a measly little promise out of him. And really, in the grand scheme of things, what was a little secret shared between coworkers? Nobody would be harmed, except of course all of the victims of his illicit weapons dealing, but that didn’t matter for Reyna.

“May I ask how you know?”

“You may not.”

Chamber chortled. “Ah, petite amie, don’t see it as snooping. It is sheer curiosity. You caught me by surprise, I admit, so I only wish to know the source of your information.”

“When hell freezes over, Chamber,” she said, with a wry smile. “When hell freezes over.”

“If it must be so.”
He was a smart man, and he could likely guess that Fade had covertly scoured his dreams and drawn enough threads out to intuit the truth from the confused remorse and concealed apprehension that plagued him. But Reyna would never be the one to say that; he would have to figure that out on his own.

“We play for the same team, Chamber,” she reassured him. “I just have my peculiarities.”

“Don’t we all, petite amie.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for caving to certain base urges from time to time.”

“Like pillaging my minibar?”

“If I recall, you were the one who wanted to talk to me. You invited me in, after all.”

“Duly noted. And I’ll escort you out.”

Ever the gentleman, Chamber allowed her to finish her drink and then coldly escorted her back to the tarmac, where another ride was ready for her - she noted with disappointment that it was not a Kamov, though she supposed she would survive. The trip back was not long, and she had fire in her belly to keep her steady. She turned to Chamber one last time, hoping to see some remnant discomfort etched in his otherwise impeccable features, but he had pushed it all back down and recovered himself. He only adjusted his tie so it fit snugly into the contours of his vest, pushed his sleeves back up over his forearms, and smiled at her.

“Enjoy the rest of your vacation, Reyna,” he said. “We’ll all be delighted to hear about it when you return.”

“Don’t get too excited now, Chamber,” she said, as she walked away. “I have to keep the sultry details to myself.”

“If you must.”

He watched her as she went, and even watched the helicopter take off and vanish into the inky night sky, becoming a mere star on the horizon. Only when he was satisfied that she was truly gone did he send the message.

Chapter Text

“Oh, you must come and see it. I’ve been working on it for months!”

Viper wanted to see nothing more than a lit cigarette clenched between her thumb and forefinger, but she had no way to tell Killjoy no when she got that look on her face. She knew that look all too well; it was an odd overlap of childish glee and professional passion, and it was often contagious. Viper’s permanent cynicism made her mostly immune, but all the same she would not deny Killjoy this moment.

“I’ve had help,” she admitted, as she led the way through tight concrete corridors and down flights of inlaid steel stairs. “There’s some techs here. They do a good bit of the work. But I’ve been busy on…other things.”

“Experimenting, Killjoy?”

“Ach, I’m guilty as charged.”

Viper smiled at her. “No crime committed,” she said. “That’s what we pay you to do, after all.”

Not everybody had taken to Killjoy’s genius immediately; Viper had spent countless hours revamping their fiscal year budgets to appease the naysayers who failed to see the value in Killjoy’s experiments. Garrett Roanhorse in particular, being their chief financier in the early days, had been adamant that Killjoy was full of nonsense.

She had fought back on that point, and won. But it had not been easy for her to adapt to the defensive and convince Brimstone to stay on her side when Roanhorse pushed.

Killjoy, too, had to adapt; she had been forced to pick up lethal armaments and defense equipment projects that, given the choice, she would have otherwise refused. It was all part of the great game of compromise and concession that Viper hated to play, and resolved to end as quickly as possible whenever it came up.

“Hey Viper.”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Let’s say, hypothetically…I thought that a certain coworker of mine who is…at home base…would be more suitable here with me. While I’m here, that is. I don’t want her to be here the whole time, no-”

“Killjoy.”

“-no, actually, I think she would be best…and begging your pardon, this may be out of turn…but she would be best traveling with me wherever I go and and and-”

“Killjoy!”

Viper had to raise her voice to calm the younger engineer down. Killjoy was becoming flustered and her cheeks were reddening and she had nearly tripped on a flat surface. 

“Sorry,” she apologized, embarrassed. “I just wanted to ask if-”

“Who is it, Killjoy?”

“It’s Raze.”

“I see.”

Her tone suggested she had qualms; not so, in fact, but she was running through a mental list of all the reasons why Killjoy had asked for this.

“It would mean a lot to me if she could be here,” Killjoy said, sensing Viper’s consideration and going on the offensive. “She’s my…friend.”

“We’re all friends, Killjoy.”

“Not like that. I mean, yes, but. She’s been good to me. Even helped me out a few times, without being asked. She’s always interested in what I’m doing, too. Is it so hard to have her support me if she’s not on missions?”

No, it really wasn’t. But Viper always approached these questions with a certain apprehension.

“I’ll discuss it with Brimstone,” was all she could promise in the moment. That seemed to be enough to satisfy Killjoy as they arrived at their destination.

She had to admit, the lab was impressive. It wasn’t quite up to par with hers, nor would it ever be, but in its own right it was a testament to Killjoy’s dedication and passionate pursuit of her talents. The workshop could be divided into thirds, with a central nexus acting as a utilities lynchpin for electrical, water, and waste, and each wing was occupied by at least one tech or engineer. 

“My little team is growing up so fast,” Killjoy said, feigning a tear in her eye. “Look at them go…it’s easy to lose hours in here.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“There is one invention I really want to show you. Come, come! Schnell!”

She followed obligingly to a workbench covered in odds and ends that was lovingly labeled “The Imagination Station” in both English and German. Killjoy dug through her personal recycle bin of components and half-assembled circuitry and pulled out something that looked like it could work, with a little more love and care. She held it up like it was a prize ribbon at a county fair, glee in her eyes.

“This is my newest little baby,” she announced. “It’s a specialized radianite detector! Newest in its field.”

“How accurate is it?”

“Accurate enough to put you on the same level as any radiant.”

Now that piqued Viper’s interest. Her head overflowed with thoughts of herself triumphant, Sage humbled, and her lab flush with the radianite it so desperately needed. 

“It, uh, needs some tweaks though,” Killjoy admitted, immediately turning the valve and squashing her aspirations. “It isn’t ready for field use yet.”

“Well, keep working on it. I’m looking forward to seeing it in action.”

“Well, with a bit of help from you…and maybe a certain friend at my side…I could, ah-”

“Is that a quid pro quo, Killjoy?”

“I’d like to think not.”

It was, but Viper was keen on playing ball. She would do what she could to make the arrangements and Killjoy would certainly hold her end of the deal. Before she returned to Berlin, there was one more thing on her mind - and she hoped that her true intentions would be masked by plain curiosity. 

“I’d like to ask you something.”

“Oh, fire away. If it’s about Raze, I-”

“My watch. The messages. Do you know the frequency they’re sent on?”

Killjoy turned around, a puzzled look on her face. Her eyes widened and then narrowed, as though she were trying to guess what Viper wanted.

“I…can find it out, if you’d like. If?”

“Just curious,” Viper lied. “It’s not necessary.”

“No, no. Give it here. I’ll figure it out.”

She extended a palm and Viper unclasped her watch and delivered it. Killjoy knew something was up but had no context to understand why, and Viper decided she could breathe a sigh of relief as three minutes later Killjoy handed it back with the frequency scratched out on note paper.

“It’s a secure channel, if you’re worried about that,” Killjoy said.

“No, no. Just needed it for reference. Just in case.”

“Well, it automatically-”

“Thank you, Killjoy. Don’t worry about it. I have what I need.”

She did, and no one would be the wiser but her. She just prayed that nobody would see.

Cypher spent the entire day in front of his screens, day after day, with nothing to show for it but six notebooks full of various remarks, scrawlings, and questions that demanded further observation. His notebooks formed their own pile on the right side of his wall of screens, opposite the pile of empty coffee mugs encircling a smoky, dying ashtray. He would sit with his legs crossed before him and his arms at his sides, watching and waiting like a praying mantis anticipating an approaching meal. He would shift position once an hour, almost on the dot, as though he were so familiar with this routine that he had it orchestrated down to the very second. Viper felt a deep connection with the aesthetic he presented - outside of the intrusive surveillance, at least.

“I am not convinced that our unscrupulous opponents have left the city,” he told her one day, when she asked what he was trying to accomplish. “There is at least one still out there.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?”

Cypher turned to her, his mask a blank slate. “Intuition.”

“Alright then.”

He did little to ease the passing of time as she waited with bated breath for her promised rendezvous with that particular opponent, who he almost certainly suspected by now was Viper’s unkept secret. They did not openly discuss why she was still in Berlin; although she had work left to do, they both know why she had opted to return and stay. There was unfinished business here of another sort. 

She offered a flimsy excuse and freed herself from the shackles of responsibility, slipping out into the rose-tinted streets of Winterfeldtplatz to join the river of humanity winding its way towards a night of libertine frolic and debauched entertainment. She moved fast, flowing with the river but pushing her way past unfamiliar shoulders and blank stares, knowing she had a date and couldn’t spare a single second. 

She arrived to the wine bar just in time, two minutes before the appointed hour, and found a familiar face and impish smile greeting her.

“Hello, pretty thing.”

“That’s fuck you to you.”

“Oh, I forgot how charming you were.”

Viper had to stifle a smile of her own. She had been waiting for this for what felt like far too long, and the fact that it was wrong only made her want to do it more. 

Whatever happened to policy? Good sense? Caution? All lost at the bottom of a wine glass. Reyna offered her a generous pour, swirled it in the glass for her, then handed it off. She took a sip and immediately felt the sour notes tumble along her tongue, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. Cranberry. Interesting choice.

“You were almost late,” Reyna pointed out, refilling her own glass. “I had to indulge a bit without you.”

“Suppose that means I need to catch up?”

“I’d be honored if you tried.”

“I would prefer a sharp glass of whiskey on the rocks, myself.”

“Ah, well, next time you will get to pick the date spot. Deal?”

Viper felt the heat in her cheeks before she even registered the implication of Reyna’s words. Date? Why is she calling it that? What does she mean by…date?

“Are you feeling alright, querida?”

“I think I need a stronger drink.”

Reyna beamed. “Well, we can arrange that,” she said. “Though, I will stick to wine myself tonight…”

Reyna kindly ordered what Viper requested and she was far more at ease with a stiff drink in her hand. She still could not let go of what Reyna had said earlier.

Date spot. Date. Spot. What does she mean by date? This is some kind of confab, a way to exchange information while continuing our game. Surely that’s what it is, and nothing more-

“I suppose you want to know where I’ve been and what I’ve been up to,” Reyna said, interrupting her thought process - a mercy, she decided, given how far it was going off the rails.

“I wouldn’t mind knowing,” she said.

“Ah, information has its price. I may pay for your drinks, but I don’t give secrets out for free.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

Before Reyna could so much as express alarm, Viper made her move across the table, placing her lips on Reyna’s and silencing any dissent with an extended kiss. She allowed herself to close her eyes for just a few seconds, and immediately lost herself in the moment. It lasted longer than she intended it to, and Reyna did not protest.

“That was…”

“Unexpected?”

“Delightful.”

Reyna was relaxed, more at ease, while Viper was realizing just how impetuous that had been. Reyna did not seem to mind.

“I will admit I didn’t think you would make the first move,” she said, idly teasing the wine at the bottom of her glass and studying it. “I thought you would be… hesitant. ”

“Don’t mistake my caution for timidity.”

“I certainly won’t now.”

“Now tell me what you’ve been up to. I’m dying to know.”

“Dying , hmm? Is it that bad, Viper?”

“You were the one who arranged this… date, as you call it.”

“I do like calling it that. Confab is such an overused term. Belongs in boardrooms and back halls where men tend to flock. I think we can rise above that.”

“Either way, you arranged it. So you must have something you want to tell me.”

“Do I? Or maybe I just wanted to look at your pretty eyes again and admire what you’ve done with your hair.”

Viper hadn’t done anything with her hair, except curl it a bit more than usual - what was Reyna trying to accomplish here, anyway? She had been the one to request they meet again. Was it just to-
“Are you just trying to get me back in your bed?” She said it like an accusation, but Reyna did not flinch. On the contrary, she grinned like a delinquent child thrilled to be caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Would that be so bad for you?” she asked. “You were quite insistent on the last time…”

“Answer me truthfully.”

“It’s not my intention. But if you were so inclined…”

“If I have to kiss you again to get you to talk, I will.”

“Oh, don’t threaten me so, you brute.”

Viper had half a mind to reach across the table again, but Reyna made the move this time. Emptying her glass, she closed the space between them in one swift motion and placed Viper’s hand in her own without so much as a warning. Viper looked up from her glass to find the raven-haired woman towering over her, but she felt no imminent threat.

“There’s a walkway down along the river’s edge,” Reyna informed her. “There will be fewer people down there. Come, if you’d like to talk.”

Viper had a brief vision of a future in which Reyna would hoist her up by her waist and dump her into the river, disposing of a meddlesome liability once and for all. She decided that the risk would be worth the potential gain, and besides, she didn’t think Reyna had it in her to do something so underhanded. If Reyna was going to kill, she would at least see it coming.

On the wine bar’s lower level, which was shared with an adjoining Bavarian restaurant, there was indeed a wooden boardwalk along the river where few people had sought refuge from the clamor and din above. It was quieter, even peaceful, and Viper allowed herself to relax more and let the tension seep out of her muscles as she sidled up to Reyna along the railing, the river a mere few feet beneath them.

“I was out of the country briefly,” Reyna said. “I returned for you.”

“You left Berlin?”

“I didn’t go far. But I had a cover to concoct. Suspicions to ease.”

“I understand.” Viper felt a weird tinge in her chest. Was it unease? Or something else? “You surely have other business to attend to here, though.”

“No,” Reyna said. “It’s just for you.”

Just for you. There was that tinge again. Why did she all of a sudden feel so vulnerable? Reyna clearly wasn’t going to dump her into the river and leave her to drown, she had already established that. So what was she worried about? This wasn’t like her at all.

“I don’t understand,” she admitted. “Am I really that good in bed?”

Reyna smiled. “Well, that certainly helps.”

“It’s not just that, though. Talk to me straight, Reyna. I’m not playing your games again.”

“There are no games tonight. If I wanted that, I could have made this evening much more difficult for you.”

You already are , she wanted to say, but the feeling was different this time. This particular game was still being played on Viper, but it was a game of her own design; she was like a tangled ball of yarn yearning to be unravelled, and she had no idea what it would take to achieve that. The whiskey felt much drier and more foreign to her mouth now. She sipped it anyway and endured the burning aftertaste.

“Where are you staying?” she asked, trying to summon the confidence to make a move.

“Tonight? Nowhere.”

Viper nearly choked on her own words. “Nowhere? What do you mean, no-”

“I do not have a place to stay tonight. I am due to fly out tomorrow.”

“Yes, that’s tomorrow, Reyna. Are you saying you-”

“Have nowhere to sleep yet? Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying.”

Yet. So she was playing a game. Reyna was leading her along to her desired conclusion, which Viper sensed involved a shared bed and warm bodies tangled up in bedsheets, desperate to cater to one another and while away the hours in each others’ arms. While that was a prospect she genuinely looked forward to, there was an unresolved complication here.

“If you don’t have anywhere to sleep…”

“Yes, I’m not staying anywhere, either. Why bother?”

“Reyna, that’s absurd.”

“Well, not if someone is willing to help out.”

She knew that was where this would end up. She frowned, but it did little to defang Reyna, who only took glee in her visible discomfort.

“What’s the matter? Are you a poor host?”

“I’m not here alone, is the issue.”

“We can work around that.”

“Reyna-”

“I can be quieter than last time, I promise.”

“Reyna!”

She felt like she was scolding a child, but Reyna knew exactly what she was doing, and had no remorse about it. She even had the gall to laugh. If Viper hadn’t drained her drink, she would have splashed it in Reyna’s face. Not the first time you’ve faced that temptation, she remembered. Yet it was impossible to look at this woman and feel a single emotion.

“Are you afraid?” Reyna suggested that with a leer, as though she sensed a weakness.

“Of you? If I were, I wouldn’t have agreed to-”

“Oh, you may not be afraid I’ll hurt you. But there are other things to fear. Other things I can do.”

“I don’t fear you.”

“But you fear my wandering eye and my curious fingers, don’t you?”

Viper swallowed a heavy lump in her throat. That was a different concern altogether. 

“Two can play that game,” she warned, though she knew Reyna was aware. “If my secrets aren’t safe, then neither are yours.”

“I had assumed as much,” Reyna handwaved it, as expected. “That’s why I put extra effort into ensuring you only know what I want you to know.”

“And how can you be so sure I won’t work through your defenses?”

Reyna just laughed. “Oh, trust me, querida. I have put enough work into those to be sure.” There was confidence in her voice that Viper knew she could not deflate. There was also a subtle reassurance, though - that Reyna would not grow ambitious so long as her defenses were not tested. Viper sensed that in her words and it gave her the confidence she needed in turn to make the move.

“Come to this address.” She scrawled it out on an abandoned receipt with a restaurant pencil. “There is a back entrance. Alleyway. I assume you know how to be subtle enough about it?”

“When have I ever not been subtle when needed, dear Viper?” 

“Don’t give me reason to regret this.”

“Why, when have I ever? You could never regret me.”

As if to prove her point, Reyna cocked her hips and beamed at her with bright, mischievous eyes. There was a glow there that seemed almost preternatural. Viper shivered, but not out of fear. The next two hours would tick by very slowly. 

And what of Cypher? Well, he would be a problem, but not an insurmountable one. That was what the back entrance was for, anyhow.

Viper first checked that he was home - naturally, he was. His work took him to few other places, outside of missions, and she might have been convinced he was a statue if she never knew him.

“Viper.” His greeting was strangely terse. Did he know something was up?

“Cypher,” she returned the greeting. “You’ve barely moved.”

“Only for smokes. You know how it is.”

“Certainly so.”

He doesn’t suspect. This is just his natural behavior. Act naturally, Sabine, and you’ll have no trouble . All the same, the risks were mounting, and her fears were little assuaged by the time Reyna showed up and knocked on the back door to the flat. Viper admitted her, but with hesitation.

“We’re not alone here,” she whispered.

“I had guessed that.”

“We won’t be interrupted. But-”

“I’ll take care of it if we do.”

Reyna strolled in with all the confidence of someone who had just been handed the keys to their new home. Viper, meanwhile, stood pale-faced like a frightened college freshman inviting a partner back to a shared dorm. 

What are you doing? There was still a flicker of rational thought behind the curtains. This is incredibly dangerous. Imagine how much she could discover just by being here. Again, what are you doing?

But the curtains were drawn for a reason - her heart was pounding, her hands were shaking, and a tightness in her chest began uncoiling and seeping down into her legs. You want her here so badly. You’ve missed her touch. What are you waiting for? Indulge.

She hastily escorted Reyna out of anything that could be considered “public space” and shoved her into the bedroom without so much as a second wasted. Immediately, she locked the door behind her.

“Someone must be needy,” Reyna mused. “Are you-”

“You kept me waiting for far too long.”

“Five days?”

“Far too long.”

“Then by all means…no more waiting.”

Reyna was removing her day clothes before Viper could even ask. Her eyes followed the sundress as it billowed and plumed around her knees and calves before falling in a puddle of purple to the floor around Reyna’s ankles. Her eyes tentatively remained there before she allowed them to wander back up, taking in the scenery with imposed patience.

“Five days must have been agonizing for you,” Reyna said, clearly aware of the hunger in Viper’s eyes. “You must be starved, poor thing.”

“I’m not desperate.”

“But you are. You try to hide it, but I can see it in your-”

Viper advanced without warning, taking Reyna’s wrists in hers and pushing her back a few steps. Her intent was to get Reyna on the bed, but her enemy resisted vigorously, turning her hips every time Viper tried to push.

“-your eyes. You have a fire in them.” Reyna’s eye had their own smolder, but it was nothing like what was going on in Viper’s. “I must have left quite the impression on you during our first time.”

“Enough for me to let you in to our safehouse.”

“Oh, so that’s what all the caution was for.”

“Yes. So keep it down.”

Reyna might have thought to test Viper’s limits, but she was obedient this time, allowing them to pursue each other’s pleasures quietly until they were tuckered out. Their time together slipped by as though in the blink of an eye; when Viper emerged from the haze of desire that clouded her mind, an hour had passed on the vintage ornamental clock that sat on the dresser opposite the bed and the world outside had darkened considerably. Her arms were limp at her sides and she gasped for breath like a fish out of water, and her mind was still clouded - clouded enough that she didn’t even think to ask about the bright purple glow from the concave slot in Reyna’s chest. She had seen it before, and only now remembered it existed.

“Something on your mind?”

“Not really.” She didn’t think now was the time to ask.

“Thinking about round two?”

“Maybe.”

“You really were needy.”

“Shut up.”

Reyna had every right to be smug about it. “And to think, I almost cancelled this return trip,” she said, as if gleeful. “I would have left you high and dry. Stranded.”

“I am not needy.”

“You treated me as if you were. Why, the way you-”

“Shut. Up.”

But Reyna was correct. She was so needy. Why, all of a sudden, was she willing to risk so much for what amounted to so little? The answer lay somewhere in the past hour of subdued,  but passionate sex they had shared and the subtle connections that Viper had formed, which she would fervently deny having now that the sex was over. But it wasn’t really about sex; that was just the cover she erected for herself. There was something more to it.

Reyna dressed quickly and checked the hallway outside before exiting. Viper caught her at the last second, her memory triggered by something familiar - her watch, hastily discarded in the first seconds. 

“Your watch,” she whispered furiously. “Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Give me your wrist.”

Reyna wore something similar, but it was smaller and had a more analog appearance. But the underlying circuitry peeking out from beneath chrome plating gave away the game.

“You have something similar to mine,” Viper said, grabbing her own and holding it up. “Does yours receive messages?”

Reyna frowned. “It can,” she said, “but I don’t think that-”

“Here. Let me…”

She scrabbled around her room for a pen and pencil, or at least something to write with. She came up with an aging fountain pen and with what might have been the last reserve of its ink, wrote the frequency for her watch on the back of a wrinkled, yellowing dollar bill.

“For you. To reach out to me. Short messages.”

“I prefer a more traditional form of connection.”

“Then grow up. This is the information age.”

Reyna clucked her tongue, but took the dollar bill anyway. Viper had a sneaking suspicion she would come around to it once she realized just how much she could do.

“Meet me in the Tiergarten tomorrow morning,” Reyna requested. “9 o’clock sharp.”

“To do what?”

“Anything you’d like,” Reyna said, with a devilish grin. “Within reason, of course…don’t be late.”

Before Viper could manage any further questions, Reyna was off and out the back door like a shot, leaving her to hastily grab the frame and slide it closed to prevent it from slamming. Whatever had just happened between them (outside of the sex, which had obvious results) had left her breathless and almost frenetic, her heart and head alike pounding and the sweat still dripping down the back of her neck in wild rivulets. Just as she thought she had caught herself, her watch buzzed in her palm - a message.

Reyna. She wants more? At least she-

Viper took one look at the screen and her heart skipped a beat. The message was clear as day, but it wasn’t Reyna who sent her the short, pointed message:

GOOD TIME?

It came from Cypher. 

He was waiting for her down the hall in his favorite chair in front of his favorite bank of monitors, his fingers steepled together and one leg crossed over the other. She could feel the smugness radiating off of him, though his mask concealed his expression.

“Say nothing.”

“There’s too much to say, I’m afraid.”

“If you’re going to lecture me, Cypher, save your breath.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“I don’t need you of all people to turn schoolmarm.”

“Well, it is my safehouse. Or was, rather.”

She paused, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Was?”

“Of course,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You think it’s safe anymore? You’ve allowed a stranger in. Gave her the address and everything, too?”

She had, in fact, done exactly that. Mea culpa.

“And so what if I did?”

“So what if you did? Then we need to pack up and leave as soon as possible,” Cypher said, his frustration showing. “You know what the phrase is? Burn before return , and we need to set fire to this place now.”

“Cypher, you can’t seriously-”

“Not literally set fire, mind you. That was figurative. Am I too deadpan for that?”

“You’re being too serious.”

“Hardly. I would say you’re being too flippant.”

They were at extreme odds, more so than ever before - Cypher with his fingers steepled and legs crossed, judgmental and indignant, and Viper standing there with her arms across her chest and burning hot eyes trying to unsettle him. Neither of them were gaining any ground.

“Fine. I made a mistake. Are you happy?”

“No.”

“It’s not the end of the world, Cypher.”

“It’s the end of this safe house. Think of all the equipment I’ll need to move.”

“Is it really that dramatic?”

“I’m shocked you’ve asked that.”

“She’s not a threat to us.” To me . Viper had to remind herself, almost casually, that they were talking about an agent of a foreign country, a designated enemy, a threat to their intelligence network and even lives. Who was she to say otherwise?

“Viper, I’m beginning to believe you’ve been poisoned,” Cypher said, without a hint of irony. “Might I suggest we take you to a hospital?”

“You’re very funny.”

“I’m trying to find the silver lining in a bleak situation. What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“This is the second time, Viper. It’s out of the ordinary. If I need to tell Brimstone that-”

She advanced on him without warning. Before he could say another word, her hands were on his chair and her face hovered inches from his, her hot breath on his mask. She waited for him to speak first, and words failed him.

“Don’t say a word to him,” she warned, her tone a grim portent. “Not a single word.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“I’ll fix this and help you clean up.”

“In exchange for silence?”

“If that’s the price.”

“Doesn’t quite cover the full tab.”

“You owe me Cypher. Beirut?”

“You can’t bind me to that agreement forever.”

“But you’re still bound by it now.”

He owed her, and he knew that, but she sensed even that vital debt was being chewed up by how many transgressions she was making now. She only hoped he would cave now, and accept her terms - and he did, with a reluctant sigh.

“Alright. Fine. We burn this place, though. Not a trace of our presence. I will inform the owner tomorrow.”

“How much time do we need?”

“Enough time to pack our bags, spray down every surface, and strip any signs of life away. Your rash decision may yet cause us more trouble.”

“I doubt it, Cypher.”

But she wasn’t so sure now. It was too late to turn back, and if she imagined by some miracle Reyna would just up and disappear and this problem would solve itself, that idea was disspelled by a message she received mere minutes later, from a new sender:

THANKS FOR THE GOOD TIME

INFORMATIONAL BULLETIN: NEWSDESK OFFICE

1945 GMT, LONDON, UK - 28TH MAY 1980

 

Following a preliminary announcement by a board of researchers after multiple years of intensive observation, the World Health Organization (WHO) has officially declared the eradication of smallpox. The dreaded disease, once the bane of households from London to Shanghai thanks to its high mortality rate, has undergone substantial reduction in transmission since organized vaccination efforts began in the 19th century. The transposition of these efforts to underdeveloped nations in Asia and Africa beginning in the 1960s allowed medical science to proudly announce this achievement today.

Human effort alone was not enough; technology’s role cannot be understated. “This would not have been possible without cutting edge medical research in the last few years,” said Mohinder Gamarupavaram, Research Director for the WHO’s Indian subcontinent vaccination effort. “The discovery of radianite gave us the key to the lock we’ve spent centuries trying to open.”

While medical researchers have remained mum on the details, press releases have made it clear that cutting-edge chemical processes involving elemental radianite have been extremely crucial to recent breakthroughs in vaccine efficacy. The rare, highly-sought after resource has also been used in advanced survey and sensor tech. 

“We could not have woken up to this happy day without the hard work of our teams across the globe,” said Dr. Gamarupavaram, grinning as he sat at his desk where a framed photo of one of those teams sat before him. “And we could not have done it without radianite. The future is brighter than we think.”

Chapter Text

The rain came first as a peppering of fine droplets, almost like a mist, and then without warning erupted into a torrent. As sheets of cold water slapped her across the face she sought refuge in the first establishment with an open door and lights on inside. She had not planned for this, today of all days. 

“No solicitors,” the bartender grumbled, his English thick and heavy with an imposing Prussian accent. “Buy or get out.”

“Buy what?”

He shrugged his boarish shoulders. “Anything. Have a drink. You won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

The rain pounded on the windows and cascaded down from the eaves and she realized he was right. He poured her a mug of thin beer and she lit up a cigarette and sat down to play the waiting game. 

Berlin was proving to be a fickle friend, giving and taking in equal measure and keeping her on her toes in spite of her weariness. She had spent half the night helping Cypher to tear down the safehouse and prepare for their untimely egress, which had offered them precious little sleep. And yet, she would not turn down Reyna’s invitation to a walk in the park today; even if it was pouring rain, she would make it. This was just a brief delay, nothing more. When the downpour began to ease, she downed the rest of her beer (shuddering at the aftertaste), stubbed out her cigarette, bid the bartender a curt farewell, and marched back out into the urban wilderness to make her appointment.

Reyna made no attempt at hiding herself in the park. The greenery and the crowd both offered considerable coverage, but she sought no advantage from it. She stood with a plain blue umbrella out in the rain, watching her date approach through a crowd of gaudily-dressed people out battling the weather for their Friday amusements. 

“Rough night?”

“And a rough morning.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You picked a hell of a day to go to the park.”

“It will be good for you. A walk and fresh air will make you feel better.”

“It’s not a hangover that I’m suffering from.”

“Ah. I can guess what it is, then.”

“No thanks to you.”

“You did invite me into your safehouse, let me remind you.”

“No need.”

She had already gone on quite a walk, taking the long route up to the Tiergarten from their now-abandoned safehouse, and she was quite testy for it. But Reyna had a good point; no matter the cause, fresh air would be a good salve for her conscience and her body. Besides, after having a beer at eight in the morning, she could use a little bit more exercise and fresh air to ease her unsettled head and uneasy stomach. 

Reyna shared her umbrella without being asked. The downpour had ceased, but a grim drizzle continued, and she was grateful for the protection against the elements. It also gave her an excuse to walk closer to Reyna, even brush up against her shoulder from time to time, and feel the energy like static electricity from every chance encounter with bare skin. 

“I had a thought,” Reyna said, as they rounded a bend into a less public area enclosed by greenery. “A thought that you might not show up this morning.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. Just one of those intrusive things. I thought perhaps last night had been too much for you.”

“You underestimate me, Reyna.”

Reyna chuckled. “Well, it wouldn’t be my first time. Tell me, are you still afraid that I might know something I shouldn’t?”

Viper felt her chest tighten and her pace slowed. She turned to Reyna and narrowed her eyes furtively. “Are you suggesting that you do?”

“What do you think?”

“Did you take anything from the safehouse?”

“If I had, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“You’re impossible.”

Every instinct in her body screamed at her to take a decisive action, to pull Reyna off the path and put a gun to her head and demand answers. Her service weapon was within reach, as always (except, she reminded herself, when it wasn’t, like last night, when you allowed yourself to be intimate and vulnerable with a foreign agent). What was stopping her?

“What’s stopping you?”

“Excuse me?”

“From taking the answers yourself.”

“I can tell you’re bluffing.”

“Oh?”

“You exhale more heavily when you bluff. I can see your nostrils flare. I can see it in your chest, too.”

Reyna’s silence said everything. They walked on like that for a few minutes, reentering a very public space before turning past an empty playground and reentering the nearest thing to wilderness Berlin could possess.

“You have a sharp eye,” Reyna said. “Keen senses.”

“You have to in this line of work.”

“Yes, of course. I understand.”

“...what got you into this work, anyway?”

Viper had not thought about the question until this very moment. Reyna, pensive, took her time coming up with her response, choosing her words carefully.

“It chose me,” she responded, succinctly.

Viper stifled a laugh. “Come on now. You don’t think I would-”

“I’m being serious.” Reyna’s stern expression agreed. “I never intended for my life to be this. Not in a thousand years was this ever my plan. But I had certain skills, and sultry eyes, and mettle. And so here we are.”

“I understand that.”

“Do you now?”

“More than you might know, Reyna.”

Again, Reyna was silent - realizing the gravity of Viper’s words, or perhaps just biting back a snarky response. She didn’t press the issue further, for her part; she had a queasy feeling in her stomach and her head was still light. The rain picked up again, then trailed off, then stopped altogether. She still remained close to Reyna, under the umbrella, as they looped around a familiar path and came to a familiar shack in a familiar green space.

“I’ve been here,” Viper said, realizing where they were. “I…it doesn’t look any different, honestly.”

“Does it feel different?”

“I don’t know yet.”

It was different in the gloomy light of a cloudy morning, but the shack still bore the wounds of war and she swore she could make out impressions in the grassy earth where bodies had once lay, and where grenades had churned up the soil. The altercation had been incredibly brief, a blink-and-you-miss it sort of deal, but she remembered every agonizing second of it in clear detail. Without warning she stooped, clutched at her stomach, and voided what little remained there into the grass. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologized hastily to an indifferent Reyna, who had not moved.

“For what?”

“For that, obviously,” she said, glaring down at the sparse rivulets of brackish vomit in the grass. “Did you bring me here on purpose?”

Reyna looked around at her surroundings, and shrugged - again, indifferent. “I don’t see why I would,” she said.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Viper.”

She stood back up, reinvigorated by Reyna’s indifference to her past suffering. There was still a queasy feeling that she felt would pass, but she ignored it as best as she could.

“I watched my colleagues die here,” she snapped, feeling a rush of blood to her head. “They died in the dark. I remember it all. One of them barely survived and it cost her more than you could ever know. I was here, Reyna, where it happened. And you want to tell me you brought me here by sheer accident?”

“If I had known-”

“How could you not know!? The killers were your own people. Christ.”

She spat those final words almost in Reyna’s face, which in other circumstances would have prompted a snide remark from the impudent agent. But Reyna’s reaction was markedly different from what Viper had come to expect.

“I’m sorry.”

“You and your- you’re sorry?”

“I didn’t know.”

“Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“I wasn’t there, Viper. You say you remember it all. You must have known I wasn’t there.”

Viper paused. That much was true; Reyna had been at the museum the entire night, ensuring the heist went down without a hitch. Her fellow agents had confronted the Ståljegers, but Reyna had not been among their number. There was Chamber, and the woman who went by Fade, whose radiance had ensured Viper had slept less than usual for the last few weeks. There were others, too, whose names she did not know. But there had been no Reyna among them.

“You still had a dog in the fight,” Viper said, then more bluntly, “and you are still my enemy.”

Reyna scoffed. “If that’s the case, why haven’t you shot me yet?”

“I’ve thought about it more times than you know.”
“You keep thinking about it. You even threaten it. But you follow me like a lost puppy all the same.”

“And you don’t?”

There was another uncomfortable pause. The rain picked up again. Viper stood out from the umbrella, caring little for the cold drizzle on her bare neck and face. It reinvigorated her, cooled her heated cheeks, and eased her stomach.

“You came back to Berlin for me,” Viper said. 

“There is no shame in admitting that.”

“But it was just for me. Nothing else.”

“I had other people to see besides you.”

“You quite literally said you returned for me.”

“I wasn’t being serious.”

“You were.”

This time, she did not have an explicit tell to refer to in order to prove that Reyna wasn’t joking. But she didn’t need one. She knew this time.

“I just need to know. Why did you come back for me?”

“We talked about this yesterday,” Reyna said, dismissively.

“And you didn’t answer my question then. So answer it now.”

She didn’t intend to be so confrontational, but she needed to know, or at least be offered some small clue. She had never felt so vulnerable before, and having her service weapon holstered at her hip did little to help alleviate the feeling. She was vulnerable in a very different sense.

“You’re different,” Reyna said, a mix of emotions welling up in her dark, normally impenetrable eyes. Viper could see trouble there that she had never seen before. “You’re interesting. You were new, but that novelty has faded away into something deeper. I enjoy time spent with you. You are like a puzzle that demands sorting out. A lock with a special key.”

“So you enjoy playing with me? Like a toy?” Viper accused.

“I won’t deny I loved our initial games. But it’s more than that…now.”

“Do tell.”

“I don’t know how to say it. I don’t know the words…I just know that you feel special. I’ve put myself at great risk to be with you yesterday and today. I don’t know how to prove that.”

Maybe there was a way that she could, but Reyna’s usually playful demeanor and flighty tone had disappeared. In its place was something heavier, something more severe, to suggest this was bothering her. Viper took that as proof enough.

“I’ve enjoyed our time as well,” she said. “I want more. But I can’t have it.”

“And why not?”

“I already put too much at risk,” she said, thinking back to the hours she spent with Cypher hastily throwing sensitive documents and electronics in cardboard boxes to cart out to a taxi in the dead of night. “We’re one and the same in this regard, you and I. We’re exposing ourselves.”

“How much are you willing to risk for me, Viper? For the feelings you feel with me?”

“I’m risking enough.”

“There is far more you will yet risk. Are you willing to take the leap?”

“Are you? Because it sounds like you and I are on the same precipice.”

“Then why not jump together?”

Why not, indeed? She had everything to lose, of course, but in this moment she was oddly passive about the notion of abandoning everything she had endeavored to build over the last five years as the leading edge of the defense against everything the First Light had brought. And to abandon it all for a radiant, of all people? Now that was a cruel irony, and not lost on her.

“Why are you the way you are?”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t mean, like…your abilities. Nor your person. I mean the people you choose to work with. The path you follow.”

“What are you really asking me, Viper?”

“Why are you with them? The Soviets? You realize you’re playing for the wrong team, surely.”

Reyna stopped in her tracks, frowned, and then laughed out loud. The concept amused her to the point that it irked Viper.

“I’m being serious,” she said, peeved. “This isn’t a joke. Answer me.”

“You think this is a good and bad situation?” Reyna seemed incredulous. “Tell me, you don’t think that-”

“In my mind, there is a better choice between the two.”

“In your mind. Those are the key words,” said Reyna.

“You disagree?”

“Of course I disagree. Are we children, playing good and evil as a simple escapade?”

“Of course we’re not. It’s not a game.”

“No, it is not. But you break it down to bare bones with no consideration for the skin atop,” Reyna insisted, chafed. “My assessment is far more complicated than that. Do not think me a simple creature of habit, either, as though I follow the money wherever it leads. I do not, and never will. I answer to something higher than either of our benefactors.”

“And yet you follow your orders.”

“So long as they suit me.”

You both agree on that, at least. Whatever suits us best is apparently the way to go.

“It is disappointing to me, honestly, that you consider your American handlers to be an objective good.”

“I never said that.”

“But you implied it,” Reyna said, smug. “You think mine is the wrong team. Have you ever considered otherwise?”

“I’ve never needed to.”

“Your certainty is misguided.”

“Everything I do is for the greater good. Can you say the same?”

“Consider Atlanta, if you will.”

Viper felt muscles in her back stiffen in response. How did she not see that one coming? Of course, that would be what Reyna would bring up as a counterpoint…of course, she should have seen it coming.

“Atlanta was a tragic accident, as far as anyone is concerned,” she said.

“Was it really?” Reyna asked. “Or was it the inevitable result of the pressure, the isolation, the discrimination, the hate? The way you treat us, the way you push us, the way you break us down-”

“Don’t say you as if I’ve ever done a damn thing,” Viper growled.

“But you have! Even if you didn’t act deliberately. You are a part of the wrong.”

“It was a tragedy. That’s all it will ever be.”

“A tragedy, yes,” Reyna echoed. “ Un-American, was how I remember him described. Yes, I read the newspapers. An American man, living the American dream and working an all-American job, married to an American woman and partaking in America’s favorite pastime when he was assaulted for being… un-American. ”

“He killed more than a hundred people,” Viper reminded her.

“Yes, and that’s certainly part of the tragedy,” said Reyna coolly. “But it didn’t have to be that way. He was judged so, and for what? For being different? Suddenly, without warning, just waking up one day with a power he could not reject.”

“He didn’t have to collapse the entire wing of a stadium.”

“No, he didn’t. I doubt he meant to do it at all. But not all radiants can control themselves like I can. Why, I could carve you up and eat your heart right now and gorge myself on your soul.”

Viper froze. A vision of a horrific, prolonged death played out in her head. There was nobody else on the path around them; Reyna had every opportunity to do so, and she grinned and licked her chops dramatically as though she were a cat with the mouse firmly under its paw.

“But I can control my abilities,” she said, dissipating the brief tension. “And you, well…I like you. So it would be a waste of good energy and appetite.”

“Fuck you.”

“My point is that you are not as innocent as you believe. Nor are your countrymen.”

“I have done my part, though. Everything I’ve done is for the greater good.”

“Anyone would say that,” Reyna said dismissively. “The question is, do you really believe that?”

Viper stopped while she walked on. There was something in the tone of her voice that made her stop and think. Of course was the obvious answer. Of course she believed in her own cause, her own country, her own national spirit.

And yet here she was, wondering if there was something beneath the surface that polluted it all, a silent killer of her values, much like the toxic substances she had developed over years and years of research and development.

What had really happened in Atlanta? Where had all that explosive energy truly come from? Prevailing dogma would have one think it came from a terrorist, an enemy of the country, a no-good god-damned blue-blooded do-nothing Commie with a chip off his bloodstained shoulder who had picked a hot summer day in Atlanta to bring ruin upon an innocent, unsuspecting populace enjoying America’s favorite pastime. 

But where had it really come from? It came from a man, who had for years built up the right sort of life with the right sort of people in the right sort of town and had one day simply found himself in the wrong circumstance, a sea change that threatened to drown him. And he had paddled and paddled and struggled, and tread that water - until one day he couldn’t, when all around him were sneers and slurs and raised fists menacing him over - what, a perceived slight? A perceived slight. And so he drowned, and took one-hundred and forty-three people with him on that hot summer day in Atlanta.

And why was Reyna, of all people, the one who was making her question this?

“Hey, wait up-”

Reyna was walking along, leaving her behind, satisfied with the impact she had made.

“I half imagined you would be rooted to the spot all day,” Reyna said. “Did I really make you think so much?”

“Don’t get a swelled head,” Viper huffed. “I need to leave, anyway.”

“Is our time at an end, then? Or are you just trying to escape me?”

“Wait. Before I go.”

Viper extended her arm and held out her watch, and Reyna gently took it into her hands, letting spindly fingers wander over the contours of her bony wrist before settling on the screen of the watch. She understood the gesture.

“Tell me what city we’ll meet in next,” Viper said, as the rain picked up again, the umbrella no longer a shield. “Just send me the name. Tell me where you are. I’ll figure it out from there.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then don’t. I’m not going to chase you further than that. I’ll see you soon.”

Viper leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, gently and gracefully, then retreated into the gloom as the rain poured down. Reyna stood there and watched her go, a soft spot on her cheek burning with foreign heat. She waited until Viper had disappeared down the path and only then allowed herself to smile and exhale in relief, satisfied with her decision to return to Berlin - even just briefly.

The rain was a gentle touch on her weary face, the cloying scene of pine needles and soaked loam a welcome respite from recycled air and jet fuel fumes. She stood out at the edge of the tarmac for far too long, watching the VLT/R taxi to the hardened shelters on the far side of the runway. She clutched her report tightly to her chest to keep it dry and after she had her fill of fresh air and nicotine, her heart steady and her fingers numb, she turned and headed inside. 

The Protocol had never felt more alive, and she had never felt more disdainful of the fact. Skye extended her a friendly hello Vipey! , which she refused to return. Phoenix and Jett were leaning in far too close for comfort, hanging out in a corner they had incorrectly assumed was private and secure, and were quick to silence their hushed conversation when they heard her approaching. Neon passed by her in the hallway with an armful of comic books and nearly dropped them all when they almost ran into each other; neither apologized, and Viper felt hot, angry eyes on her back as she moved along.

And then there was Cypher. He emerged from Brimstone’s office seconds before she arrived, the gleaming pinholes in his mask meeting her cold, stony gaze as they stood opposite each other for a few tense seconds.

“What did you tell him?”

“I said nothing. I leave that up to you.”

“If you mentioned me in your report-”
“No, Viper. I did not. I leave the truth up to you. Speak what you wish.”

Cypher slid past her, and the door to Brimstone’s office opened. She gathered herself and strode in with conscripted confidence.

“Here.”

She firmly slapped the folder on his desk and pushed it across to him.

“Everything I have is in there.”

“Viper. It’s good to see you again.”

“Let’s not small talk, Brimstone.”

“Just sit down for a bit. Let’s talk.”

A tight knot of trepidation began to uncoil in her gut like a snake waking from hibernation. She sat down hesitantly, trying to maintain a facade of comfort, hoping that he hadn’t caught wind of something. 

Keep your cool. He has no reason to suspect anything from you. 

“I’m grateful for your effort and diligence, Viper. Truly, I am. But-”

Here it comes. 

“-I have to wonder if I’m assigning you in the right places.”

Oh, he definitely knows.

“What do you mean?” she asked, straining as to not to appear nervous. She could use a cigarette now more than ever.

“I mean that my assessment of you may be incorrect. So tell me truthfully…do you miss your lab?”

Viper blinked several times in rapid succession, unsure if she heard him properly. He noticed her confusion and repeated himself. 

“Your lab. Do you feel like I’m separating you from your work here?”

“Do you really care about that, Brim?”

“Of course I do. I care about your passions and where you think you will be most productive within the Protocol,” he said. “So please, tell me honestly.”

“It’s important work,” she said, still in mild shock.

“No disagreement there,” he said gruffly.

“But…it’s not necessary for me to be here all the time.”

In fact, it would be preferable not to. She had enjoyed the calm, the solitude, and the comfort of empty concrete corridors and lifeless steel when it had been just Brimstone, her, a handful of agents, and a skeleton tech team running the place at a low tempo. She had been free to concentrate on long-ignored aspects of her research, new developments and interesting questions, unrestrained by workload or priorities or projects being forced upon them by their benefactors.

That was long gone.

“Honestly, Brimstone, the field work is a breath of fresh air for me. That’s how I feel. But do what you will with me.”

“Your opinion matters.”

“But you need to do what you need to do,” she urged him, trying not to play too far to one side. “So if you think that I’m better suited in the field-”

“You’re quite good at both, Viper,” he interrupted her. “Let’s not turn this into a war of wills. I appreciate your flexibility, but I want you to be where you think is best. And I don’t want you to neglect your lab, either.”

“Not after we spent…what, fifty million on it?”

“Sixty, actually.”

They both cracked a smile. He seemed happy with her report, and she was relieved, at least, that Brimstone had no indication of her misconduct in Berlin. Cypher had her confidence, for now.

On the way out of his office, her wristwatch buzzed. Her heart skipped a beat, and she gasped, anticipating something beyond her wildest hopes.

Already? She wants to see me again already? Surely, it can’t be-

It was too good to be true. The message was from Cypher:

GOOD TIME?

She nearly bit her tongue. Her response to him was sent in record time:

SHUT UP

A few seconds passed and all she received back was a simple couple of symbols that took her far too long to recognize:

:-)

She bit back a curse, ignored her watch, and walked off to her lab to bury herself in much-needed work. 

Amelie Dessapins could feel her heart in her throat the moment they turned their eyes on her. She maintained the cool disposition, and even managed a smile, but she knew that there was not a single word here she could fumble.

Stick to the script, like you’re used to. How long had she practiced such a philosophy? It’s gotten you places before. It will keep you safe now.

“Good afternoon,” she began, with a clear voice and bright eyes. “Thank you for-”

“The report, if you will.” The woman was no-nonsense. She was dark-eyed, tall-browed, with a long thin neck and lips fit for a cadaver. She was beautiful, but terrifying to Amelie, and she could end Amelie’s career with a snap of her fingers.

The man at the table was built like an ox, with sparse hair and a narrow nose with nostrils that flared widely with every breath. If he was the muscle, the woman at the table would be the brains, but she knew they were both dangerous. They were the exact type of people that Kingdom was looking for these days; on the bleeding edge of everything, and willing to sacrifice their minds and bodies to achieve the corporation’s wildest dreams. She walked the line carefully in their presence.

“The Berlin incident has been fully processed by our analytics team,” Amelie reported, shuffling her papers blindly, having rehearsed this speech a hundred times. “The Ståljegere have effectively ceased to exist. One survivor was reported, but her condition is unknown.”

“She is allowed,” the woman said, crisp, and her male companion nodded. “Please continue.”

“The Ghanaian artifacts were withdrawn from the museum as expected. However, our efforts at interdiction were…not successful.”

That was her first pause. She hoped it wasn’t a fatal one. Amelie’s confidence was unflagging, but she knew that news would be greeted with derision by her superiors. Both the man and the woman remained silent for a bit, scouring her for any sign of a lie.

“What happened?” The man was the first to speak up. 

“Our contact was in position. The plan was executed perfectly,” Amelie reported. “But the Stasi got to him first.”

“Speak plainly, Miss Dessapins,” the woman requested, cold and stoic. “Do you believe they are on to our plan?”

“I do not,” Amelie said, honestly. “They did not know about the artifacts. They knew about his connections to West German intelligence.”

That had been the only fail mode she had expected. Naturally, it had proven to be a key flaw. You knew this could happen, she reminded herself. It’s not the end of the world. They did not know about the artifacts. He almost certainly did not let slip, either.

“Very well,” the woman said, after further consideration. “Continue, Miss Dessapins.”

“There’s the issue of Sabine Callas remaining.”

Both the man and the woman perked up visibly. The man’s eyes widened, while the woman stirred and sharpened her stance. They had been waiting for that particular section of her report.

“Callas has resisted attempts to gain her ear, as expected,” Amelie reported. “The unexpected part is that someone else has gained her ear…”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know yet.”

She hesitated to admit that, if only because it made her intelligence gathering efforts appear particularly weak. But that news alone was of interest to the two of them; they exchanged looks, jotted something down in their notes, and then nodded approvingly at her.

“Your report is accepted, Miss Dessapins,” the woman spoke. “Under the condition that you pivot your efforts.”

“We must assume Sabine Callas is impossible to turn at this point,” said the man. “What we can assume, though, is that we can garner intel on the person who turned her.”

“And use that to our advantage,” the woman confirmed.

Amelie wasn’t so sure. She was surprised that Sabine had courted her at all, given their history and how things had ended with Nanette McFadden. But this impromptu hearing could have cost her her job, and even more; she was lucky that she was walking out with fresh orders, and an opportunity to prove herself yet again.

“I will continue my efforts,” she promised. 

“Kingdom Corporation thanks you for them,” said the man.

“Do not disappoint us,” said the woman.

And with that final omen, they bid her to depart. Only then could she take a deep breath, and prepare her next move.

Chapter Text

The flight was increasingly turbulent, and Neon’s snoring was becoming insufferable.

Viper was grateful that she had chosen the back half of the VLT/R, but she could still hear Neon gasping for breath up in the front compartment every few seconds. A peek around the bulkhead rewarded her with the sight of the girl, out cold with her head on Sage’s shoulder, slumped against the healer and practically in her lap. It was impressive she could even manage to fall asleep, given how much turbulence they’d hit.

“Hey Vipey. Everything alright over there? Long flight.”

Skye leaned over from her seat, uncomfortably close to Viper. She smelled like sandalwood and the salty ocean breeze, a likely result of the 4 AM beach runs she was so fond of taking. 

“You’re making it longer by asking.”

“Oh, don’t be such a grouch! We’ll be wheels down in no time, I’m sure of it.”

“I hope so.”

What’s taking us so long, anyway? The VLT/R was top of the line equipment, real cutting-edge, mettle-made stuff, and a trip to somewhere as distant as India or the Urals would only take four or five hours, tops. El Salvador should have been a far shorter trip, and yet they had been in the air for more than an hour and a half now. 

“Got any plans for the holidays, then? Looking forward to getting away?”

“That’s months down the road, Skye.”

“Hey, it’s almost October already. Be here before you know it!”

“Yeah. Well, the answer is no.”

“You should. Might be good for you to unwind…get away from it all…see family?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Vacation had taken her agent of choice away from her for this mission, so she wasn’t in the mood to hear about it. Killjoy was her first pick, even if she was still a bit nervous about field work, but circumstances had gotten the better of her. Raze had insisted that her “friend” be allowed to accompany her for a weeklong trip to her hometown, Salvador, and Killjoy could hardly resist such an invitation. So the two had gallivanted off to sunny beaches and other assorted tropical destinations together, and who did they leave Viper with instead?

Neon. Snoring. And Skye. Chattering.

Skye, at least, was good in a pinch, and had proven herself capable in a firefight. Viper didn’t mind her as long as she didn’t prod too much.

Neon, on the other hand…

“Christ, what’s the holdup here?” Every snore from Neon was like a thunderclap in her ears, and the VLT/R was dropping and then reclaiming altitude every few minutes. 

“Could be bad weather,” Skye pointed out. “It was a rocky road coming down here.”

“I don’t know. I’m going to find out.”

“Woah, easy there, tiger-”

Viper was already out of her safety gear and was stumbling her way up the cargo bay, compartment to compartment, on unsteady feet. The turbulence had subsided somewhat but now they were banking hard to the right, as though circling something. She managed to drag herself up to the cockpit, feeling Sage’s eyes on her back the entire time, and leaned over into the pilot’s ear.

“What’s going on?”

“NOTAM.”

“The hell?”

“We’re being waved off every time we come in to land. It’s a no-go.”

“Did they give you a reason?”

“No citation. Sorry, ma’am.”

What the hell could that mean? The pilot was as clueless as she was, and she was forced to walk back empty-handed, where an equally confused Skye looked her over.

“Anything?”

Viper shook her head. “We’ll be airborne for a bit longer, apparently.”

“Ripper. Well, best settle back in?”

Not like we have a choice . She reluctantly strapped herself back in as the VLT/R took another sharp turn. She turned woeful eyes up to the bright neon red NO SMOKING sign above the compartment bay doors and swallowed her unease. 

It was thirty more minutes in the air before the overhead lights blinked yellow, a relieving sign that they were about to land. It took every ounce of willpower to not immediately bolt for the exit the moment the craft touched down. Fresh air and the smells of diesel fuel and burning rubber swarmed the compartment and before long she was standing under a night sky thick with haze and humidity, already feeling as if she needed a shower. Skye, stepping off the VLT/R right behind her, offered her typical unabashed optimism.

“Wow, how about that moon!?” she exclaimed, taking the opportunity to stretch. “Hey, if you wanted a tropical vacation-”

“I didn’t.”

“-this is as good as you’ll get for now, tall dark and handsome.”

“Nothing fazes you, Skye.”

“No ma’am. That’s why you hired me.”

I didn’t hire you, actually , Viper thought. That decision was made by the woman now walking down the VLT/R ramp with a yawning Neon at her side. She exchanged one glance with Sage before taking the lead across the tarmac, making double-time for a series of corrugated steel hangars alive with nocturnal activity. Camouflaged figures hastily shuffled through the darkness and bright interior lights spilled out onto the black tarmac, drawing them in like moths to the flame. It didn’t take her long to find the man she was looking for, as he was looking for her in turn.

“So, this is the snake in the grass,” he said, emerging from behind a pile of munitions boxes with dull eyes and slicked-back hair. 

“And you must be the devil in the details,” she snapped back, impatient.

“Fits the job description,” he said. “Agent Owens, CIA.”

“I already know who you are.”

“So you read your briefings?”

“Not much else to do on the flight in, especially when it takes its time.”

“That’s on us, I’m afraid.”

He looked bored, as though this was just another day on the job for him. He waved over a trio of camouflaged types, each one kitted up in a balaclava and goggles, a real death squad outfit if she had ever seen one. She was starting to wonder just how long Skye’s optimism about this mission would last as Owens exchanged terse words with them in Spanish then dismissed them with a wave of his arm and a disdainful frown.

“Toy soldiers,” he grumbled. “All this cash, and this is the best we can wrangle up?”

“I don’t know what you expected,” she said.

“A hell of a lot more. You know, I was working with Cambodian toughs just a few years ago. Those guys? They could hoof it through green hell for three weeks straight and be ready to whip your ass at the end and ask for seconds. No joke.”

“Well, we’re not in Cambodia, are we?”

Owens simply scoffed dismissively. He turned to a collection of paramilitaries behind him offloading an enormous crate from a cargo plane and hissed orders at them in broken Spanish. The paramilitaries fired back and a tense exchange began, which drew Viper’s attention to the crate itself.

It was enormous, large enough to fit a small sedan and rounded off at the edges and bottoms, clearly not designed to be stacked or stored with other materials. There were narrow rectangular slits cut into the top of the steel siding, and on further inspection she noticed hatches on each side with simple handles engraved into them. The paramilitaries were moving it very gently, suggesting that the cargo inside was special or extremely fragile. In spite of this the crate was completely unlabeled, bereft of even warning markers. The CIA agent was too embroiled in shouting orders at the militiamen to notice that Viper was studying the cargo with intent, giving her ample time to assess what might be inside.

“Skye.” She had heard the Australian’s heavy footfalls approaching from behind. “Do you remember the directions to the hostel room?”

“Right down the road, ain’t it?”

“Yeah. Get Sage and Neon there if you could. I’ll be over shortly.”

“Rightio…need any help here?”

“No.”

She thought this conversation would be easier without any of her colleagues acting as potential spoilers; Sage, in particular, might derail it in her own special way. They were all thankfully exhausted and happy to follow Skye out of the hangar and down the street, where a small lodging complex adjacent to the airfield would give them a cool shower and soft beds to rest on after the rough flight in. Viper stayed behind with a flimsy excuse and watched as Owens, attended to by a few of his CIA colleagues, carefully managed the paramilitaries and moved the mysterious crate to a section of the hangar where it was opened and another, smaller crate was extracted from within. She had seen enough, and marched over to engage Owens as he pored over some paperwork with his team.

“Give it to me straight,” she snapped, grabbing the attention of all three men at once. “What are we dealing with here?”

The other agents watched her movements carefully as Owens considered his answer. “Classified information,” he declared. “Fit for only a clearance rating of-”

“Valorant operates on the same level of clearance,” she reminded them. “So, start talking.”

“There’s not much to say,” one of the other agents chimed in. “It’s a freak. What else do you need to know?”

“Everything that wasn’t in the briefing.”

“She ought to know, Owens,” said the other agent. “If we’re gonna do this right-”

“We’ll do this right,” Owens agreed, but was still hesitant. “She’d figure it eventually, anyhow.”

“So there’s a radiant here,” Viper guessed. “Or multiple?”

“Only one,” said Owens. “But he’s a special case.”

“Fill me in, then.”

“He has some sort of weird psychic bullshit energy drain. Can draw energy out of a person and glean basic information from them. Don’t know how it works, don’t ask me-”

“He’s a living polygraph,” said Owens, grinning. “A lie detector test on two legs.”

“And he doesn’t need to even be plugged in.”

“The exact reason we designated him for this operation. And the reason your landing was so delayed.”

“So it was you, then.”

“Mea culpa,” Owens joked, raising his hands mockingly. “We had to get him on ground and ensure the enclosure was secure before we could continue.”

“Wait…enclosure?”

Owens motioned to the smaller crate, which was now being chained down to a truckbed. Viper felt her stomach sink. 

“He’s not- in there, is he?”

“We keep freaks in cages where they belong,” Owens said. “Is that an issue for you?”

“It’s excessive.”

“It’s insurance. He needs to be controlled and in a powered environment, so he can’t use his powers on us while he waits,” Owens said.

“He’s a criminal. He’s got a rap sheet a mile long. The cage is for our safety as much as his.”

“Keeps him humble, too,” another agent added, and all three laughed. 

They may as well have been at the workplace water cooler, sharing jokes over their morning break. Viper, never one to sympathize with radiants, couldn’t help but feeling sick. She glanced over to the crate on the truckbed, and could have sworn she saw dark eyes peering back at her from the rectangular slits in the side. She realized that the CIA spooks weren’t joking. 

“Yeah, he’s in there,” Owens said, as if confirming her suspicions. “You wouldn’t know it unless we told you. He kept to himself after we left Langley.”

“Pulled him out of Rikers Island six months ago, and he was damn near feral every time we tried to get him to sign a contract,” another agent added, seemingly finding that amusing. “Well, what do you know, Langley knows how to handle that…”

“Yeah, he signed the contract, alright,” Owens confirmed, with a snide grin. 

She had nothing to say. Her eyes were fixed on the crate - no, the cage. It was a cage , containing a human being, one that they were treating like a wild animal. The hairs on the back of her neck stood erect and her appetite was gone.

“We move at 2000 hours tomorrow,” Owens informed her curtly. “I presume if you’ve read your briefing, then you know what we’re dealing with here in El Salvador-”

“I know where we’re moving,” she snapped, feeling violently disgusted by his mere presence. “I’ll have my team ready.”

“Then we’ll be seeing you.”

“Sure.”

She excused herself before she could spend another second with these men, who were already laughing and joking with each other as if they were par for the course at the ninth hole and had nothing to worry about. This was all part of some great game to them, another project to put on their internal performance reports and another crazy story to tell to their friends back at Langley. Viper not-so-secretly despised these types, who took their jobs about as seriously as a car salesman would and were half as efficient at it to boot. 

She hiked across the airfield, taking the long way around to her lodging to avoid an incidental run in with the three stooges whose voices still rang in her head. She needed a smoke, and some peace and quiet, and she guessed correctly that she would only have one of those given her present company. 

Their lodgings, which had doubled as an officers’ barracks in more carefree times, were divided into three sections: the entrance opened up into an atrium-style living room and dining room combination, with two beds tucked away on either side and a balcony overlooking the broad expanse of tropical wetland that bounded the airfield. It would have made for a simple but pleasant vacation getaway under different circumstances, and even now Viper found the amenities quite to her liking: cool water with which to splash her face, refrigeration for their meals, and an enormous overhead fan to cool the living room down. It was a shame she had to share such amenities with the likes of Sage and Neon.

“Viper,” Sage said curtly. “What kept you?”

Sage was sitting at the lone working desk in the room, poring over her briefing. Her eyes had rarely left Viper’s back since they had left base, and now was no exception.

“Catching up with our partners,” Viper said, equally curt. “Making sure we’re all on the same page.”

“How polite of you.”

“I’m only ensuring our mission is a successful one.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” Sage said. “What I do doubt is the reliability of said partners .”

“Take it up with them, not with me,” Viper insisted.

“As I recall, you were a key part of planning and executing this mission,” Sage said. Her demeanor could lower the temperature in the room by ten degrees. “So, I’m taking it up with you, and sharing my concerns with the appropriate party.”

“If you’re getting cold feet, I can always arrange a flight home for you.”

Sage only smiled. “No need to do that for me,” she said. “I’ll persevere.”

“I’m glad you will.”

“I just hope you have everything under control here, Viper. It would be a shame if this were to go poorly.”

“Yes. It would be. So let’s do our part to not allow that to happen.”

Neon remained silent this whole time. She clammed up, as if paralyzed, every time Viper walked into the room. It was not purely out of fear and not purely out of spite, but something in-between suppressed her; even still, her wary eyes followed Viper’s every move from one side of the room to the other, as if expecting something. Viper had made little effort to remediate what were clearly poor relations between the two of them, but she did not see how she was expected to start doing so when Neon was nigh unapproachable. 

Brimstone would have told her to “be the approachable one”, or something trite like that, but that didn’t mesh well with Viper’s established personality of the stony-faced organizer who got things done. And so their standoff continued, and as Viper lit up a cigarette and marched out onto the balcony Neon’s eyes followed her the entire way. The younger agent would only allow herself to relax and take a deep breath when the screen door had slammed shut and Viper had closed the sliding panel behind her. 

Her tranquility was interrupted by Skye moments later, an unwelcome intrusion in her otherwise pleasant bubble of solitude in the darkness. She had just taken the first drag off of the cigarette and was genuinely annoyed when she smelled the sandalwood wafting over her nostrils. 

“You know, those things are death for you,” Skye said.

“Yeah. I know.”

“And yet you smoke at least twice a day.”

“What, are you watching me?”

“Hard not to notice when you make such dramatic escapes for your smoke breaks,” Skye chuckled.

“So you are watching me.”

“Just doing my due diligence for the sake of your health, mate!”

“My health is fine, thanks,” Viper said, as she sucked in a deep breath and coughed spasmatically. “These help keep me sane, for what it’s worth.”

“They’ll also snip years off your life, girlie.”

“I didn’t want those years anyway.”

She had hoped her grinding cynicism would ward Skye off, but the Australian agent was intent on sharing her space, and so Viper reluctantly shifted over slightly on the balcony and gave Skye more room to stand comfortably. It was a small outcropping on an unimpressive facade, barely able to fit two people abreast; Skye had barely squeezed in, and was silently thankful for the gesture.

Viper decided that if she was going to tolerate Skye in her space, she might as well make good use of her in the meantime. She drew a long, heavy drag from her cigarette then turned to Skye, who had indeed been watching her smoke.

“The Norwegian. Deadlock. You and her.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Neither. I’m just starting a conversation.”

“Interesting way to start a conversation, there. You have an odd way of-”

“I know that she doesn’t exactly have a positive image of radiants,” Viper said, as if Skye needed any reminder of that. “And yet, she seems to tolerate you. More than that, even. How much have you tended to her?”

Skye shrugged. “Well, I did basically nurse her back to health,” she said, counting the days on her fingers and quickly giving up. “At least three weeks? No, more than that.”

“And that entire time, she let you do whatever you wanted. How could she trust you?”

“Well, I always told her exactly what I was going to do,” Skye said. “Radiance, or no. I explained everything to her. Sometimes she was…reluctant. But she always trusted me.”

“I see.”

“And after a while she stopped being so tense. Started asking me questions about my abilities. Wondered what I had done with them previously. Asked me about…well, me.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

Skye hesitated to answer. Viper sensed that perhaps the question was not an appropriate one, or that Skye wasn’t ready for it. 

“Good, honestly,” she said. “It was nice to be treated like a person, rather than some bogey who was out to get her. I started to like spending time with her just to talk. It was…nice.”

“I see.”

“And eventually that’s all we did. Her wounds had healed, in spite of the whole, you know, lost limb thing. And I started to think she was looking for excuses just to talk to me.”

Skye paused, and suddenly looked pensive. A wisp of smoke from Viper’s cigarette lofted over her shoulder and caressed her auburn hair before disappearing into the night.

“I’m glad you saved her, Viper.”

“That makes two of us, then.”

Skye did not speak again until she retreated back indoors, satisfied with her brief jaunt outside. Viper, wrangling with the unpleasant humidity and heat that persisted in spite of the hour, remained outside for a bit longer before stubbing out her cigarette and following Skye back in. The lights were out and the house was quiet now; Sage and Neon had withdrawn to their side, and Skye and Viper had their own. Viper’s bed called to her, but curiosity was more insistent, and she quietly stepped back outside when she was certain nobody else was awake - or at least, paying attention.

She followed the path down to the hangar, the same one she had been received in. The lights were still on, and a handful of men remained - all guarding the entrances. She considered withdrawing back to the safety of her room and forgetting about this endeavor, but Viper was not so easily dissuaded. She marched onward, approaching to within spitting distance of one of the maintenance doors before the two guards flanking it stopped her with brusque, gravelly voices.

“No hay entrada,” said the one.

“Acceso restringido,” said the other.

“Tienes que moverte.”

Viper was not above treating these two roughly if she needed to, but her assertive voice more than made up for her poor grasp on Spanish. The two Salvadoran guards exchanged uncomfortable looks before shifting aside and allowing her access, watching her cautiously as she stepped inside the hangar. 

Everything was as they had left it - including the precious cargo within. She approached it carefully, as though it were a bomb that could go off at the slightest touch, ridiculous as that might sound. Within it she knew was a man, just flesh and blood and instinct - but was that really all there was to it? He was different from her, a piece of a strange new world that was diametrically opposed to the familiar world she so longed for. She placed a tentative palm on the steel exterior of the cage, and was surprised to find that it was still so cold to the touch.

“¿Está ahí?” 

Her Spanish had never been that good. Her thoughts immediately went to Reyna, and her stomach leapt into her throat. If you were here now, what would you say? What would you do?

“Jodete.” The reply was terse, strained. She didn’t know what it meant, but she understood.

“Yo no voy a hacerte daño.”

“Jodete.”

“¿Hablas inglés?”

“Jodete.”

The response was the same no matter what she tried. The man inside refused to speak further, and she could only hear deep, uneasy breathing from within. She thought about trying to find a way to open up the crate, or at least give him a bit more light and air, then thought better of it. She realized that to him, she was the enemy - the oppressor, the robber, the murderer. And in the moment, she understood why.

She withdrew with little to show for her effort, sneaking out a back door to avoid engaging with the same guards who had reluctantly allowed her inside. On a whim, though she knew it was a doomed effort, she held her wristwatch up mere inches from her eyes and scanned through saved frequencies until she reached the one she wanted. She tapped out the letters hesitantly, struggling with the low light environment:

IN EL SALVADOR

WHERE ARE YOU?

She didn’t expect an immediate response, but it came anyway:

NOT WITH YOU, SADLY

She could at least crack a smile at that. Even thousands of miles apart, Reyna had an odd way of buoying her spirits and giving her badly-needed optimism when she was struggling to find it elsewhere.

Chapter Text

Viper wasn’t so sure that flying over hostile countryside in a thin-skinned helicopter was better than riding in the convoy of trucks below. Neither option was particularly appealing to her, but at least the trucks would have given her less motion sickness.

“You alright there, Valorant?” Agent Owens could barely be heard above the whine of the motor and the pounding of the rotors above them. “You’re looking a little queasy.”

“Your ride sucks, CIA,” she shot back. 

“Not fond of the Blackhawk? You’ll get used to her!” Owens said cheerily, barely masking his delight in her plight. “Doggie bags are behind you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She was handling it much better than Sage was. The healer had thrown up already, and her face was the color of her healing orbs as they banked low over the rainforest canopy and swept off to the west ahead of a curve in the road. 

“Beats the ride down there,” Owens said, nodding down at the convoy as they passed. “Hell, you’re getting the luxury treatment.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Would you rather drive over a landmine, or suffer an upset tummy for a little while?”

“I would rather have other options than those,” she snapped.

“No pleasing you, huh?” 

Sage, turning away, doubled over and retched violently out the bay doors. Neon and Skye were holding steady, but neither of them were particularly comfortable in their seats - Neon was about to join Sage, judging by the fear in her eyes. Everybody desperately wished they could have kept the VLT/R for a few days.

They landed shortly afterwards, to everyone’s relief, amid what had once been a thriving farming village that was now as desolate as any ancient ruin. The populace apparently had been driven out, and military vehicles and equipment had been moved in, with a makeshift landing pad in the tall grass lined by munitions crates and ration boxes tentatively stored beneath canvas shades. The entire place had the look of a military base built by the world’s least disciplined militia, and Viper was quickly realizing that what Owens had told her about their auxiliaries was not exactly truthful.

“This place looks like shit, Owens,” she said as the helicopter began powering down and the other Valorant agents rushed to find terra firma and relieve their queasy stomachs.

“You were expecting the red carpet treatment?”

“No, but I was expecting a military base.”

Owens extended his arms. “Look around you. Bullets and grenades not enough for you?”

“Disorganized. Poorly maintained. Reeks of open latrines. It was clearly a village before, too,” she said, wrinkling her nose as the rank smell hit her. “What are we doing here?”

“Preparing to catch us a freak,” he snapped, annoyed by her questions. “Are you with us, or not?”

“I have to be with you.”

“Then harden the fuck up and keep your team frosty. When it’s dark, we’re advancing with or without you. Make your choice before then.”

Owens left to rendezvous with his colleagues coming in by the land route, allowing Viper a precious few seconds to collect her people as they recovered from the flight.

“Remind me to never fly on that thing again,” Skye joked, her knees wobbly.

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Hey, not your piloting skills,” Skye said with a wink. She was at least good humored about the whole affair; if looks could kill, Sage and Neon would be committing a double homicide right now. Sage, in particular, was all too happy to express her unhappiness.

“What are we doing here, Viper?”

“I thought you said you read your briefing?”

“You know what I mean,” Sage snapped, leaning in too close for comfort. “What are we doing here with these people? This is looking grim , and I’m not about to turn a blind eye to CIA.”

“There’s a village on the other side of that hill. And in that village is a radiant of interest,” Viper reminded her, exasperated. “And we’re to locate and secure said radiant. I thought this was your whole deal? Finding radiants and tracking them down to bring them in.”

“I am not a radiant hunter,” Sage snapped, the veins in her temples visibly bulging. “Don’t mistake me for these thugs. I save life, not take it. These men are here to kill, and I will not join them.”

“Who said anything about taking lives?”

“Oh, so all of these weapons and explosives are just for show?” Sage glanced around at the boxes of munitions that surrounded them. “I think I’ll be better off chancing the helicopter ride back to the room so I can void my stomach in peace.”

“Then do that. We’ll do our job with or without you.”

She realized that both Neon and Skye were listening in, and killed the conversation before it could reach a fever pitch. Sage seemed intent on sticking to her word, but she wasn’t about to leave Neon behind, and Viper couldn’t leave half of her team in the field while the other half retreated on a whim.  

If she wants to be a liability, fine. Just as long as she doesn’t interfere with the mission. The only reason Brimstone had insisted she come along was the presence of radiants was her arena - Sage had been the one to suggest the radiant recruitment plan, after all, and had spearheaded that program for the last eight months. If anything, her refusal to participate in this operation would doom its target to a bloody, unpleasant end, and maybe Sage realized that and that was her motivation to stay was the chance that she could prevent an unnecessary death. 

Or, more likely, she can’t stand the thought of Neon alone out here with us. The helicopter motor sprang to life again, the rotors began to howl, and before long it was out of the picture as the as it soared above the village and disappeared behind the forest canopy. Her best chance at sticking to her word had just departed with it.

“What was that all about?”

“Never you mind.”

“Mind? Mate, I couldn’t help but mind.” 

“Sage and I disagree on best practices for this particular mission.”

Skye just laughed and shook her head.

Mission is going well so far. Way to take the lead, Sabine. Can’t wait to write up this report.

Neon, for her part, had vanished into the village, joining a conglomeration of sweaty, bulky bodies as the truck convoy arrived and disgorged its rowdy, raucous passengers into the village. The more she studied these men, the more she realized that the camouflaged, taciturn guards at the hangar were an anomaly; these weren’t soldiers in the slightest, more akin to a mob with assault rifles and grenades than anything resembling an organized battalion. Nearly half of them were dressed in civilian garb of various quality, and those who had bothered to find camo were wearing it improperly with scuffed pants, cut sleeves, and ill-fitting caps and bandanas. Their weapons were a wide assortment of American-made rifles and they made little effort to fall into ranks as they arrived, instead swarming the makeshift mess hall as they unpacked crates of rations and cases of beer and began to dig in. Viper watched them with a mix of revulsion and pity.

Is this really the best we can do? These are our auxiliaries? All that government funding…and for this? Who makes the decisions here?

“Owens.”

She spotted him emerging from a nearby house, manila folders in one hand and service rifle in the other, neatly tucked into his armpit as he walked. He chuckled and shook his head at her as she approached.

“You’re looking a little pale, Valorant,” he said dryly. “Can’t handle the heat? Or was the ride in that bad?”

“I am feeling fine, just taking it easy until we move.”

“Yeah, and the sky is orange.”

“Where’s your precious cargo?”

Owens waved his thumb over his shoulder. “Staging forward,” he said curtly. “Why do you want to know?”

“Seems dangerous to have your most important asset on the bleeding edge of your op.”

Owens smirked. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head over that,” he said, in a tone that made Viper’s jaw clench instinctively. “We know what we’re doing. If there’s anyone you can trust, it’s the CIA.”

“Trust isn’t that easy to come by.”

“It would seem so. I’m told you were snooping last night.”

“Snooping is a strong word. I was taking a walk before bed.”

“Right into our hangar, to speak to said asset?”

“We play for the same team. I don’t see an issue with a little bit of overtime work.”

“It all comes down to trust, when you’re in the bush like this,” said Owens. “The most important question is whether or not you can trust the fella standing right beside you. Now, are you with us or not?”

“We will be with you.”

“Good, ‘cause if I think your little team will be a liability, you’ll be sitting on the sidelines until we’re done. Understood?”

“Loud and clear.”

She wrinkled her nose as she watched Owens walk off towards the throng of misfits gathering around their midday mess, the reek of his cheap cologne enveloping her like a swarm of mosquitoes. Cautious, knowing there were eyes on her, she picked a nearby house and sat down to pretend to review her mission briefing so she could catch her breath and think. 

It was clear someone had lived here not recently; bedding was made, laundry had been hung out to dry, pots and pans sat on the stove as though assembled for a deferred meal, and the house was clean and well-organized outside of the scuff marks on the floor, the broken door hinges, and the bloodstains on the floor in the kitchen. Whoever its most recent occupants had been, the house was now forcibly bereft of them. Viper was not stupid; she could put the pieces together with even minimal evidence, and there was plenty here to tell her how this military base had come to be.

“There you are.”

Skye appeared in the doorway without warning; tagging behind her was a grim-faced Neon, who seemed worse for wear after little less than an hour in the field.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was,” Viper apologized halfheartedly. “I got sidetracked.”

“So did we all. Were you expecting this?”

“I was expecting more, frankly.”

“Ah, well…we’ll make the best of it like we always do. Won’t we?”

Neon didn’t seem so convinced, tagging along behind Skye like a lost puppy. She hardly appeared frightened, though; she looked like she could snap at any moment and lash out, like a cornered pitbull. While Skye entered and took a seat at the abandoned kitchen table, Neon paced about the house as the shadows lengthened and the world grew stiller, and somehow more humid with the setting of the sun. Even the din outside quieted down, as the militiamen concluded their carousing and set their minds to the more serious task ahead. Out the window, Viper could see them milling about on the edge of the hamlet - fully armed, fully equipped, gathering into small groups, loading up trucks and magazines and smoking cigarettes while staring off into some deep middle space. Some of them were likely concluding that they would not survive the night; others were trying to avoid that same conclusion.

“Viper.”

Neon’s husky voice snapped her out of the reverie. Neon stood before her at the far end of the dinner table, weapon in hand; she hadn’t set it aside all evening, even when Viper and Skye had stacked their rifles against the far wall along with their spare equipment and smoke grenades. She kept it level with the floor, her finger off the trigger, but the mere sight of it at her side made her appear inherently more unpredictable, more volatile, and more dangerous.

“Neon.”

Viper studied her as one would study a fragile artifact, taking great care not to make any missteps or speak with ill intent. Their relationship was already on thin ice, and the frosty impasses they often shared in the common room each morning hardly helped. Viper had no idea how to get through to Neon, as there was little in the way of lived experience that they shared to her knowledge. She had to choose her words carefully.

“Do you have something to ask me?”

The last rays of a heavy afternoon sun gleamed dully off the chrome-plated straps of the girl’s voltage limiter. Etched into the right-hand corner of the vest she wore was a familiar logo: Kingdom R&D , in an all-too-familiar stylization. Neon barely moved, her bottom lip curling and her fingers tapping anxiously on the grip of her weapon. Viper watched them closely.

“What did Sage mean earlier?”

“Mean by what?”

“She said she saves life, not take it. What did she mean by that?”

“It was in the context of our conversation. Nothing serious.”

“It sure sounded serious.”

“It wasn’t. I can promise you that, Neon.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Neon made no sudden movements, nor did she do anything to threaten Viper, but Viper felt the latent threat in her voice. Viper swore she could see a tiny strand of electricity arc between two of her conductor plates, lasting barely a millisecond. It certainly wasn’t static from dry air. Skye tried to hide her obvious discomfort by loudly flipping through the pages in her briefing and pretending she was reading through each one thoroughly.

“Everything is proceeding as planned, Neon,” Viper informed her sternly. “We will execute this mission as we always do.”

“It doesn’t sound like it,” Neon disagreed, not buying the bluff. “What were you and Sage talking about?”

“I told you-”

“What am I going to be asked to do?”

“Neon, you don’t-”

“What are we really here for, Viper?”

Before things could escalate any further, another figure appeared at the door. Sage stepped in, arms crossed over the folds of her robe, looking more mildly annoyed than anything else. All the same, her eyes fell first on Neon, and only then on Viper. She had been listening to their conversation before making an entrance.

“It’s time,” she announced, “or so says your man in black.”

“He’s not my man,” Viper shot back. “I have no love lost for Langley.”

“Well they’re moving. This is your mission,” she reminded Viper, as if that were necessary. “Take the lead.”

“Then fall in line.”

Through gritted teeth, Viper hissed out her orders and rallied her squad around her, knowing full well that nobody here was truly fit for duty given the circumstances. Everyone was on a hair trigger and the slightest misstep could cause a catastrophe. She needed to take charge and maintain order and ensure that their mission was executed to the letter, and preferably in a way that wouldn’t end with Sage drafting a scathing critique of her leadership abilities when she wrote her report to Brimstone. She was keenly aware that as they moved out, Sage fell behind with Neon slightly and spoke in hushed tones with her. 

Owens and his fellow CIA agents were dividing their paramilitaries into groups of six and assigning them to vehicles, clearly in charge of the situation as best as they possibly could be given the nature of their “auxiliaries”. Owens spotted Viper and waved her over to debrief her and her team.

“Place is called Estanzuelas. Kind of a mouthful, I know, I know.”

“It really isn’t.”

“There’s gonna be a lot of paletos over there. Don’t mind them, they tend to run rather than fight.”

“What sort of armed resistance are we expecting?”

“Ideally? None. Maybe some angry housewives with rolling pins, and nothing we can’t handle.” Owens’ fellow agents seemed to find that idea amusing. Viper, unsurprisingly, was unamused and pressed forward with a straight face.

“What about this supposed radiant you’re looking for?”

Owens grinned. “You leave that freak to us,” he reassured her, which didn’t reassure her at all in fact. “If you Valorant ladies want to help, well…be my guest. But we have it under control. Remember, you can trust us CIA boys as if your lives depend on it.”

“We’re seizing and securing the radiant. Right, Owens?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes-”

“We’re seizing and securing the radiant,” she repeated, more sternly this time, to make it clear she meant business. “Alive.”

“Yes. Those are our orders. We follow them to the letter. But accidents can still happen, you know this as well as I do.”

“Then you’d better do your damn best to avoid said accident.”

She sensed that chafed Owens, but he conveniently found his presence required as the paramilitaries prepared to move out into the forest and up the hill to the target location. Viper found a truck that was empty, except for some spare medical equipment, and tucked her fellow agents into the back canopy seconds before they took off. 

She allowed herself another cigarette as they rode on into the rainforest, years of deferred maintenance on the country’s rural infrastructure making the trip even more difficult than usual. It was better than the helicopter ride, but there were far more starts and stops as the convoy slogged its way up a steep grade deeper into the forest. Her weapon felt strangely heavy in her hands, perhaps on account of the fact that it was a prototype - something that Killjoy had cooked up in her workshop earlier in the summer and had only just rolled out. Sage was also equipped with one of the “Phantoms”, as they were referred to in the prototype documents. Built with radianite-alloyed components and manufactured to incredibly tight specifications, they were top-of-the-line weapons according to Killjoy. 

“Hell of a ride,” Skye said, to break the awkward silence. “Two in one day?”

Nobody responded to her. She was the only one who could find words right now. Everyone else was taciturn, knowing what was coming, aware of what was at stake and similarly aware of the fact that something was being deliberately hidden from them. Whether the CIA agents were just obfuscating the truth, or outright lying to her, Viper had yet to determine. She hadn’t had enough time to think about it either. The truck slowed to a crawl and then stopped, and when the engine throttled and then kicked off she knew it was time. She was the first one out. Take the lead.  

The paramilitaries assembled themselves in a long, thin line as they disembarked from the trucks, waiting for the order to move. Viper took her team up to the front of the line, where she found the “cage” and its unhappy occupant being prepped for deployment. The paramilitaries, already on edge, were extremely wary of the radiant and retreated the moment that the cage’s pneumatic locks hissed open. The CIA agents had no such fear and walked right up to the man inside, whose pitiful state so alarmed Viper that she had to look away out of pure revulsion.

The young man inside could not have been any older than his early 20s by the looks of him; his youth had been rounded off by the indignity and suffering he had endured, but traces of it remained in his features. His sad eyes sought any minute crumb of sympathy from the crowd that they fell on, and they found nothing; Viper could not bear to look at him, and turned away the moment she could. 

He was covered in equipment - practically every inch of skin beneath his neck was either armored, bandaged, or covered in electrodes. Multiple battery packs had been installed in rows on a cuirass that circumvented his chest and ran down his back, cinched together by strips of cheap polyester, and a steel skullcap with protruding sensors was uncomfortably positioned on his head. While none of it looked permanent, it was clearly uncomfortable and even painful for him to bear the weight and shape of the equipment. One of the CIA agents began speaking with him in Spanish, and that was all Viper could bear.

“Owens,” she whispered fiercely, pulling him aside. “You did not tell me about this.”

“Well, I kinda did,” he said, feigning innocence. “Just omitted some details that weren’t relevant to our earlier conversation.”

“Some details!? That’s your excuse!? This is repulsive.”

“It’s necessity, is what it is.”

“He doesn’t even speak English. Did you offer him anything in Spanish to read before he signed his life away to you?”

Owens shrugged. “Why would we? He wouldn’t read it even if we had.” He looked back at the radiant and scowled. “He’s a freak. What’s the problem here? We’ve fed him, and clothed him, and given him a place to stay. He’s even been able to shower.”

“We have standards, Owens. The bare minimum is not enough.”

“Standards only hold back progress,” Owens argued. “I’m not going to force you to agree with the way we run things here. If you want to turn back now, you still have every right to do it. But don’t impose your rules on us because you’re a little offended.”

“I’m not offended. I’m horrified. And I’m not walking away from this.”

“Then I suggest you get back in line and let us handle our asset. Don’t go getting soft for a freak, now, or we’re gonna have problems. Agent Tate?”

The CIA agent who was speaking to the radiant looked back at them and offered a grin and a thumbs-up. Viper was repulsed.

“Agent Tate’s got this under control,” Owens said. “So, if you don’t think he can-”

“Nothing about this suggests control. Is this some freakish science experiment to you?”

“It could be,” Tate said. “We’ve got the leeway for it.”

“We’re a professional organization,” Owens said, though it was clear he agreed with Tate. “We just need to push the envelope sometimes to get results…”

The CIA agents continued speaking to the radiant in butchered Spanish, and his hesitant nods and sparse replies suggested he only barely understood what they were trying to tell him. Sometimes they mixed random English words in, and sometimes they didn’t even bother explaining what they were doing as they tested his equipment and had him sign additional paperwork. It was all so macabre, Viper didn’t even realize that the agents had never told her his name. He was just the freak to them.

“Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do.” Owens and the agents began barking orders, and the paramilitaries shifted accordingly. “We’re moving in hot and fast and we’re gonna make sure everyone knows what we’re here for. No weapons hot, unless you’re attacked first.

“Or you think you’ll be attacked,” Tate added, with a wink.

“We’ll be doing some sweeps. We’ve got space to conduct some…discussions, if you will.”

“With the help of our freak friend.”

“He’ll play a key role in all of this.”

“Just don’t get in our way.”

“Any questions?”

She motioned over her shoulder to the healer, who had been standing behind her with her knuckles whitening as she gripped her Phantom tightly. She had listened to the entire conversation and had nothing but venom in her eyes for Owens and Tate, who either did not notice or did not care that the healer was giving them the death stare.

“No questions,” Viper said, though she had reservations aplenty. “Lead the way. We will follow.”

Owens handed her a shortwave radio with a cinch to strap it to her suit.

“Put that wherever you think is…most useful.” 

He scanned her suit up and down and narrowed his eyes, then muttered something under his breath. She sensed that he disapproved. Whatever . The suit she wore for combat situations was not exactly fashionable, and she wasn’t pleased with how skintight it was, but it was woven of the finest ballistic fabric available and was designed for comfort, utility, and efficiency all together. It also gave her access to some choice tools that she normally wouldn’t be able to deploy in the field, which were currently locked within an ejection mechanism on her forearm ready for deployment. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use those particular tools on this particular mission, given how tense things already were.

Their radiant was ready to move, and the order was given. Viper summoned her team and gave them the debrief, then left room for questions. Everybody had some; nobody was willing to voice them.

Great. Just follow me, then. With luck this would be quick, they’d check off necessary boxes, keep the radiant alive and get them into their hands, and it would be a short and sweet report back to Brimstone.

She knew that was unlikely, though, especially given that the radiant in the village was going to be a point of contention with the CIA spooks. She had yet to figure out how she was going to approach that particular problem. She figured she would come up with a plan while under fire in the mud, which was the perfect place to wing something and hope for the best.

Sage and the others followed her in a single file line, keeping an appropriate distance from the militiamen who were on the other side of the road. Slowly but surely, the canopy around them thinned out and a clearing appeared in the distance; the path wound on, but they turned off into the woods, leaving the road behind. Nothing said ambush bait like following an established route straight into hostile territory, and Viper was not about to endure resurrection and recovery again; she kept them far off the beaten path and advanced slowly, as the underbrush was difficult to sort through and any manner of dangerous wildlife could be present here.

Watch your step was the advice she was given, and she watched every single one as best she could. In the dark, it was impossible to anticipate danger; she was grateful that they all reached the clearing intact, and undetected. 

The village sat in an oval depression, slightly below the surrounding forest, bounded by irrigated fields with an outside ring of tall grass and scrub acting as a buffer between civilization and the wilds beyond. In the daytime, the scene before her might look placid; now, the calm was unsettling. The night was still young and people were still out and about around the village, sharing meals around open fires or bringing in laundry as children ran around in the open fields in the dark, enjoying their last few minutes of play before they were called home for the night. 

Not a single one of them were armed. That mattered little to the paramilitaries, who rushed forward into the village guns blazing, firing randomly into the air as they advanced. Terror was clearly the goal, as they made to surround the village and contain any movement within; anybody who attempted to flee into the surrounding jungle was accosted and beaten down with the butt of a rifle, or with bare fists and feet. A few were even shot as they ran. Viper stood on the sidelines and watched in growing horror as the paramilitaries began dragging people into the center of the village and lined them up in the mud. They were terrified, shocked and appalled at their treatment, but the horror had only just begun.

“Elderly first,” Owens snapped, as he strolled in to take command. “Line them up by age. If they refuse, get coercive. Let’s see if we can get them to break early.”

“And if they really fight back, shoot the bastards,” Tate ordered, gleefully basking in the chaos.

She stood, dumbfounded, with her team at the edge of the village. Already the CIA agents were taking over a nearby structure and preparing it for interrogations; the paramilitaries, meanwhile, had seen fit to start looting the place as though it was their own. They filtered back out of the village, bearing with them all manner of appliances, personal effects, and gold and silver items - open looting, which of course the CIA agents did little to stop. Owens chastised two men who were trying to drag a refrigerator back with them, but otherwise said nothing to the others as his agents brought the radiant into their makeshift interrogation room and got to work. 

“Skye. Can you hang here for a moment?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To try and stop this madness.”

She realized now that this was completely outside of the scope of their mission. This was a random village in the backcountry, completely unarmed and innocent, and dozens of armed men gnashing their teeth for violence were tearing through it and dragging innocent residents into the interrogation space in twos and threes, ignoring their protests and cries for help as they were roughly handled and ill-treated. Viper stormed off after them, pushing past one of the militiamen as she forced her way into the structure to find out just what was happening inside.

It had been a public building previously, furnished for meetings and public events, but much of that furniture had been pushed aside or outright discarded as the agents and their thugs made room for their own operations. Harsh floodlamps had been set up along the walls, pointing inward at a space where multiple residents of the village were now kneeling with their hands on the backs of their heads. Their terrified eyes sought Viper’s in silent pleas; pleas that she was not equipped to answer, as half a dozen armed militiamen bore down on her and surrounded her.

“Make yourself at home, Valorant,” Agent Owens insisted, as the militiamen surrounded her. “We have things under control here. You can watch if you’d like, or if you’d prefer some fresh air-”

“Owens.” She tried to push her way past the thugs; they resisted her efforts, and moved in closer as if to disarm and take her down too. “Owens! Let me through, damnit-”

“Let her through,” Owens ordered, almost dismissive. He and his fellow agents had pulled up plastic lawn chairs and were sitting down as their radiant began his work. They might as well have brought popcorn, peanuts, and ice cold drinks with them, as though this was a baseball game and they were settling in for top-tier entertainment.

“Owens. This is repulsive. Is this the way you run things in your agency?”

“I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“No, I don’t think you really do.”

“Sit down and watch. We run this show tight and efficient. You’ll see.”

She watched in growing horror as the radiant they had secured, his body covered in electrodes and wrappings and his battery packs now attached to some kind of electric device, began asking hesitant questions of the prisoners. As they provided their answers, their voices trembling and their eyes wide with fright, the electrodes on his body lit up with different colors - red, yellow, green, and varying hues in between. The CIA agents took notes until he was finished.

“They’re clear,” Owens declared. “Get them out. Bring the next group in.”

It was an incredibly dehumanizing process that she could do nothing about, as the armed thugs had gathered at her back and she could tell they were watching her every move. The CIA agents appeared almost bored; Tate stifled a yawn, and Owens was constantly checking his watch and swearing under his breath as he took notes on a clipboard. The radiant repeated the same questions each time, growing more agitated as the prisoners did and struggling at times to speak. 

Sometimes, the electrodes would flash green. The CIA agents would nod their heads in approval, or at least in acknowledgement, and dismiss the villagers for the next group to be roughly brought in and forced to their knees.

Sometimes, the electrodes would flash yellow - or orange. There was no clear protocol for what to do in such a situation. The responses were interpreted differently by everyone, including the radiant himself, who grew agitated when this happened. The villagers were either dismissed, detained further, or kicked around and ordered by the thugs to “answer honestly”.

Infrequently, the lights would be red. The villagers who gave “red” answers were hauled out of the building at the end of their interrogation, and two minutes later a volley of gunfire could be heard. The gunshots lingered in her eardrums far longer than necessary.

She sat there for what felt like hours until she could take no more.

“Owens, either this stops, or we’re done here.”

Owens looked at her, frowned, then shrugged his shoulders. “Go, if you want to,” he said dismissively. “I’m not stopping you.”

“These are innocent people. You’re treating them like-”

“They’re hiding a radiant, and we’re going to find it. Do you have a problem with that?”

“I’m starting to.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

Their own radiant agent was flagging. He struggled under the burdensome weight of the equipment attached to him, he was tired of repeating the same questions, and he was growing agitated with the unwillingness of the CIA agents to compromise. Twice, he asked for water, and they denied him; the third time, one of the thugs approached and chucked a bottle of water straight at his head. The thugs laughed, the agents laughed, and even the detained villagers laughed, before they were subjected to their own abuse by the paramilitaries.

Viper was the last person on Earth who could ever admit sympathy for radiants, but this was far beyond the pale for her. If it would have made a difference right now she would have raised her rifle, pointed it at the back of Owens’ head, and put a bullet through him. She imagined she could get off a couple shots before the paramilitaries put her down, and decided against it.

“Our freak’s getting a little winded,” Tate noted, watching their radiant recoil in pain from the blow of the water bottle to his temple. “He’s dancing a jig over there.”

“He’s going to lose control of himself again,” Owens said, disappointed as though he were talking about a puppy that was not yet housebroken. “Tate, if you would please.”

“Already? We’ve still got more interrogations-”

“We can attend to them later. He’s going to hurt himself if he keeps up, and we need him for at least six more villages. Hit the killswitch.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Tate produced a small black remote device, flipped a switch, and seconds later the radiant collapsed like a felled tree, slowly at first and then all at once. He resembled little more than a broken, abandoned ragdoll left on the concrete floor of the makeshift interrogation room.

“I doubt he’ll remember much in the morning,” Tate grumbled. “We’ll have to debrief him.”

“Let me handle that,” Owens said. “He’ll get smart quick if he knows what’s good for him. We have a lot of work left to do here.”

“Six more villages?”

“Might be seven, come to think of it.”

She walked out. The thugs did not stop her. Her team had reassembled at the edge of the village, dead-eyed and slump-shouldered, offering nothing but blank stares that dug into her flesh like knives. She wordlessly led them into an empty truck and they began the trip back to base in silence, leaving the villagers to their fate behind them.

The rain hammered on the tin roof and did its best to drown out every thought. Even still, the guilt gnawed at her chest like a hungry rat desperate to find a meal within. She could not sit still no matter how much she tried, and could barely focus on writing her report.

Even Skye was of little help this time around. 

“Think I’ve got to get some fresh air,” she announced, to no one in particular, when she emerged from her contemplative cocoon. “Need to get that blood pumping, too.”

“Skye, it’s pouring rain.”

“It’s good for the skin,” she remarked, winking. “Don’t worry about me getting lost, Viper, no bush will ever defeat me.”

“That’s not a-”

“Be back in an hour or two!”

And then she was out the door and down the hall, leaving the others behind. Only Viper seemed to notice her departure; Sage was sitting sentinel, and Neon had buried herself in a comic book again, desperate to avoid any sort of social interaction. It wasn’t long before Viper cracked, and started a conversation with the last person she wanted to talk to.

“Sage. I’m going to call this mission in as a bust.”

“That’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. I didn’t realize what we were walking into here.”

“I understand.”

“I made a mistake and should have anticipated something like this. I just wanted to make sure we were doing our due diligence.”

“Of course you were.”

Sage had precious little to offer her, and wouldn’t even make eye contact. Viper’s effort at breaking the uncomfortable silence seemed to have had the opposite effect; it was so bad that Neon abandoned them, getting up and escaping to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her afterwards. For a moment, the only sound in the house was the rain pounding futile fists against the roof and harassing the glass facade of the balcony door.

“You know, Viper, when I first set foot in that monastery, I was alone.”

Sage had glanced over at the bedroom to make sure the door was shut tight. Viper imagined that Neon would not be listening in; the girl looked like she was on the verge of tears, and could barely hide it behind her comic book.

“My parents did not accompany me. They prepared me well, but I was to make the journey up the mountain alone. That was implicit.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Why not? Seems just as fitting as any other topic right now. We might as well talk about the weather until bed, for all the good it would do us.”

“I’d rather talk about the weather.”

“I never intended for those four walls and the garden within to be my home.” Sage either did not notice, or did not care about Viper’s discomfort. “I thought it would be temporary. Instead, I spent years there. I never imagined I would walk out a wholly different person than I was when I walked in.”

“That tends to happen over the course of years.”

“Yes, very astute of you to notice,” Sage snapped, deflecting her snark. “Do you remember it, Viper?”

“Remember what?”

“The First Light.”

Viper felt her chest tighten. “Of course I do,” she said, cautious. “Everyone remembers where they were.”

“The whole world changed that day. Everyone is so fond of saying it like that, too,” Sage mused. “But to be honest…the change was not too radical for me. I was prepared, though I did not realize it at the time. They offered me a priceless gift in the form of knowledge beyond my years, studies that I never realized would have come to some fruition. When I woke up that fateful morning, I could feel that something was different. But I knew how to take it in stride. I was equipped for it, and better off for it.”

“Not everyone was so lucky.”

“Of course. If they were, we wouldn’t be here today, now would we?”

The silence that followed, even if momentary, was uncomfortable. Sage was leading her somewhere and she did not like it, but she was being pulled in as though tugged along by a leash. The rain came down with renewed fury, as if to pummel them both into silence. Sage would not be stopped. 

“I was naive,” she said, then laughed. “I was stupid, even. I thought I could find all the answers to our collective problems, if I just searched hard enough. I believed that I had been given a priceless gift, and with it I could heal the whole world. I thought they would be grateful for it. I was wrong.”

She glanced down at the belt of her robe, upon which the trinkets danced as she took heavy, measured breaths. She took one in her fingers, rolled it from thumb to index finger, then let it settle back down again. They were strange little icons, very different from the intricately-carved trinkets that Skye channeled her radiance through; they almost resembled pearls, but they were hardly inanimate. When Sage used them, they pulsed with a life of their own, as though there were something stored inside that was being channeled into the material world to work her miracles. Viper did not understand it, and likely never would; it had all become the realm of the unknowable, to her, and she liked it that way.

“Three months it took me, to realize that what I saw as a gift, others saw as a weapon,” Sage continued. “Some feared it. Others wanted to control it for their own designs. Some simply hated me because they saw something in me they didn’t like. And before long, I realized what folly it was.”

“And so what of it?”

Sage’s dark eyes met hers, and Viper did not glance away. She had backed down from Sage too often.

“I realize now why you are all the way you are,” she said grimly. “You think you can return to what you knew before. You were comfortable in that world, comfortable in your knowledge. And you can’t get that back.”

“I don’t want it back.”

“Maybe you don’t, Viper. But the rest of you do. We think we play for the same team, but the rest of you have your own team…and I am excluded.”

“What do you mean by rest of you? ”

“You know who I refer to.”

“We’re not all alike, Sage,” Viper said. “Don’t paint us with the same brush.”

“You do that to us, though. And you all share the same fear,” Sage said. “The fear of a world that you cannot fully understand, and therefore cannot fully control. The fear of a world in which you will be supplanted by radiants who are all savage creatures of primal hate. You fear a world that you will no longer exist in, because you fear that we will destroy you. That fear unites you.”

“I don’t fear any of that. And I’m not afraid of you. You are not some beast.”

“Don’t you? Then why do you fight everything I try to do?”

“Someone has to fix your poor decisions.”

“I think you’re afraid of what will happen if you concede your worldview to me.”

“You’re full of it. I’m not afraid of you.”

She rejected Sage outright, and yet this was the most they’d conversed in…how long? How long had it been since she’d last spoken to Sage without the two of them nearly coming to blows? Perhaps they were just both so tired that they were unwilling to escalate their disagreement.

“So what is it then, Viper? What divides you and me?”

“We’ve talked about this at length. I think your ideas are stupid.”

“Yes, you’ve said that. How could I forget? But I don’t think that is the real reason for your obstinate behavior. I think you secretly know you’ve made a mistake, and you can never walk it back. Regret will eat you alive before long, Viper. Maybe it already is?”

“Whatever you want to tell yourself.”

Sage,just smiled and tutted to herself as the conversation petered out, neither of them willing to fully come to grips and neither of them willing to try and understand the other. The cold, unpleasant impasse between them was thankfully short lived, for mere seconds later Skye burst in through the front door, dripping water all over the floor and gasping for breath.

“Wow, it’s sopping like a wet cunt out there,” she exclaimed, leaning on the doorframe for support. “Did you miss me, ladies?”

Viper smiled in spite of the conversation she had just endured. 

“More than you’d think.”

Chapter Text

The blank page on the screen stared back at her as if challenging her to a fight. Words had danced on and off the page, hastily written down then just as hastily undone as she sought unobtainable perfection. Every time she started from scratch she had a fresh burst of hope that this time would be the one, and she would pound out her report in the blink of an eye.

It did not happen, but she ended up with one line:

The mission did not proceed as expected.

Well, that much was true. She didn’t need to erase that line.

The hours ticked by in her lab as she put off working on the report, choosing miscellaneous other tasks to orient herself towards as if the mission to El Salvador had never happened. If she could somehow will it out of existence, she certainly would; not only for her own health and happiness, but for all those other lives who were coldly removed from the world in the dead of night, in twos and threes and fours. She remembered it all vividly from start to finish, and the guilt burdened her like fetters on her ankles, slowing her step in the lab to record lows.

You could have done something to stop it. You had a chance, and you just watched.

But what could she have really done? The CIA agents who were nominally her “allies” and their paramilitary goons had the whole place locked up tight, and any attempt at disrupting their plan would have almost certainly been met with rejection, if not violence. They would have been at a disadvantage - four of them, against how many others? - and they would have failed regardless of their intentions or effort.

Of course, that doesn’t matter to them.

Neon and Sage had nothing but ill will towards her, avoiding eye contact and giving her the silent treatment and going so far as to mutter obscenities in her direction (in Neon’s case) at times. This was normally not an issue, but Viper felt guilty - and guilt was a strange emotion for her, particularly in regards to the two radiants who she otherwise spared little empathy for. She had led them into the field and had turned them into witnesses to a crime against humanity, and hadn’t even apologized for it.

Why even bother apologizing? The damage is done. You can’t do anything about it.

So she decided not to do anything about it. And when she ran out of miscellaneous tasks to do in her lab, and could not find a single centrifuge or beaker to clean and spot-check, she retreated to a very special structure at the far end of the landing strip where VLT/Rs and supply planes took off from.

Lodged between a repair hangar and the base’s fuel storage unit, a small auxiliary garage with a single door, no heating, and minimal ventilation gave her somewhere to be when the lab just wasn’t cutting it. She wouldn’t spend much time here in the summer, when it got so hot and stuffy that she thought she was going to die, but when the temperatures dropped and the autumn weather outside kept everyone else locked inside the cold, stark halls of the Protocol’s base, she ventured out to spend time with her other pet project.

The motorcycle was a different sort of experiment, under radically different conditions, producing no world-changing consequences, and yet in some ways it was just as important to her as her lab. When she wasn’t dressed in a pristine isolation gown, cloaked head-to-toe, she was out here in jeans and a ratty old t-shirt swapping parts, flushing detritus out, and dirtying herself with paints, lubricants, and any number of oils as she tended to the 40-horsepower beast that sat curled up beneath a bare bank of fluorescents in an empty, 150-square-foot garage. 

The motorcycle was sleek, built for racing and endurance, offering enormous power in a compact, brilliantly-engineered body - just like me, she often thought with amusement as she poked fun at herself, standing in front of it and admiring her handiwork. Three years after buying it, the motorcycle was radically different than its market counterparts, for she had spent many long evenings in this very garage modifying it to her liking. It was more a beast now than ever before, and even boasted armored slats that were bolted to the frame and protected the engine and transmission from damage and debris. Technically, the slats were even bulletproof - though, she admittedly wasn’t keen on testing that theory.

The motorcycle was another little world for her to get lost in, and when the days grew darker and colder and more rigid, she would step out here into the gloom and lose herself. She found it satisfying, thrilling even, to race against the clock as others raced to bed, taking apart and reassembling various components and testing herself to see how quickly she could work under duress. It left her with filthy hands and stained clothing and she would never complain about the grease and the grit, because normally this was the perfect escape.

Normally - but not now. There was something on her mind that she just couldn’t shake, no matter how hard she tried.

Reyna. 

Why had she bothered reaching out at all in the first place? The odds of a connection were slim to none from the start. And even if Reyna had been in country, what would they have done? Slipped off into the night together, as if eloping? Make their already dangerous liaison even more dangerous? There was no plan there, only an instinctual desire to find and latch on to something comforting in a troubled time. 

But the truth was, Reyna’s presence would have been comforting enough to encourage her to abandon her team and seek her out. She might try to deny it, but she knew that without a second thought she would have sought her out given the chance. Everything she had spent so much time and effort building could be easily thrown out the window for a chance at feeling wanted, and that thought both terrified and excited her.

She concluded her work sooner than expected and returned to base just as the sun was dipping below the horizon. A cool wind at her back urged her on and she returned to base quarters at such speed that she nearly ran into Killjoy near the base’s main entrance, turning a corner sharply and almost slamming right into her.

Killjoy. Maybe the only person I’d actually want to see. Viper apologized hastily and steadied the other girl with hands on her shoulders. The moment she saw the bundle of knickknacks in Killjoy’s arms, she knew something was amiss, but feigned a smile nevertheless. Killjoy beamed the moment she saw her.

“Ach, Viper, would you mind helping me a little? Scheiße, I can barely hold all of-”

“Killjoy.”

“Yes?”

“What is all this?”

Killjoy glanced down at the bric-a-brac folded between her arms, and appeared surprised - as though she didn’t think she’d be questioned about this.

“Oh. Jett has me on a mission, of sorts,” Killjoy explained, with a nervous laugh. “Decorating.”

“For what purpose, exactly?”

Viper already knew; the papier-mâche bats, crumpled paper pumpkins, and plastic bangles in Killjoy’s arms represented a very particular holiday. Viper did not need it explained to her, but she wanted to know what exactly the other agents were planning.

“It’s just to add some charm to the base,” Killjoy said. “Halloween is coming up, after all, and-”

“And you want to decorate the base?”

“Well, not just the base…there’s parts of it that I, uh-”

“You want to decorate my lab?”

“-if you’ll allow me, yes.”

Killjoy swallowed a heavy lump in her throat, anxiety and apprehension and excitement all mixed together. She had clearly been anticipating a hard no and was ready to turn away.

“It’s your lab,” Killjoy added, quickly.

“It sure is.”

“So if you don’t want any of it, then-”

“You can put some up in the lobby. But only here.”

If anybody else had made such a request, she would have rejected them coldly. But Killjoy had a way of softening her up that nobody else did, and besides, what harm could a few bats and ghosts hanging from the walls do? Sure, it was kitschy, and Viper didn’t want any of it getting in the way, but she trusted that Killjoy would be discretionary in her decoration. 

“So it was Jett that put you up to this, huh?”

Killjoy huffed as she strained to reach a tack high on the wall in her lab’s lobby. “Well, put me up to it, that’s not a nice way to put it,” she said, straining. “I think it’s fun. I’m happy to help.”

“But it was her idea?”

“It was mutual. We all thought we’d pitch in. Ach, Viper, your walls are so high.”

“Sorry. I need the space.”

Killjoy abandoned the effort and only halfheartedly decorated. Nevertheless, it was more color than Viper usually saw in the entrance to her lab - she preferred the drab off-whites and cold gunmetal grays that greeted her every morning, a reminder that her work was often dull and monotonous even if it was on the cusp of exciting new frontiers. Her lab simultaneously needed to reflect her worldview, and vivid oranges and crisp yellows were a far cry from where her mind often was. But she wouldn’t ask Killjoy to take it all down after all that effort, and Killjoy looked quite proud of her work.

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s charming.”

“Viper, you lie through your teeth.”

“Sorry, Killjoy. I’m not very good at holidays.”

Killjoy chuckled. “Well, as long as you don’t hate it…”

“I could never.”

Aesthetically, it was all a bit too gauche for her tastes, but she would leave it be at least until the end of the month. She could tolerate it for two weeks, at least - that much she would do for Killjoy, who took great pride in her work and spent some time explaining to Viper how she had carefully designed and meticulously cut out the little paper ghosts before their conversation turned to more serious matters.

“Raze and I had a great time down in Salvador,” Killjoy said, when Viper asked. “Did you know that there are thirty-four different beaches there? Raze took me to ten of them. I think I’m still sunburnt…”

“Did you have fun at least?”

“Well, I said I had a great time-”

“Right. Right, yes.”

“And how are you feeling?”

“Just fine.”

“No, I meant…after your…the mission.”

Viper’s blood went cold. She considered just outright ignoring the question, rude as that might be, but she knew Killjoy would be insistent. She had noticed.

“It did not go as planned,” she admitted stiffly, “but I’m feeling fine.”

“Viper, do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t need to talk about it.”

“You look tired and you’ve been in and out of your lab more often than usual,” Killjoy said. “I’ve noticed that you-”

“Have you been spying on me, Killjoy?”

“What? No, no, mein Gott no,” Killjoy said hastily, turning beet red. “I just, uh…well, I walk past your lab a lot. Sometimes. But not like I’m spying. I-”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to to be so prickly.” She had leapt into a defensive posture on instinct, without thinking about the consequences. “It was just a long mission, that’s all.”

“You were gone for four days.”

“And those were four long days.”

“Viper, I can tell something is amiss. You have been in and out. You usually stay in your lab all day and work without so much as a-”

“Killjoy. Everything is okay,” Viper reassured her, a bald-faced lie. “I just need time. I’m tired.”

“Well, not that you asked for advice, but I could give you some,” Killjoy said, trying to be as supportive as possible to her friend. “When I’m troubled by something, whatever it might be, I always find it’s useful to sit down and talk about it to someone who wasn’t involved. They might not even know what that thing was about…the less they know, the better.”

“I’m not sure if-”

“Well, you don’t have to talk about everything,” Killjoy added hastily. “Just something. Anything. Find someone who doesn’t know about what’s bothering you and tell them as much as you’d like. I did it to Raze before…well, uh, before-”

“Before what?”

“Oh. Just before we got closer…”

Killjoy turned away, the heat in her cheeks evident. Viper offered no comment.

“I need to get back to work,” she said. “Sorry, Killjoy.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright. I did what I came here to do.”

She turned away, then turned right back to Viper, as if expectant. Viper stopped, waiting for her to speak.

“Viper. What’s a really good gift? Like, a great gift. For someone in your life that you really like, and want to support, and means a lot to you…”

“A partner?”

“No! Just a really good friend.” Killjoy’s hands were shaking and she bit her lower lip. If she were anybody else, Viper would have sorted this out once and for all. But she could look the other way for Killjoy; after all, could she ask for anything more in return?

“I’m afraid I don’t have any advice in turn, Killjoy,” she said. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay! I didn’t think you…you aren’t obligated to…sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-”

Killjoy beat a hasty retreat out of the lab. Viper watched her depart, struggling with the decon room controls and nearly running into the exterior door as she did. There would be time to consider this situation more later, when she had more clarity of thought. Right now, she was deciding to take Killjoy up on her advice, and she had just the right person in mind for it, though he might not agree with her reasoning. She sat down at her workstation and began to type a courteous message to Brimstone that would explain the reason for her departure from base for a few more days, hoping this would be worth the time.

N’Djamena had grown rapidly in her absence - six months may as well have been a decade for all the towering vinyl-clad apartments, glittering glass skyscrapers, and ornate madrasahs she passed on her way into the capital. And there at its core, growing like a mudbrick cancer out of the shimmering urban landscape, was Fort Lamy. Viper stood at its perimeter as though upon a precipice, languishing in a fog of exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke before she took the plunge. At best, she would be granted desperately-needed aid; at worst, she would spend a cool few hours in the brig and have time to reflect on her life choices before Brimstone bailed her out. She decided it was worth the risk and beelined for the only visible entrance. 

They stopped her, unsurprisingly. Like bees emerging to defend the hive, three armed guards with dark eyes and smudged faces sallied forth to accost her at the gates. They snapped a few cursory questions at her then escorted her inside, keeping eyes on her at every turn until they brought her to the commanding officer. He did not appear too surprised to see her, but then again Julien Rouchefort was not a man to be easily shaken. 

“Didn’t expect you in my office,” he said flatly, when the guards had departed and left Viper with him.

“You can always see me out.”

“I’ll hear you out first.” Julien poured her a cup of steaming black coffee, which she gratefully accepted. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“I had heard 5e RD had deployed. I could do some guesswork.”

“It was a good guess.”

“Thanks. Cigarette?”

“If you insist.”

He offered her the cigarette, but she offered the lighter; etiquette mattered, no matter whose domain she was in. Hers was beaten and battered but it could still hold a flame and he nodded in silent gratitude as they took their first draws.

“For the record, you cannot just walk in here,” Julien informed her curtly. “We have rules.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“No, because I’ll put you in the brig.”

“Humor me this time, if you will.”

“That will depend on what you’re going to ask.”

Julien was the type of person she wanted to be: no nonsense, catering only to those who had earned it, calm and collected and controlling everything around him. She found it harder and harder to be the cold, calculating statue that she wished to be, and desperately wanted to know how he did it. But that wasn’t what she had come here to talk about - save it for a later date.

“I was recently in El Salvador.”

“Is that so?”

“Ostensibly, on a mission to locate and detain a radiant.”

“As we often are.”

“Well, it didn’t go so well.”

“It doesn’t always.”

“Here’s the thing…”

She was beginning to feel her composure unravel. For the exact same reasons that she couldn’t bring herself to finish her report, or even make headway on it, she now struggled to retell the story. Familiar scenes played back in her head, of slaughter and fire and impassive observers watching the horror as one would a baseball game. She explained it as best as she possibly could, omitting unnecessary details but also omitting her own feelings. If her words could be captured in letters, that would perhaps be a satisfactory report - much better than what she had right now, at least. At the end of her story, Julien sat back in his chair and took a prolonged drag from his cigarette, his stony and impassive expression making her wonder if she had just wasted five minutes of her life.

“And these fellow agents of yours. They are radiants too?”

“All three of them, yes.”

“And the others, the spooks-”

“Not radiants.”

“As I figured.”

“I understand that we have a job to do. I have always understood,” she insisted. “But there are standards I have always insisted on, too. How can we say we’re playing for the better team if we just let that all go?”

“I agree with you.”

“You…agree?”

Julien paused the conversation there to study his cigarette, as though he had only noticed some esoteric writing upon its wrapping and was trying to decipher it. The only light in the room, a naked incandescent hanging from a thin chain overhead, flickered ominously.

“I agree.”

“Do explain.”

“Well, how much more can I explain it? It’s simple.”

She must have appeared thoroughly confused, or perhaps just in need of further reinforcement, for her squinted then sighed and stubbed out the cigarette on a trauma plate that doubled as an ashtray. 

“You Americans have a tendency towards individualized speech,” Julien said. “What benefits the one is what matters most. What benefits all is a waste, excess. Your courtesy towards the concept of a team is therefore noted.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Just an observation.” He tapped the stubbed cigarette into its own ashes. “You are correct. The mission as you described it was executed poorly.”

“Thank you. I guess.”

“It’s an objective assessment.”

“I don’t have an issue with doing my job. I want to do my job right. Our partners treated everything so offhandedly, as though the means justified any cost.”

“They rarely do.”

“I don’t doubt that there was a radiant there. But that wasn’t the reason they came. They had their own goals.”

The CIA had a long history of organizing counterinsurgency efforts against socialist and other similarly disruptive movements; after all, how else would the restless tendrils of subversive ideologies be kept at bay? And they also had a long history of using unscrupulous methods to do so. She had heard the rumors of death squads months ago, even just prior to the mission, and had kept them in mind even throughout it, never imagining she would get to see their work firsthand. She wondered just how many other villages Owens and his team had brought their particular death squad to, and just how many bodies they had buried before they stopped counting. It was that particular wonder that had kept her report at bay for so long, and had her dragging her feet day after day.

“Radiant or not, it was poorly executed,” Julien decided.

“Agreed.”

“And these…you called them auxiliaries-”

“Their words, not mine.”
“-yes. So. They are butchers.”

“They’re death squads. Not hyperbole.”

“And they will not be the only ones. More will follow. Savagery begets savagery.”

“It’s reprehensible.”

“No doubt,” Julien agreed. She was surprised that he was so receptive to her woes. “There is shame in such unhinged behavior. Such experimentation, and along with it the savagery, does not justify any goal.”

“What if the goal is to capture or kill a radiant?”

“Even the meagre ant deserves a noble death for a noble effort. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes.”

“We kill radiants. That’s what we do, as radiant hunters.” Julien did not need to explain further; she was familiar with his unit. They had earned their reputation as a disciplined, reliable, and dangerously efficient outfit. “But we have our standards. Our work is ethical. We have guidelines, rules of engagement, and pride in our work. Death might be inevitable for our quarry, but it is delivered honorably to the great and the small alike. It is how we know we are on the right side of history.”

“Not all would see it that way.” Viper thought to her own agents; Neon, Sage, Jett, even the normally affable Skye. They all had their reservations. “My own agents, they-”

“What do they think of you?”

Viper considered her answer carefully. “Very little,” she sighed. That was an understatement.

“That’s the price you pay for doing righteous work.”

“I don’t want to know what you think of them, Rouchefort.”

“Then don’t ask.”

“I just want to know that we can still call it righteous work.”

Could they, after this? After seeing how others did it in the field, looting and killing and burning all in the name of some vaguely justifiable crusade? 

I don’t know anymore. 

“My advice,” Julien said. “My advice? Separate yourself from your countrymen.”

“Gladly.”

“We are right to do as we do,” he said. “Can you imagine a world where radiants run amok?”

“Hardly.” Liar . She had imagined it a thousand times over. Such a world would burn itself to a crisp, and the survivors would choke down ash-filled air until they too expired; it would be an ignoble death for all.

“We cannot let that happen,” Julien insisted. “But we hold ourselves to standards. We are professional soldiers, no?”

“We are.”

“Hardly a rabble, like the one you described,” he said. “Let them act as barbarians if they wish. We can do better.”

“We will do better.”

Her coffee was growing cold, and she had idly stubbed the cigarette out already. She still felt aloof, but her mood had improved; at the very least, her resolve had reemerged after days of being subdued. She had realized, at some point during the long flight over the Atlantic, that she could have found a way to telephone Rouchefort and have this same conversation without the ticket and all the expenses that went with it. Somehow, she imagined that would not have worked as well. She needed to hear his voice and gain reassurance from him directly, and anything less would have not been convincing enough.

“I have dedicated enough time to you,” Julien decided. “I think it best you leave.”

“After all this? I just get up and leave?”

“You should not have come here in the first place. I allowed you in out of respect.”

“Why the sudden cold shoulder?”

“Think little of it. Not personal, simply business.” And Julien Rouchefort was a man of business - to a fault, apparently. She sensed he was telling the truth, at least, about this not being personal. 

“Allow me one more question.”
“I cannot.”

“Graeme Steensbroek. Do you know him?”

Julien paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. He sensed that she knew something that he believed was secret. Viper wondered what, exactly, she was prying into.

“I’m aware of him,” Julien answered, carefully. “He is on…lists.”

“He’s on many lists. I’m not asking about who he is. I only want to know if he’s still in Chad or not.”

“Who’s asking?”

“Just me, Rouchefort. Consider it an honest inquiry.”

She didn’t intend to pay him a visit - not this time. But if there was good business here, and he had put down roots, it would be useful to know. There was much still to uncover about the agents who had tried to hunt her down before, Chamber and Iso, and she had work to do on them. Graeme might yet come in handy, though he would try to wiggle his way out of any predicament she caught him in, like an unearthed worm. She would get the upper hand, though.

“Steensbroek remains in country,” Julien said, rubbing his temples as though the admission troubled him. “His presence is grounds for caution, and caution alone.”

“That’s all I need to know.”

“If you’re considering going after him-”

“I’m not. Not right now.”

"I advise you walk away, and don't take the trouble."

"Suggestion noted."

Julien nodded, but refused to express if that relieved him or if he was still suspicious. Finding the man’s impenetrable attitude growing tiresome, in spite of his help, she bid him farewell and showed herself out of the command center, and from there the fort. She had a hotel to return to, a decent meal to eat, and a cold shower to take - and, in due time, a conversation to be had with Graeme Steensbroek. But for now, she decided that could wait. 

INFORMATIONAL BULLETIN: NEWSDESK OFFICE

1035 GMT, LONDON, UK - 28TH SEPTEMBER, 1980

 

Amid global concern about the state of affairs in Central Asia following the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, military forces of the Iraqi Republic have launched a major offensive against their eastern neighbor, the Islamic Republic of Iran, following last year’s successful revolution that overthrew the ancien regime in Iran. The two countries have been at odds for years and the ascension of a new government led by Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini appears to have been the final straw that triggered this new phase of conflict.

While wire agencies continue to receive conflicting reports from the ground, it is evident that this round of clashes is far more severe than anything over the unsettled past months. Multiple waves of airstrikes have failed to degrade the Iranian Air Force, which has responded in kind as widespread troop movements are reported on both sides. Soviet party officials have refused to comment on the situation as Western leaders urge caution, following reports that major fighting has erupted in the Iranian city of Khorramshahr following vigorous Iraqi offensive maneuvers. Neither combatant appears willing to back down, suggesting a prolonged and bloody confrontation may occur.

Chapter Text

Viper had said nothing about where she was going. She did leave a note for Killjoy to discover, at least, the next morning when she visited her workshop:

Out on business. Will be back soon. Brim knows. Just wanted you to know. - V

The note was scrawled so hastily and carelessly that it was almost illegible. Killjoy understood the intent, at least; Viper did not want her to worry about a sudden absence, especially since no missions had been announced. She hadn’t mentioned anything in particular, and while she was certainly a busy person, it wasn’t like her to just up and leave her lab unattended unless there was a mission or Brimstone had assigned her to something. Killjoy thought the latter was likely, but paid it little mind. 

She set herself to her own daily tasks, switching the lights on and booting up her workstation as the day began. The weather outside had somehow worsened, and the blanket of slate gray clouds that covered the island like a funerary veil was now spitting ice and snow in intermittent episodes. She had nothing to lose by wrapping herself in the comforts of fluorescent lights and recycled air, and there was plenty for her to do in here.

The new vending machine system. Now that wasn’t going so well. Killjoy couldn’t quite tell where the issue was - were solenoids burning out faster than expected? Did the advanced dispenser not register commands quickly enough? Or was it simply a fact that Three Musketeers bars just didn’t fit properly, and wouldn’t render themselves unto the eager would-be recipient without putting up a fight? She was stumped on this one, and wasn’t overly fond of the nougaty treat that was in such high demand among her fellow agents, so she set this particular project aside.

Sound-activated shower. This has been a promising idea - if you could clap to turn a light on, why couldn’t you clap to turn a showerhead on, too? No more getting into the stall and trying to fiddle with the temperature on cold, icy mornings (like this one). The trouble was, getting the showerhead to turn off while the running water interfered with sound wasn’t so easy. Also, depending on the cadence of claps, it could either be boiling hot, or frigid cold. More work was needed on the sensors here. 

The Phantoms. Now here was an actual project, and one that Brimstone was actually paying her to put time into. The new rifle prototypes hadn’t been tested in the field during the latest mission, and Viper refused to say why when pressed. Nevertheless, the parts all functioned admirably after being out in the field - and El Salvador, as far as Killjoy knew, was not kind to equipment what with all the humidity, the rain, and the rich earth. The rifles that the team brought back were fouled but still cycled properly and had no visible wear, a positive sign that her modifications were working. Now, they just needed to be…well, fired. 

But that can be arranged! I’ll just ask Viper to…er, when she returns. It was easy to forget that Viper, the only person in the Protocol who actually felt like a friend, wasn’t at her beck and call. Viper had her own business to attend to, and her own things to do, and she’s a busy woman and you really shouldn’t interrupt her, you’re just going to annoy her, so don’t bother trying to-

“Killjoy? Are you in here?”

It was Deadlock, and scheiße did her voice carry. The blonde Norwegian saw fit to speak little, but when she did she could have the attention of the entire room with her imposing, confident tone. 

“I’m here! I’m here!” 

Killjoy had to struggle to be seen over a large lathing machine she had just installed that conveniently happened to block her view of the doorway. She raced out of her hidey hole and nearly ran smack into Deadlock, who had come searching for her.

“Sorry about that, I-”

“Killjoy, are you alright?”

“Alright? Yes, fine. Just excited to have visitors in my workshop-”

It was a rare occurrence that anyone besides Viper and the standard roster of technicians and maintenance personnel visited her workshop. The only open space that Brimstone had identified as feasible for her endeavor was on the lowest floor of the base, down with the subsystems and power plant, and nobody ever came down here unless they had crucial business.

“So, Deadlock. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Not particularly. I just wanted to say thank you.”

“That’s…it?”

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

As if to mark her point, Deadlock flexed her prosthetic arm, and wiggled the carbon-fiber fingers with impressive control over their flexion and momentum. It would appear to untrained eyes as though she had simply slipped an aluminum sheath over her real arm, such was her control and precision.

“I only crushed one coffee mug,” Deadlock mused with an awkward smile. “And almost elbowed Brimstone in the gut.”

“It happens.”

“But I have to thank you again, genuinely. I have seen nothing else like this before.”

“It’s a prototype, really. It could have been designed better…and I have ideas about how it could be…and, you know, there’s some things I’d like to-”

“Killjoy, it works. That’s all I need. So thank you.”

Killjoy was not used to any form of praise, much less genuine praise. She could have tripped over her words at that point but instead opted to race forward and embrace Deadlock, a move that confused the Norwegian to the point that it took her several seconds to reciprocate the gesture.

“Sorry about that,” she apologized sheepishly. “I spent a lot of late nights working on your…well, your arm.”

“The effort shows.”

“Now, that being said-”

She had some ideas about improvements that did not require full surgery, and Deadlock seemed amiable to at least some of them. Even if she did not understand exactly what Killjoy’s ideas entailed, she listened and nodded along and even offered some feedback that Killjoy took mental notes on. It was rare for her to enjoy such a thoughtful conversation with anyone other than Raze, and of course Viper.

Speaking of Viper.

“Hey, Deadlock, before you go.”

“Yes?”

She almost decided to drop it, but there was too much tickling the back of her head for her to let it all go. She needed someone else’s opinion, and who better to ask than the virtual stranger who had only been walking around for roughly two weeks, and had only officially joined the Protocol a week ago?

Let it go, Klara. Don’t ask her if she-

“Have you noticed anything off about Viper?”

Scheiße. 

Deadlock furrowed her brow and paused just before the door.

“I don’t know her well enough, unfortunately,” she said, in a stilted manner.

“Oh, well. I understand. But I’ve noticed she’s been unusually aloof and detached. Almost moody. Which is unusual.”

“I see.”

“It’s been bothering me, because something is bothering her, but she won’t say.”

“Hmm.”

“So I wondered if you had…noticed the same thing? Or maybe it’s just me, and I’m…”

Bad at reading people? Well, yes, that much is true. She really should not have asked at all, and especially should not have asked the virtual stranger in her midst. She wished she could take all the words back. Deadlock, however, did not appear bothered.

“It’s not about you, Killjoy, if you’re asking.”

“Me? About me? I’m not asking-”

“I sense you are,” Deadlock said, “and to my knowledge, it’s not about you.”

“Oh. Well. Alles gut? ”

“Viper is burdened by recent events, just like we all are,” Deadlock reassured her, though her tone was not as reassuring as it should have been. “I am sure of this. Don’t worry yourself, and things will be better soon. Healing takes time.”

If there was anything she wanted to say, a thank you in turn for the gesture, Killjoy did not have the words for it. By the time she had found her words, Deadlock was gone - and so was her opportunity to express her gratitude. 

She means well, Killjoy knew, but I don’t know if that really helped. What else could be going on that makes Viper so distant? Maybe it is me, and Deadlock just doesn’t want to admit it.

She decided to visit the one other person who could help her, at the expense of her well-planned workday. She figured just this once, she could make the exception; and besides, she was too quickly turning into Viper and spending far too much time in her workspace. She needed a breath of fresh air, and a friendly face. 

“Closed for cleaning!? Can you believe it? Today of all days, come on…”

Killjoy idly twirled her fingers through Raze’s hair, though it didn’t seem to help much today. Raze was steaming, her morning off to a bad start and trending worse after she had read the sign on the gym doors and returned from her morning run empty-handed. The weather outside was not at all accommodating of her, and as if to cap it all off, Sage had snapped at her for failing to do assigned chores last night and had doubled her workload.

“Doing dishes for an entire week? Who does she even think she is, that…that… agh - and I can’t even go work out about it-”

She beat her fists against her knees in frustration before giving up the fight with a frustrated sigh. Someone hastily entered, then just as hastily exited the rec room. Killjoy did not have time to see who it was, but it wouldn’t stop her from leaning in and planting a brief, fleeting kiss on Raze’s earlobe.

“Hey, stop that, we’re in public!”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.”

Raze blushed. “That was on vacation. Not here.”

“And? You were so eager then, remember?”

“Hey, quit it now…”

Killjoy tried to infiltrate Raze’s defenses again, but this time she was ready - in one swift motion she turned the tables on her erstwhile attacker, and subdued her with a kiss of her own. It was only the second time they had ever kissed each other on the lips. Killjoy was overwhelmed, and now she was the one flustered.

“Gotcha good, didn’t I?”

“...”

“KJ?”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to space out there. Entschuldigung.”

“Did you just swear at me?”

“Ugh, no! Raze, you’re so…so… belästigend, ach-”

Killjoy then laughed, in spite of her flustered state, because Raze always knew how to lighten the mood and get her back on her feet. Even just a minute after being frustrated, she had regained her positive spirit and managed to pass it on to Killjoy. She had a way of doing that for anyone around her, even when she wasn’t feeling so positive herself.

Just another reason why you’re the perfect person for me to be around. Oh, Klara, you’re blushing again…

“You’re very rosy today,” Raze noticed, which only multiplied her embarrassment. “What’s got you so flustered?”

“Nothing much, really, I just-”

“You’re such a bad liar, KJ.”

“Am not!”

“Are too ! You’re so bad. Just look at your face. Something’s got you all up in arms.”

“I guess I just had a weird start to my morning. It’s…well, it’s about Viper.”

Raze’s own rosy cheeks turned ashen. Killjoy regretted the sudden change of topic the moment she saw her friend’s eyes darken.

“What about Viper?” Raze suddenly sounded defensive.

“Well, she’s usually very polite to me. Always interested in what I’m doing. She’s stuck up for me…”

“Go on.”

“...it’s just that recently, something’s different about all of that. It’s like everything she tries to say or do is forced. Maybe it’s just me? Oh, it’s probably just me. Forget it.”

“No, it’s not you, Klara.”

Killjoy was so unused to hearing her actual name at this point that it snapped her to attention, and she stared directly into Raze’s eyes. 

“Did you just-”

“No one else is here to hear it, are they?”

“I like it. I just wasn’t…”

“Expecting it?” Raze seemed to anticipate her every thought. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’ve got the snake and the spook looking over your shoulder every five minutes.” 

“They mean well.”

“I’m sure they do,” Raze scoffed. “And by doing so they make every little activity as annoying as possible. Her especially.”

“She means well, too. She’s done a lot for me. Even at great risk to her standing.”

“Sounds like you’re the lucky one then, amada. Maybe the only one,” Raze scoffed. “You know how the rest of us feel about her.”

“Gekko calls her a hardass.”

“Oh, you should hear what Jett and Phoenix call her then,” Raze chuckled. “The words I’ve heard from those two… meu Deus.”

“She has our best interests at heart,” Killjoy said, though she couldn’t even believe her own words. “She’s just…”

“A hardass?”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Killjoy shook her head. “Maybe.”

“She’s faking it a lot of it, you know.”

“No…I don’t know?”

“I can tell,” Raze said, and sounded proud of it too. “She has her tells. I know she’s got something going on that she’s trying to hide. It’s not just work.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Raze grinned. “It’s pure intuition, and it doesn’t come freely,” she said, confident. “If you wanna know, it’ll cost ya.”

Killjoy knew what the toll was before she had to be told. The kiss was far too quick for her liking, but it was enough for Raze, who beamed with evident joy.

“Tell me, then,” Killjoy said, having paid the price. “What have you seen?”

“I haven’t seen anything. Viper keeps her tracks covered very well. But I have heard some things. Offhandedly.”

“There’s always rumors going around here,” Killjoy said, dismissively. “Just the other day, Gekko was talking about how he saw Jett and Phoenix kissing in the rec room. At ten in the morning, no less-”

“It’s not a rumor. Cypher knows something.”

“Cypher?”

“Yeah. I know, right? He never talks without good reason. But he seems to be holding onto a secret of hers…”

“What has he said?”

“Very little,” Raze said, shaking her head. “But he knows something is up. Viper has been having meetings with someone that she refuses to talk about.”

“Work meetings?”

“Oh, by the sound of it, I doubt it’s work related.”

Killjoy could only imagine what that might imply. Viper was taciturn enough as it was about her private life, even going so far as to refuse to talk about what her previous work was like and openly forbidding any music to be played in her lab. Maybe she was just trying to keep a sensitive subject hidden, even from her colleagues - but why ?

“I don’t know what she’s up to. I’m not sure I wanna know,” Raze said. “Sometimes, I think she’s just toying with us. But I don’t know.”

“She’s still been good to me. And I want to be good to her in turn. Sometimes she just makes that really hard, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Hey. She’s not here right now, so there’s nothing you can do about it,” Raze said, reassuring her with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “You know what you can do, though?”

Raze pulled something out of her gym bag that she had been keeping hidden. Killjoy felt her heart leap into her throat at the sight of it, gleaming under the dull overhead fluorescents that lined the length of the locker room. 

“You didn’t tell me you had your-”

“Walkman?” Raze smiled. “Always bring it to gym. Helps me get in the zone, you know? Isso me incendeia.”

“I still can’t find one,” Killjoy lamented. “Everywhere I look, they’re sold out. How did you-?”

Raze just winked. “I have my ways.”

“Stop! I wanna know, don’t tease me! You know I’ve been desperate.”

“Being friends with Gekko helps, lemme just say that and stop there,” Raze said, laughing impishly. “If you wanna listen…there’s headphones enough for two.”

Raze held the headphones out like a set of jingling keys, tantalizing her. There was no way she could resist the urge - not even if her life depended on it.

“I got new tapes, too,” Raze said, as if to sweeten the deal. “What’s your poison lately?”

“I haven’t had much time to listen to music,” Killjoy admitted. “Viper says music in the labs is bad for your focus. Makes you accident prone.”

“Ugh. What a buzzkill.”

“She means well.”

“Yeah, yeah. You keep saying that. Here, pop this on and listen-”

Raze had the headphones over her ear before she could even say no - not that she wanted to, of course. This was one of the few times she could truly allow herself to unwind, and be at ease with someone she felt comfortable with. Raze would jam out, miming every instrument under the sun and even belt out the lyrics to familiar songs - but Killjoy would just sit there in warm silence, eyes closed, leaning against her friend’s shoulder.

Friend? Is she your friend, Klara? Or what is she…?

She had time to figure out, she supposed. So she squeezed her eyes shut even tighter and leaned more into Raze’s body and let the disco beats and wavy lyrics of Blondie carry her off.

“Need a hand there?”

Neon should not have been surprised to glance up and see a white-haired, sharp-eyed raven looking down at her as if considering a snack. But Jett’s offer was genuine, even if it was unexpected, and Neon couldn’t say anything but sure .

“You got the shit end of some stick, huh,” Jett grunted, as she looked up and down the track, her eyes following the jagged scorch marks etched into the plain green polyurethane like scars. 

“Well, it was all me,” Neon said. “Not exactly a whole lot of people around here with electricity at their literal fingertips.”

“Still seems unfair to make you clean it all up.”

“What Sage says, goes.”

“Guess so, huh. Alright, hand me another brush. I’ve got two hands and nothing else to do with them.”

Jett didn’t have to be here, and likely would have preferred to be anywhere else, but she stayed for the next two hours as the two of them painstakingly covered every square inch of the running track, repainting lines and covering up the scorch marks as best as they could. While Sage had insisted this would be a good lesson in discipline and it would encourage Neon to exhibit more control over her powers, it was having the exact opposite effect. How, exactly, was backbreaking manual labor with cans of paint that reeked like a tar pit supposed to teach her how to control her body?

It’s not my fault that I was never given an instruction manual for this. Sage, for her faults, was a wonderful instructor who had helped instill immense confidence in her. But Neon was pissed right now, and she could feel the hum in her conductor plates as she laid down yet another swath of smelly green paint, covering up the jagged scars sloppily.

“You know, this would be a lot easier if we had like…a bigger brush,” Jett groaned from ten feet back. “Or, like, a sprayer?”

“We probably do have them. Sage didn’t give me that, though.”

“Tough love, huh?”

“I think that’s the goal.”

Jett muttered something under her breath, which Neon didn’t catch, but she knew it was the same sort of snarky retort that the wind girl often saved for their much more universally disliked instructor. 

Don’t think about her right now. It’s just going to piss you off more. Focus, Neon.

Focus was her biggest problem, and the greatest contributor to episodes like this. It was thankfully rare anymore that she lost control to the point of being completely out of her own body, but she struggled with keeping her natural charge under control when she was stressed, frustrated, or pulled in too many different directions. It was all too easy for a rogue arc to leap off of her conductor plates, which could only handle so much voltage before her limiter was overridden, and that was how she got where she was now: repainting a jogging track, inch by inch, because she had lost it for just a few seconds.

At least you didn’t hurt anybody - this time.

“Jett.”

“What’s up?”

“You can go if you’d like.”

They had been working for almost three hours now - almost finished, but still another twenty feet to go before they reached the end of the damage path. The work had been grueling, especially since one of the arcs had damaged the gym’s AC condensers. Neon and Jett were both bathed in sweat, grimy and uncomfortable.

Jett shrugged. “Don’t see why. We’re almost done. Let me get you some-”

“You don’t have to be here. This is my fault. Sage said as much. So, it’s my problem to clean up.”

“And did she say you have to do it by yourself?”

“Well, no, but I-”

“Then there you go,” Jett said. “Not breaking the rules, am I?”

“Guess not.”

Jett grinned. “That’s the spirit. Don’t think you can get rid of me that easily.”

I don’t want to get rid of you, Jett. In fact, quite the opposite - the more she could keep Jett around, the better off she found herself. Jett was a particular presence that could introduce chaotic energy into Neon’s day while simultaneously being exactly what she needed to calm herself down. She was a rock to which Neon could anchor herself if need be, and vice versa. They complemented each other better than she had ever expected.

“Need a drink?”

Jett was standing over her, having closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye - or, perhaps, Neon was just that focused on her task. She stood back up to find the white-haired girl looking down at her curiously, the way one might study a museum artifact.

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” Jett jangled some loose coins in the pocket of her gym shorts. “I know what you like. Wanna see if they’ve still got some of the watermelon Spike Rush in the vending machines?”

“Jett.”

“I said I’m dead serious.”

“...fine.”

Neon exhaled dramatically, an unpleasant conversation on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t want to be callous, but she couldn’t help but feel there was something forced about all this. She nevertheless followed Jett out of the gym, grateful for the cool air in the locker rooms, and accepted the sugary energy drink she was gifted. She was grateful for the artificial taste and the immediate buzz, but still couldn’t shake that conversation as they dallied in the AC, procrastinating together until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Jett.”

“Yup?”

“You didn’t have to help me.”

“Yeah, you said that already. And I told you-”

“Is something the matter?”

Neon was, for all the social isolation she had forced herself to endure after the First Light, often very good at guessing peoples’ motives. Maybe it comes from having to look over your shoulder constantly, she thought, or maybe it’s just good intuition. Years of seeing her trust in others erode over time gave her an uncanny ability to sense when something was off, and she could tell that Jett was uneasy the moment she spoke.

“All good,” Jett said, “just tired from-”

“You came all this way to the other side of the base to help me out,” Neon pointed out, knowing today was one of her days off. “How did you even know?”

“I just thought-”

“You eavesdropped on Sage again, didn’t you?”

“Okay. Yeah. And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing, Jett. I just could tell you’ve got something on your mind.”

Jett was caught red-handed; she was never one to hide her feelings, or watch her mouth. She rolled her eyes dramatically, as though annoyed that she was caught, but Neon sensed she was secretly relieved that Neon had been the one to start this conversation.

“I just…when I heard Sage talk about what happened, and how she made you stay behind to clean the whole thing up, the whole thing just felt so blatantly…unfair, y’know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“And I thought about how when I first came here, and everyone looked at me like I was some sort of monster. Some even called me a freak. Yeah, I heard them. Just the same as you did.”

“I remember.”

“And then they put me in a fucking box down in the basement and kept me there for days on end. Even Sage wouldn’t spend more than half an hour with me at a time. And it was quiet and drafty and so boring down there and I felt like a fucking trapped animal.”

“Jett.”

“It was just on and on like that for days, nobody telling me what they were going to do with me, just asking me questions over and over again. I was going fucking insane. And then you came down there.”

“ Jett.”

Neon could feel her frustration rising, and with it the energy coursing through her limiter. It grew hot on her back when it was near its breaking point, and any excess capacity could only go in one direction; she needed to calm down, and to do that she needed to bring Jett to heel. 

“Jett, what does any of that have to do with cleaning up the running track?”

“It has everything to do with it,” Jett said, realizing she had been rambling and growing embarrassed because of it. “You were there for me…even though you didn’t realize how much I needed a friend. You came anyway, because…well, I don’t actually know why.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Neon said, succinctly. “You were down there alone, with nobody to turn to. You had every right to feel the way you felt, and I couldn’t bear it any longer.”

A stranger in a strange land. That was a line in a movie she had seen years ago, and had forgotten until now. Or maybe it was a book? Or the tattered, worn Bible that her father used to read to her before bed when she was little? It didn’t seem too important anymore, what with everything else that had turned Tala’s simple life upside down and dumped her into the shoes of someone called Neon. 

“I thought you had come down because you were told to, at first.”

“Nobody told me anything. I visited you because I knew how you felt. I’ve felt like that too.”

Isolated. Trapped. Frightened…like a wild animal. But we are no wild animals, Han Sunwoo, are we?

“You don’t owe me anything,” Neon said.

“I know I don’t.”

“So if you want to leave and let me finish-”

“But I don’t.” Jett stopped her in her tracks. “I like spending time with you. That’s why I came down here in the first place.”

“So you don’t like repainting the track, then?”

Jett managed a weak laugh. “Well, I would prefer not to do it,” she said, “but as long as you’re here, I will be here with you. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Not like you have a choice. I’m not going to leave unless you force me.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Hey! I bought you a drink.”

Neon scoffed. “Yeah, one. Do you know how many of those things I drink on an average day?”

“Don’t tell me. I don’t think I wanna know.”

Neon was already on her way back in to finish the job when Jett called out again. She hadn’t left the bench they had been sitting on.

“Hey, Neon,” she said, her voice wavering. “Thanks for being the first one to break the ice. With me. It was lonely down there, and I never realized how badly I needed a friend here.”

Neon turned on her heel and looked back at Jett. “Like I said, it was the right thing to do.”

“But you don’t realize how much it meant to me…to have you as my friend then.”

Jett stopped again. Her face froze.

“We are friends…right?”

Neon smirked. “Only if you help me finish painting,” she said, jokingly. “Can you do that?”

Jett unfroze, realizing the joke. “Like hell I can. You watch!” And then she was off like a shot, right at Neon’s side, revived.

In another half hour of heavy work and toil, they had finished. It went by in the blink of an eye, and suddenly her day did not seem so bad. They were still soaked in sweat, and the gym was still technically closed, but they had finished. 

If you managed to avoid staring at the jagged burn marks on the far wall, arcing all the way up to the gym’s domed ceiling, you would be forgiven for thinking that nothing had happened at all. Neon was satisfied with her work, and satisfied with her friend too. 

“Hey, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving over here.”

Jett had already discarded her tools and was ready to go. Neon had remained stuck in place, staring at the far wall where the burn marks remained, as if to taunt her. She wondered if Sage expected her to buff those out, or if that was beyond the pale.

“Hey, sparky. You good there?”

“Huh? Yeah.”

“Tala?”

Neon froze at the use of her real name. Who are you to call me that!? she wanted to say, as if outraged, but then she realized she was just confused and caught off-guard. How long had it been since she had last heard that name on someone else’s lips? Even her parents, who were only allowed to call her once a month from a secure line to ensure the secrecy of her identity and work, would only greet her with that name cautiously, in a low whisper, as though it were forbidden. 

“Hey. Tala. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just got caught up in the moment.”

“Yeah. It happens.”

And why is that? You were taken out of your shoes and dumped in another’s. Don’t forget who you are - no matter what happens. 

“I’m starving. Wanna grab a snack? I think you’re gonna want to.”

“What are you suggesting?”

Jett only smiled mischievously. “You’ll see what we’re cooking up,” she said, the glimmer in her eyes impossible to ignore. “Say, what are you doing the last weekend of the month? We’ve got a plan I think you’re gonna love…”

Neon excused herself to shower and change clothes, but she was ready to be a part of the grand conspiracy, as Jett labeled it, when she returned to the rec room at a quarter to four. 

A recent addition to base, upon the request of Sage (who, unlike her counterpart, knew people had a life outside of work), the rec room had been built out with no expenses spared, if the cutting-edge sound system and brand-new foosball tables were any indicator. Neon had only recently allowed herself to open up to others and feel comfortable socializing with peers of her age, but some of her fellow agents had been flocking here for much longer. Phoenix and Gekko had regular foosball tournaments running between the two of them, and the delivery of a brand new “game system” had them both thrilled. 

“Oh, I’m so going to whoop your ass at this.”

“You can try, mate, but you’ll be thoroughly displeased.”

“Yeah, whatever. You’re all talk, Phoenix. Just you watch.”

They had gathered around the brand new console, which had been installed in the back corner of the rec room, and Neon imagined it was to keep the competitive gamers as far away as possible. Even now, the two were jostling each other jokingly over who would get first dibs, each claiming superiority over the other.

“Boys, you can take turns,” Jett called. “Quit arguing, now. You’re both good.”

“Yeah, but I am better-”

“Phoenix, come here for a moment. I wanted to share our plan with Neon.”

A mischievous light flared in Phoenix’s eyes that Neon knew meant trouble. But she had just arrived, and Jett had promised her that this would be good, so she took a seat and listened as the others gathered around to listen in.

“So, Halloween’s coming up, right?” Phoenix began. “And this place is so… drab, and dull, and I think it needs a bit more life.”

“We think,” Gekko corrected. “It was my idea too.”

“It was my idea first.”

“Boys.” Jett brought them back on track. “Let’s continue, if we can please?”

“Right, well, myself and then Gekko, we decided we oughta get some decorations up. Simple stuff, really.”

“Spooky simple stuff.”

“And I helped, too!” Killjoy had joined the conversation, from across the room. “I actually did some of the designs-”

“KJ’s got some mad talent, yeah,” Gekko agreed. “But that still wasn’t enough.”

“We decided we need to step it up,” said Phoenix. “And that’s how we settled on the plan.”

“You still haven’t told me what the plan is,” Neon complained. “I’ve seen the decorations. It’s cool, but what is the-”

“I’m getting there,” Phoenix reassured her, as Jett narrowed her eyes at him in warning. “So, Gekko and I got to thinking. What’s the point of a holiday if you don’t celebrate it?”

“And we mean really celebrate,” said Gekko, nodding excitedly. “You get where I mean?”

“He means a party,” Jett said, when Neon didn’t answer. “A big party.”

“A smashing party. The sort you wake up from the next morning feeling like you just got smacked upside the head,” Phoenix said, with a wide grin. “That kind of party.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Killjoy chimed in, as if anticipating Neon’s worry. “Brimstone didn’t seem bothered by it.”

“Did he approve?”

“Well, no,” Killjoy said, hesitantly. “But-”

“He didn’t say no , either,” Gekko added.

“And what about Viper?” Neon asked.

“What about Viper?” Jett scoffed, dismissive. “I swear, nothing gets past her, but she hasn’t heard a word of this. She’s been away from base doing something or other, and she won’t be back anytime soon.”

“Regardless of whether or not she does, she’ll know about it.”

“And?”

“And what, Jett? You know what she’ll say, right? When she inevitably learns we’re trying to throw a party under her nose?”

They all shared a tense moment of silence. Nobody answered Neon’s question, because everyone already knew the answer, because everyone knew Viper. Whether or not Brimstone approved, Viper would find a reason to flank him and pull up with her own disagreements, which often felt extremely personal. 

“She’ll complain, but she’ll be too late,” Phoenix said, sniffing. “I made sure that this fits out of her schedule.”

“And how did you make sure of that?”

“Did a little snooping,” he said, evidently proud of himself. “Figured some stuff from talking to Brimstone, too. I have my ways.”

“Yeah, Neon, we’ll make it work,” Gekko reassured her, though she did not appear reassured. “Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? She gets mad? She already looks pissed every day.”

“If looks could kill…” Phoenix mumbled, shaking his head.

“So are you in? ‘Cause we’d love to have you.”

Neon was on a tightrope. On the one side, she could foresee all the ways that this only incensed Viper further, when she already kept a tight leash on everybody and had particularly pissy eyes for Neon, even though neither of them had spoken more than five words to the other. On the other side, she saw gorgeous costumes, plentiful booze, and the first chance at cementing real friendships that she’d had in…what, years? How long had it been since she’d called someone friend?

“Sounds reckless. Sure, why not?”

Phoenix was the first to break out into a broad grin. “Now that’s the spirit,” he said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Hey, if Neon’s in, we’re all fucking in, right!?”

“Damn right.”

“Absolutely!”

“ Ach , sure. I already bought my costume, soooo…”

Their conversation devolved into jokes, laughter, banter, and shared snacks, and Neon didn’t feel so left out right now. Maybe, if she were lucky, this would even go off without a hitch. She’d never been to a real Halloween party before, and this sounded promising.

Viper would be out of town, anyway, so what was stopping them from having the time of their lives and being able to breathe easy for a single day?

Chapter Text

“What’s taking you so long? It’s the belt, isn’t it? I told you, that was going to be a pain, but you wouldn’t listen…”

Killjoy was not the type to grow impatient, but Raze had been getting ready for the better part of an hour, and still wasn’t done. She stood with her back to the wall at the door of Raze’s bathroom, hands in her pockets and toes idly tapping on the linoleum, waiting for a response. All she heard was more struggling, shuffling of cloth, and muffled swears from within. She thought about knocking again, but before she could even raise her hand, the door popped open and Raze popped out.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“How do I look, silly?”

Raze struck a pose and Killjoy couldn’t help but laugh; she looked tremendous, but her dramatic flair was impossible to ignore. Killjoy immediately blushed and threw her hands to her face, as if to hide her shame at laughing. 

“I’m sorry,” she wheezed hastily, “it’s just-”

“Does it look bad?”

“No, no, not at all, it looks…stunning, honestly.”

“Are you trying to flatter me, gatinho?”

“I might be.”

“Well, it’s working.”

Raze put on another dramatic twirl, but there was nothing for Killjoy to laugh at this time. She found herself following every rustle of cloth, every contour on Raze’s hips and body, and every glimmering sequin on the belt that she had managed to cinch perfectly, in spite of her earlier struggles. It was an absolutely gorgeous costume, and one that fit Raze’s personality perfectly.

“Stop that,” Killjoy groaned, trying to keep her burning cheeks from giving away how flustered she was. “You’re going to make yourself dizzy.”

“By the looks of it, you’re the one who’s overwhelmed.”

“Stoppp.”

“This whole set was a good chunk of my paycheck,” Raze said, with a sigh. “You’d better believe I’m putting it to good use.”

“Does it feel like it’s worth the cost?”

“Oh, definitely,” Raze said, turning and admiring herself in her wall mirror. “Even the belt is growing on me, looking like this.”

The heat in Killjoy’s cheeks had not abated. They were tingling now. “You’re not the only one.”

“Hey, and here I remember you said you don’t like disco.”

“I don’t. But looking at you, I can’t help but reconsider…”

Raze’s outfit was extravagant, garish, and perfect in every way. She had even done up her hair, using at least two and a half cans of designer hairspray to achieve the volume and shape she desired, and had bought flashy imitation jewelry to fill out the look. She clinked and clattered everywhere she went, and Killjoy was infatuated with her style.

And what was she going to the party dressed as? Well…

“You still look like you’re going to work,” Raze joked, her eyes passing over every detail of Killjoy’s costume-but-not-a-costume. “Hell, gatinho, you could have told me you were working tonight and I’d believe it!”

Killjoy struggled to find her words. She could barely defend her costume choice as is, but Raze had completely disarmed her with her own costume.

“It’s fitting for me,” she groaned. “It’s just a cute scientist getup-”

“You’re already a cute scientist, every day,” Raze said. “Why not try something different?”

Killjoy frowned, her shoulders slumping. “I couldn’t think of anything. It was just easy to put this together, and now I feel kind of dumb..”

“Aww, now, it’s not dumb! We’ve just got to do some work and encourage your creative spirit,” Raze said, with a friendly click of her tongue. “Chin up! There’s always next Halloween to try something new.”

“Ach, I don’t know, Raze, costumes are not really my strength.”

“We’ll work on it together, then! All you had to do was ask for help.”

“I didn’t want to bother you, not when you had so much to do for your costume…”

“You literally never bother me. Meu Deus, what even makes you think that?”

“Are you sure you want to go with me? I can stay behind, I can always-”

“Klara.” Raze caught her off-guard, and before she could react, a tight grip ensconced her hands as her partner leaned in, mere inches from her face. “I wouldn’t want you anywhere else in the world tonight. Let’s have some fun, spend time with our friends and coworkers, and live our life a little while we can. Yeah?”

“Okay. Yeah.”

Raze smiled and let go of her wrists. “Come on then, amadinho,” she chuckled, mildly amused by her hesitation. “The night’s not getting any younger…and there’s gonna be a lot of punch to drink our way through. We’d better get started, or Jett and Phoenix are going to drink it all before we get there.”

I think it best you leave. You should not have come here in the first place.

Julien Rouchefort’s words still gave her pause, three days later, as she felt the shock of landing spiral up through her calves and knees. The VLT/R put down hard, and it shook her out of her reverie as it did so.

What did he mean? And why was he so taciturn?

Well, he was taciturn because he was a fighting Frenchman, a far cry from the standard set by his countrymen; words did not come to him as they did to others. Viper understood, even sympathized, being a far cry from the standard herself in many ways. But there was something about the way he had ushered her out, all serious and tight-lipped, that had her thinking. Was he hiding something? Did he find her presence disagreeable? Was there a new threat to her life she was somehow unaware of? She found the first option unlikely, and the third even less likely given how robust Cypher’s intelligence network was. 

So, people don’t want to hang out with you, Sabine. What else is new? 

But there was something more to it. She was just too tired from a series of long flights to reach a solid conclusion. The engine throttled to a low growl, the aft lights clicked green, and the VLT/R’s bay doors opened like a hungry maw to admit a cold, wet wind that immediately swept in to douse her with a curtain of frigid mist. A pleasant reprieve.

It was a far cry from the hot, dry, and yet irrepressibly vibrant landscape of Chad. She was home, alright, and couldn’t be happier about it. That happiness did not last long as a familiar face greeted her on the inky tarmac.

“Looks like you’ll be the last one in or out for the night.”

Head of Security Pål Farsund swept out of the gloom to greet her, his bright yellow hi-vis poncho slick with rain and ice. He offered her an umbrella that she gratefully accepted as the wintry mix assaulted her.

“You’re looking cheery, Farsund.”

“Hell if I should be. This storm coming in is shutting the island down for at least the night. Maybe more.”

“So what you’re saying is I had good timing?”

“Almost perfect timing. The party’s just now starting, apparently.”

She stopped in her tracks, halfway across the tarmac, as the VLT/R behind her began its long taxi across the windswept runway to be tucked in for the night. She could feel something cold and creeping on her skin, and it wasn’t the rain or the wind. 

“Party? What party?”

“Oh, I thought you’d already know. Seeing as you’re-”

“Farsund, what’s going on?”

“The agents are having a Halloween bash. Their words, not mine - of course, the support staff aren’t invited, it’s the radiants, mostly, and-”

“Brimstone knows about this?”

“I should suppose so.”

She bit back a crude swear, offered a snappy apology, and then raced ahead of the confused Farsund, who did not understand but accepted it as another quirk of the island’s strangest denizens. 

There was much talk to be had among the support staff, security team, and maintenance outfits about the agents , and their unusual manners and strange backgrounds and most of all their unique idiosyncrasies that could manifest in anything from healing auras to lightning out of thin air. They were poorly understood, sometimes poorly received, and always the butt of jokes shared over cigarettes and cheap beer. But they were tolerated, at least, and had even earned some begrudging respect from the support staff, who had come around to thinking that these guys aren’t so bad. After all, they all shared the same mission, and even if these agents weren’t exactly human on the outside, they shared the same hearts and minds. 

Pål Farsund was one of those people who had come around, and as he headed to base housing for the night, a frigid wind at his back, he laughed to himself thinking about just what sort of antics they might be getting up to tonight, in their closed-off little section of the base where they lived apart from everyone else. He didn’t need to be invited; he preferred the quiet life, and a good night’s sleep, and early mornings to himself, and time off the island with his family when it came, and he was grateful to have all of that simplicity in his life after many long years of uncertainty.

Neon’s tolerance for alcohol was already at a legendary low, and abstinence for the better part of the last three years hadn’t helped her at all. 

It had been an informed decision - and one that she had made after a single bottle of cheap beer had caused her to lose control of her powers and fry her friend’s television set beyond repair. That television set had cost her family the better part of a month’s paycheck, and the fallout from that incident had been far from pleasant.

She didn’t miss it much, even when she was feeling down and the temptation to pick up a bottle of wine and pour a glass had struck, but now she was faced with a difficult conundrum.

Survive a Halloween party sober? With Phoenix, Gekko, and Jett? Yeah, I don’t think that’s happening. 

She could have come up with an excuse not to attend, or perhaps just refused outright.

But then what? What will happen to your friends? They’ll start looking at you like an outcast, a burden, someone who doesn’t belong. Then it’s back to square one, Tala.

She had been at square one before. She would not go back. So she took a deep breath and steadied her heartbeat and marched into the rec room with a big grin on her face and the best costume she could wrangle up in a few short days. 

“Really, Jett?”

The first words out of her mouth were as genuine as they come. Her expectations had been low, but holy fuck had Jett really pushed the boundaries of “publicly acceptable” with her costume. Neon was no prude, but even this took her by surprise.

“What?” Jett didn’t seem to think the same way she did.

“What even are you…wearing?”

She was barely wearing it, frankly, given how little there was to wear in the first place.

“I’m a nurse,” Jett explained, as though that were obvious. “A slutty nurse, to be precise.”

“Thanks for the explanation,” Neon said, sarcastically.

“Hey, you asked!” Jett scanned her from head to toe with suspicious eyes. “And what are you supposed to be?”

Neon wasn’t quite sure, honestly. She had tried her hand at one of her mother’s older dresses, attempting a “horror bride” look, but she had run out of makeup and the dress didn’t fit quite right and she was cold and-

“Hey, don’t sweat it, Neon.”

“I’m not sweating-”

“Your costume looks great, whatever it is. Come on and grab some punch, we made lots.”

Neon felt her stomach roil at the thought of a huge bowl of punch thickened with multiple types of liquor, but she forced herself to follow along and go through the motions while Jett excitedly grabbed her next serving and dragged her over to the arcade consoles, where Phoenix and Gekko were clearly having a heated competition as they tried to one-up each other at some fighting game that she did not recognize. 

“I’m glad you came, by the way.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Jett shrugged. “Wasn’t sure. You didn’t seem super into it.”

“I wanted to hang out. Parties aren’t really my thing, but I wanted to spend time with you and my-”

Friends? Are they my friends? 

She hung up on the word so hard that she shut down. Jett would have noticed, normally, but at that very moment Phoenix scored over Gekko and sealed the deal, and Jett joined in the celebration.

They’re your friends. You’re just overthinking this. Let yourself relax and enjoy your night with them. It’s not like you’ll get another chance soon.

Sage would certainly see to that; while she did not explicitly approve of this gathering, she hadn’t argued either. Neon had overhead her saying something along the lines of “bad for discipline”, but she hadn’t raised a complaint about it either. She was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be seen tonight, having turned in early using the weather as an excuse - as if anybody would be caught dead outside of base tonight. Everyone was here and accounted for, and was ready to party late into the night while the tempest blew its rage outside. 

“Alright boys, you’re both good at the game.” Jett interrupted the two players, who were starting a skirmish and threatening to go for another round in spite of Phoenix’s indisputable victory. “Let’s not forget why we’re really here tonight. It’s Halloween, yeah?”

“So?” Gekko was dead set on a rematch. “We’re already partying, what more do you-”

“It’s scary movie time,” Jett reminded him. “Or are you gonna chicken out?”

“Uh oh,” Killjoy groaned, from her little corner of the rec room, where she had been reclining on a big bean bag with her friend (friend? Or is there something more? They’re definitely closer than friends .) 

“Uh oh, what?”

“Time for me to make my exit,” Killjoy said. “I am not, ah…I am easily scared, to say the least.”

“Then you’d best hold on tight to me, little chick,” Raze said, grabbing her playfully. “You’re going nowhere.”

“Ach, Raze, you wouldn’t-”

“Try me. You’re going nowhere.”

As if to make her point, she grabbed Killjoy by the shoulders and pulled her into what turned into a bear hug, to mixed amusement and groans of disgust from the other agents around them.

“Ugh, get a room you two,” Jett groaned, half-joking.

“Rude, amiguinha, no need to be jealous,” Raze shot back, also jokingly.

“Hey, are we watching the movie, or what?” Neon interjected.

Her request was mostly drowned out by the back-and-forth banter as a potent brew of alcohol, soft drinks, snacks, and weeks of intense training and social isolation frothed and boiled over. Even Neon, usually keen on staying in her room and being by herself, was feeling the buzz of anticipation (and rum punch) as she sat by and observed all of her friends finally getting to be just that - friends. 

Not coworkers. Not fellow agents. Not trainees. Friends. 

It was so overwhelming, and so pleasant, that she barely noticed the door to the rec room hiss open, allowing a snake to slither in. 

The group was more concerned with getting their TV turned on, and picking from a haphazard collection of rented VCR tapes, than with turning to greet their surprise guest. Only when she loudly cleared her throat to get their attention did they give it, and it was given only begrudgingly. Neon suddenly wished she were very small, and pressed herself up against the wall and the flat back of the rec room couch as she watched Viper’s seething eyes scan them one by one, as if selecting an unwilling victim for some dark experiment.

“Would somebody like to explain this to me?”

Viper’s question, at first, went unanswered. Even Killjoy, who Neon knew was something of a darling protégée for the otherwise heartless chemist, shrank away from her. Nobody was willing to step up to the plate and take a swing at the question until Jett, under the influence of alcohol as well as the crushing silence, sacrificed herself for their greater good.

“We’re having a party,” she said, meek at first, then finding her footing. “Brimstone approved of this. It’s for-”

“The holiday,” Viper snapped, cutting her off rudely. “Yes, it’s Halloween, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“And holidays mean we can break the rules, right?”

“I-”

Jett cut herself off before she incriminated herself. She wasn’t drunk enough yet for that, though she was slurring her words. She stepped back and backed into Phoenix, who grunted as she stepped on his toes by accident. She was not prepared for this encounter, and Viper seemed to revel in her lack of preparedness.

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“Brimstone said we-”

“Brimstone said,” Viper snapped. She turned her fiery eyes momentarily on Neon, and Neon shied away, withering in her sight. 

“Brimstone said. Is that so?”

“Yeah? You want to see his email?”

“No, I trust you. That’s not my issue.”

She took a step forward. That alone should not have been cause for alarm; but her approach was more menacing than any scary movie they might have chosen for the night. 

“The issue is, Brimstone doesn’t make the rules,” she said, as if she were a schoolmarm lecturing a class of errant children, ruler in hand and ready to strike. “Not alone. We make the rules. And I don’t recall party games in the rec room as part of our allowed liberties…nor alcohol.”

That, everyone knew, had been the biggest deal for this particular event. Brimstone might not have known just how much they were planning on buying, but Jett and Phoenix had asked for leniency for just one night, and he had nodded his head and given them the green light. Sage had also approved, though she had warned them of the dangers of drugs and alcohol and had even made them all sit down for an hourlong presentation that they had silently endured. So what was the problem, then, if two out of three had given them some leniency? Apparently, universal approval was an unwritten rule in their handbook. 

“It is very clearly illustrated in our handbook that alcohol is forbidden on this island, both for storage and consumption,” Viper said, as if anticipating the question. “And by the very smell of this room, that rule has been clearly breached.”

“Brimstone said-”

“Quit using him as an excuse,” Viper snapped. “You broke the rules. I did not agree to this. So, you broke the rules. All of you.”

Even Killjoy did not appear to be spared from the snake’s wrath, which fell upon her just as equally as it did everyone else in the room. Only Jett so far had the courage to try and challenge her, and was failing miserably. Neon had, predictably, found herself huddled against the couch in the corner, trying to-

Trying to what? Sneak out, so I don’t have to face the consequences? Fade into the background, so my friends can take the fall? Is that what friends do, Tala?

She had always found herself retreating in the face of Viper, no matter the occasion. She had enough. She stepped forward and stood her ground now, and Viper took notice immediately, but waited for Neon to make the first move.

“How can you say we’re breaking the rules, if the rules are made by two?” Neon thought that sounded better in her head, but too late now. “That’s what you’re suggesting, right?”

“And what of it?”

“There are two people in charge, according to you,” Neon continued. “Which isn’t even correct, actually. Sage is the third.”

“Sage does not-”

“Therefore, if you want to accuse us of breaking our rules, you’re going to need your fellow leaders here. Am I right?”
“You are wrong.”

Neon could feel something welling up in her chest, like she were a balloon about to pop. She had never locked eyes with Viper like this, much less challenged her outright - she was messing with the bull, and she sensed she was about to get the horns.

But she glanced over at Jett, and Gekko, and Phoenix, and her resolve stiffened. They were counting on her now to do some justice and set this matter straight, and fight back against the merciless taskmaster who had been hounding them for months just for existing. She straightened her back and bore down on Viper with fresh fury.

“You know what your problem is? You can’t handle the fact that not everyone thinks like you do,” she said, advancing on Viper, within arm’s reach now. “You hate that not everyone agrees with you. You hate that not everyone is as miserable as you. You hate that some of us know how to enjoy life.”

“You’re out of line, Neon.”

“You see us having fun and what’s the first thing you do? You try and stop us, because you hate that we’re having fun without you.”

“You’re way out of line.” Viper was crisp and assertive as always, but not as self-assured as she often was; there was something in her tone slipping. Was it doubt? Or was Neon’s resistance simply provoking her? Neon wasn’t about to stop now, because to admit defeat here would be to admit defeat forever - in her mind, at least - and that was not an acceptable compromise.

You will not be beaten here. You will beat her. Basagin ang kanyang espiritu.

“Why am I out of line?” She asked the obvious question first, hoping to tie Viper up in her own logic. “Is it because I’m questioning you? Or because I’m right.”

“This is nonsense. You are wasting my time.”

“Answer my question.”

“A waste of time.”

“Are you afraid of being wrong?”

“I fear nothing ,” Viper declared. “Especially not a punk kid like you.” 

Now that was uncalled for. Neon could feel the heat in her chest begin to take form - the form of a spark, how it always started. Her conductor plates handled the charge for now, but she could feel the static off her skin, and was almost certain Viper could see it. But Viper did not back down, or try to deescalate the situation as the bigger person should. She saw weakness and went for the opportunity.

“You’re just that. Punk kids,” she spat, not chastising only Neon but everyone who had dared to attend that night. “You treat this like it’s some summer camp. Loud music and boozy drinks, childish games, like you’re here to leave all your cares and the world behind. That is going to stop-”

“And who’s going to stop it? You?”

“You’re goddamn right I am.”

She had never heard Viper swear before like that. It was very pointed, deliberate, and raw - and Neon decided to fire back in kind.

“The hell you will,” she said, standing her ground.

“Yeah, the hell you will,” Jett agreed, sensing weakness. The snake had enemies, and they shared the same grass. Viper was not the only one who could bite, but that wouldn’t deter her from trying.

“You will get hung out to dry for this,” she promised them. “ All of you. And if Brimstone doesn’t do it, I will.”

“I doubt it.”

“Oh, you doubt it?”

Neon was running out of steam here, and had to make Viper back down. She had stepped up to the challenge, but bit off more than she could chew. 

“What are you going to do? Tell me. I’m dying to know,” Viper said, sarcastic, as though she didn’t take Neon seriously.

“I’m going to do the right thing.”

Viper laughed in her face. She actually laughed. She couldn’t believe it! The arcs off her conductor plates were visible now, her anger manifest, but the snake didn’t seem to care, or perhaps she simply didn’t notice the subtle signs. 

“The right thing,” Viper repeated. “The right thing. Oh, that’s rich.”

“You laugh at me now.”

“I’ll laugh at you all I please, until you get back in line. What are you going to do about it? Go run off to Sage? Beg her to save you? Rely on her, like you always have?”

“Better than running off to meet some stranger while on duty.”

Neon knew she shouldn’t have said that. She knew it was too far. She knew it would push Viper past her red line. But she never could have foreseen Viper’s knuckles aiming for her, nor the stinging backhand that followed and left a burning pain in its wake. 

Neon had faced worse, but somehow this blow hurt more than anything else before. Even her radiance did not know how to handle the assault; it was oddly silent, her conductor plates inert, the hot blood in her veins now a blue calm sea waiting for the storm to pass on. Her heart skipped a beat as if even it did not understand what just happened.

Viper took one step back, then two, muttered something incomprehensible under her breath, then turned on her heel and stormed out of the rec room, leaving behind a heavy and uncomfortable silence.

“What the fuck?”

Jett was the first one to break it. Then Neon did, with a deep breath, a loud sigh, and a choked-back cry of delayed pain as she processed what had just happened.

The next couple of minutes passed by in an uneven blur as Jett raced forward and cradled Neon against her body, trying to calm her down to prevent the worst from happening. The burning sensation on her cheek did not abate, in no small part due to the fact that Viper’s bony and callous knuckles had been the first thing to impact her, but it wasn’t the backhand itself that hurt most. It was the sense of belittlement, the disparaging comments, and the callous way in which the snake had slithered off without so much as a parting word. The blow had been her final word, and with it Neon had no rebuttal to give. She wasn’t openly crying, but she was about to, and only Jett’s comforting embrace and the presence of her friends kept her steady and stable as she recovered.

“I’m alright. I’ll be okay. Jett, I’m okay.”

“She had no right to do that to you.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“That fucking snake…I’m gonna-”

“Don’t do anything, Jett. Please.”

“She can’t get away with this. Evil bitch-”

“Jett. Please. Let’s not take this further.”

“I won’t, but that bitch is gonna get what she deserves…”

“Jett. Please. Take a deep breath with me.”

In spite of her combative spirit Jett was quick to run out of steam and soon calmed down, helping Neon along with everyone else and reassuring her that she did nothing wrong, it wasn’t her fault, and so on so forth. Neon might have believed it, but she made the decision to cross the line, and she knew the consequences now.

So maybe it is true, then? 

She hadn’t thought much about it since she’d heard the whispered conversations between Killjoy and Raze, and hadn’t even said anything about it to anyone other than Jett. It was a rumor, nothing more, and rumors could kill just as well as bullets could.

And yet, the way she reacted…it’s not just a rumor. There’s some truth to it. She’s doing something she shouldn’t. The question is, what?

Neon was thinking now, plotting her reaction, wondering how she could get back at Viper and level the playing field even further. And as she simmered down, and began thinking, and they all started picking up the pieces of their shattered party, nobody noticed that Killjoy had stepped out of the room and vanished without a word.

Was it the right thing to do?

Probably not.

Do you regret it?

Absolutely not.

She had assumed correctly that this was far from over. The alert ping on her workstation and the following hiss of the decon chamber’s pneumatic doors confirmed that assumption. She knew who it was the moment she walked in.

“Killjoy.”

“Viper. I’m sorry, I should have told you I was coming…”

“That’s fine. Sit down. I’m not busy.”

That was a lie. She was always busy, but this time it was by design and not by necessity. The only place she could stomach being right now was her lab, where nobody else could reach her.

Well, except for Killjoy. And Brim, but that comes later.

“If you’re going to berate me, save your breath,” Viper warned her, in an abrasive tone that was unusual even for her. Killjoy flinched, as if struck herself.

“I did not come to do that. I just wanted to know why.”

“Why? Why I hit her?” 

Viper had a canned answer for it, but the reality was far more complicated. It was a decision she made in the heat of the moment, not something she had ever planned for. Had she desperately wished she could discipline Sage’s peons more strictly, even dreamed about it? Of course she had. Had she ever planned on actually carrying out that discipline, much less on the spot? 

“I did it because I had to make an example.”

“An example of Neon? But why?”

“She was out of line. We are an intelligence unit, Killjoy. We are professionals. Need I remind you?”

“That doesn’t mean you can hit someone who disagrees with you.”

“We were not disagreeing. Neon was bordering on insubordination, and as her superior officer I disciplined her excess as I saw fit in the moment.”

“That troubles me, Viper. Genuinely.”

Killjoy would normally take a seat on the two simple benches and the handful of plush chairs that Viper had set up in the entryway, explicitly for visitors to sit on as they waited for her to reemerge from the depths of the lab. Now, though, she stood in the middle of the hallway, blocking her egress, as if to say you can’t leave until you’ve answered my question.

Viper, of course, would much rather just descend back into the depths of her lab and work the night away. It wouldn’t be the first time after all. But something in Killjoy’s grave, ashen expression gave her pause and forced her to wrangle with the consequences of her decision when she would rather just pretend it hadn’t happened at all.

“Discipline can be troubling, sometimes.”

“That’s not an excuse to backhand your own agent.”

“I’m not making an excuse.”

“But you are,” Killjoy said, exasperated. “You’re pretending like this is normal, or acceptable. Why should it be?”

“I already told you-”

“I know what we are, Viper. I have known from the very day you offered your hand to me and told me that I belonged here,” Killjoy continued, her arms folded and her eyes fierce, locked on Viper’s. Her costume was all askew, as though she herself had been in a fight. “And that doesn’t mean we’re a troupe of barbarians who resort to fists and backhands every time we disagree.”

“You think me a barbarian?”

“I think you’re forgetting that there’s always another way.”

“And what is the other way, Killjoy?”

“It’s not just one way. There’s never one answer.”

The engineer’s frustration was not new to Viper. Time and time again they had revisited their age-old conversation about the necessity of belligerence, and the lessons that Viper had learned that Killjoy had yet to encounter. Killjoy’s frustrations had only built as the bulk of her new research projects were leaning into weapons and missile components, steering her away from the passion projects she so desperately wanted to return to - she had expressed as much to Viper, and Viper had brushed her off. 

We have a duty to maintain our status quo to prevent unchecked fear. She had said those very words to Killjoy, now almost a year ago. The other side certainly will. And if we cannot meet them, then who will? There is no option to step back from the ledge if the other might take the plunge.

“I just don’t see why you had to strike her. We could have resolved this better.”

“Maybe we could have.”

“You talk about professionalism. But do you really care about being professional?”

“Do you?”

“Ohhh, Viper. It’s always like this with you. But you never really think about what you mean…I’m sorry, I’m tired after all this. I will take my leave. Goodnight, Viper.”

“Goodnight, Killjoy.”
Viper only allowed herself to take a real deep breath after Killjoy had passed through the other side of the decon chamber. Their conversation had been unexpectedly heavy; Killjoy not only offered resistance, but her exasperation was genuine.

Is this a breaking point? She was too exhausted to tell. She decided to work through it and had just sat back down at her workstation when her watch pinged her from Brimstone:

LETS TALK IN MORNING

No burning the midnight oil, then. She was going to need to be well-rested for this, however it would play out. 

Chapter Text

Sage refused to look her in the eye. Viper didn’t care much, but she noticed it.

If you have something to say, say it. But Sage wouldn’t say a word to her, either.

Fine. Have it your way.

She had no regrets about her decision, only that she made it in front of virtually every other agent in the Protocol. Everyone had seen her hand land on Neon’s cheek, and everyone had witnessed the aftermath. They would certainly not forget.

“So who is this guy, anyway?”

Raze broke the uncomfortable silence between them, not out of a desire to banish the awkward tension, but because she had been too hungover to read her briefing. She had nearly lost her breakfast halfway across the Atlantic, and she still looked queasy as she tightly grasped at the cinch straps locking her into her seat. The onset of turbulence told Viper they were descending rapidly, and would be on the ground and fanning out shortly.

“He’s a high priority target,” Viper explained, succinctly, making her annoyance clear. “You should have read the briefing.”

“Sorry. Forgot,” Raze apologized weakly. “I was, uh…”

“Otherwise indisposed. I understand.” Viper was pleased to see that Raze appeared uncomfortable as she shifted in her seat. “His name is Julius Werz. He’s the Director of Staffing for the Kunstgewerbemuseum in Berlin. Or rather, he was.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

“Yeah. Don’t get used to saying it. It’s an art museum that was the victim of a heist. We won’t be here long, knowing him.”

This was a quick and dirty, in-and-out mission. Werz had been running for weeks, and the pressure on his backside had only growing. The heat was building to a critical point and it was now or never; he knew that, too, and was making a desperate attempt to slip away into a pro-Soviet country where he could find some relief and lay low for years if needed. Viper was intent on ensuring he would get no such chance; secretly, she felt that it was the only way that she could atone for her failure to stop the Berlin heist as it happened.

The communicator in her ear clicked and a familiar voice, albeit mildly garbled, called her to attention.

“I am sorry, friend, that I couldn’t be there today,” Cypher said. “I am…otherwise indisposed.”

“Cypher. Now’s not the time for jokes.”

Cypher laughed dryly. “There’s always time for jokes. I have your back here, Viper. No fear.”

“Just keep your network active. We’re going to need to move fast.”

“Already hot on his trail. You’re playing a game on my home field, my friend. You have the advantage.”

“Let’s hope we keep it.”

“Trust that I know my country, Viper.”

“Trust is sparse in this business.”

“Then you’d best pick your allies carefully.”

Cypher was toying with her because he was confident; she was anything but, after spending the past two hours trying to avoid Sage’s judgmental gaze. Raze’s awkward attempt to slice through the tension only left her feeling more troubled. She had no regrets about her decision, but she did feel the sting of being treated now as an enemy by almost every single one of her colleagues.

Why won’t they understand? You did what you had to do. That’s what you always do, right Sabine?

“And we’re on the ground.”

Head of Security Pål Farsund’s voice crackled on the intercom as the VLT/R trembled, and the overhead lights switched from a menacing red to a reassuring green.

“Good luck out there, ladies. We’ll be holding down the fort here.”

Thanks. Nobody bothered to voice their appreciation for the flight. Everyone wanted this to be over… so, what, they can go back to being miserable and awkward at home? Instead of being miserable and awkward in a foreign locale?

Well, Rabat was a change of pace for her at least. She had never been to Morocco at all, in fact, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the local authorities had at least some measure of control over the situation. Roads were blocked off, armed policemen were on the streets, and there was little civilian activity to wrangle with as they deployed. That was never a given on missions like these, especially on such short notice.

“Raze, you and Sage will stick to covering duty. I expect overwatch on demand.”

“So, what? Are you going to-”

“Go it alone? Yes, I will.”

And I prefer it that way given my present company. She had no meant it as a dig at Raze, but rather an expression of her refusal to work with Sage right now - and she sensed the feeling was mutual. Why Brimstone sent her along with was beyond her ability to understand, but she was not about to deny his request - especially given how much they still had to talk about when she got back.

He hasn’t said anything about it yet. Does he even know, yet? How could he not?

“Be careful out there, mocinha. You get into trouble, you holler.”

“I know what to do, Raze. Thanks.”

“Don’t rush to help her, Raze,” Sage said, trying to stick it to her one last time before they separated. “She knows what she’s getting into.”

“Trying to undermine me, Sage?”

“If I recall, you are the one who refuses to split the team up. What changed, Viper?”

“I’ll let you think about that one for a bit while I get this done. See you soon.”

She left Sage and Raze behind on that icy final note, broaching no disagreement. This was not her first rodeo as a lone gun, but she had to admit it was always better with an ally or two at her side. She was often reluctant to split any team up, but there were only three of them here and their target was moving fast, and could almost certainly outpace her if she didn’t keep the pressure on from the get-go. So she left Sage and Raze to attend to their own equipment and take the high ground, and she dipped into the warren of alleyways that acted as the nervous system of this particular neighborhood. 

Julius Werz was outnumbered, definitely outgunned, and running low on options. If she were him - and she was grateful she wasn’t - she’d burn what remaining cash she had to try and lay low. But even now, that might not work out for him; the pressure was too much, the heat unbearable. And she sensed correctly that he was still trying to run, his only remaining option.

“Viper. I’ve got a mark on him. He’s trying to get into the city’s industrial zones. He wants to lose you there and get a ride out of the city.”

“Cypher, don’t lose him.”

“Impossible, my friend. He is a fly who does not realize he’s already in the web-”

“Keep it simple, Cypher.”

“You sap the fun out of everything, Viper.”

“Haven’t heard that one before.”

She might not be in the prime of her life anymore, according to medical science, but she could leg it across the cityscape like few others could. Cypher’s instructions in her ear, she blitzed past frightened children and surprised women out doing their laundry, taking sharp turns and banking hard whenever Cypher called out a new direction. He was able to track their target’s position almost in real time, giving her an enormous advantage and allowing her to get far ahead of Raze and Sage, who weren’t benefitting from real-time assistance like she was. She had almost forgotten about the two of them, leaving them in her dust.

“You’re gaining on him,” Cypher informed her, as she shoved her way through a cluster of men in a junction where the alley turned into a more populated side street. As they swore at her in darija , she turned left and only then did she spot him - a foreign face in the crowd, something that clearly didn’t belong, sandy blonde hair sticking out like a sore thumb.

He spotted her immediately, and bolted.

“I have him.”

“He’ll try to lose you. He’s going into the souq, careful now-”

“I have him.”

“Viper, tsk tsk. You should know by now that-”

“Cypher. Enough banter.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Past baskets filled with millet and rice, past shopfronts where the pleasant tingle of spices mingled with the heady aroma of cooked meats, past slackened jaws and opened mouths, she raced along in singleminded pursuit of the sandy-haired man who could hardly hope to outrun her, try as he might. 

The gazelle rarely wins in a bid to escape the cheetah. He might have endured admirably, but his fight was a doomed one. Every additional second he spent running was a wasted effort, and he must have known that, but instinct was a hell of a drug. He even tried to lose her by turning through shops and throwing their goods across the floor in a desperate attempt to slow her down. She easily bounded over the obstacles or simply pushed past them, ignoring the shock and anger that followed her.

Singleminded pursuit. There is nothing else that matters right now. It’s just him. You’re so close.

The power imbalance shifted a bit when he turned on his heel, stumbled backwards into a pallet of bottled water, and pulled a gun out of his waistband that she had previously failed to spot. He leveled it at her and took a first shot.

Okay, well. If that’s how we’re going to do it.

Werz was clearly untrained, and his first shot was so wide of the mark that he might as well have not been aiming at her. The second shot hit home, but her suit took the blow in stride, deflecting the bullet as though it were little more than a spitball. The force of the impact caused her to stumble and slow momentarily, giving Werz time to resume his flight, but it only provided him with a precious few seconds. She was back on his heels again shortly.

A valiant effort, she thought with mock approval as he fired another potshot at her and went wide of the mark again, his wild eyes desperately trying to track a moving target that he had no hope of hitting. He could still land a lucky shot, she supposed, but her suit would protect everything from the neck down.

She liked her odds.

“Viper, is that gunfire?”

“From him,” she grunted, straining to speak as the exertion of her sprint caught up with her. “He’s trying.”

“Viper, if he’s going kinetic, you should too.”

“No. I won’t give him the privilege of that.”

“Don’t be hasty-”

“Cypher, with all due respect, let me handle this. Just keep me informed.”

He darted down a side street that led to another, more cluttered section of the souq. Somewhere along the way, he dropped his gun, and she raced past it. Some good it did you, little man, she thought with amusement. Now the odds are against you once more. 

Werz did not give up, even though he was at an even greater disadvantage now. When he stumbled into three women whose arms were full of plastic jugs and pots, he tried to pull one of them close to his body as though she were a hostage, putting an innocent life between himself and his pursuer. When he realized that Viper was not going to pull a weapon on him, and was intent on capturing him with her bare hands, he quickly abandoned that effort and threw the woman headfirst into her friends. Viper would not stop to help them, and instead bounded over them, her eyes locked on her target. The sandy-haired German was running out of options, and out of time.

“Viper-”

“Cypher, I’ve almost got him, don’t interrupt me now.”

“Viper, you’re breaking up, I’m having issues connecting with you-”

As if that would fix it immediately, she smacked the headset further into her ear. The distraction gave her target a second’s respite, and he took full advantage of it, clambering up over a wooden fence at the rear end of the souq and disappearing over the other side as she struggled with her connection.
“Damnit!”

“Viper, we’re getting a ton of interference, what’s your position?”

“I’m right where I’ve been, still on him.”

“I can barely hear you, the line is getting tangled, hold tight while I–”

The communicator failed moments later. Viper felt something ripple through her skin and muscles, like an invisible wave, her blood running cold at the alien touch. Across the way, multiple lightbulbs and neon signs that illuminated the various storefronts blinked out, each one dying simultaneously. 

Her communicator was completely dead now, even the static petering out and going silent. Any effort to revive it was futile; it was as if there was nobody else on the line, as though Cypher had logged off and went about his day and left her to it.

“Raze? Sage? Come in. Sound off.”

The local line was dead, too; neither of them responded to her call.

“Raze. Sage. Come in.”

There was now an unusual buzzing in her ear, as though the communicator were a trapped bee - was it malfunctioning, or had something more significant occurred? The static came back online but it was different, somehow, more frantic and forced. Her heart skipped a beat as she reached the only logical conclusion she could.

An EMP? Here? That was where her mind went to first. It was the only logical explanation for sudden electrical disturbances - an electromagnetic pulse had occurred, its origin unknown, the duration of the outage anyone’s guess.

Then she remembered code orange. And then code red…and the crisis that had emerged from that.

But those outages haven’t happened in months. There hasn’t been another incident since, what…May? June? Wasn’t Sage investigating them with her team?

The souq and its surrounding environs had suddenly fallen very silent, and very still, and there was not a single other person in sight. Her grip on the Phantom tightened and she began checking her corners with renewed vigor, positive that any second now she would find some assailant in the shadows, waiting for her to make a fatal mistake.

Or you will find Sage or Raze, and be the first of your organization to commit a blue-on-blue incident. 

Damn it all, she couldn’t focus right now, not with the sudden loss of connection and the sense of security that had come with it. Julius Werz was forgotten now; he had made good with his escape, taking advantage of her disorientation. He was likely several blocks away and had regained the momentum after narrowly avoiding capture, and while that might not save him in the end, it at least gave him desperately-needed breathing room. She could think about him later; right now, she needed to double back and reconnect with her team.

Find Sage and Raze. Find Sage and Raze. Find Sage and Raze .

Something had surely happened; diesel generators and neon lights that had once contributed to a lively environment had died, sucking the life out of the world around them as they did so. The shopkeepers and shoppers alike had fled, abandoning the market to a dismal silence that made every footstep sound like a gunshot. 

The communicator clicked languidly in her ear, no longer buzzing but resigning itself to its fate. She was silently grateful that Killjoy’s new experimental weapons included no electronic components apart from the optics, which she didn’t need anyway in such tight quarters.

Find Sage and Raze. Find Sage and Raze. Find…Cypher?

He was standing with his back to her initially, appearing as if a ghost out of the mauve brick wall in front of her. He stood with his feet evenly stanced, as though expecting a showdown in the alley, but he was facing the wrong way. She could have leveled her rifle at him and taken a shot, if she wanted to; but why would she want to? She didn’t realize yet how wrong this was.

Surely, it’s not him. But…

How could it not be him? His off-white cape, soiled by dirt and dust, billowed behind him in a hot breeze. The cowl of his jacket was remarkably similar, even bearing the same angular creases. The only thing missing was the curious hat (that was not quite a hat, to those in the know) that defined him, his trademark piece of clothing that he never left home without. But everything else screamed Cypher.

Until he turned around.

Cruel circumstance had caused her to make a crucial mistake, and she only now realized it. She had allowed her guard to lower just enough at the sight of a familiar shape and what she had hoped would be a familiar face; when the figure turned to confront her, she realized her assumption had been in error.

This was not Cypher as she knew him.

This Cypher was a cruel mockery of the one she knew, a frightening figure in place of a friend, an impostor from another time and place who was clearly intruding on the present. The studded black cuirass that wrapped around his chest, hidden from behind by his cowl and jacket, was covered in lacerations and impact marks, scars of past battles. The device around his neck that resembled a heavy collar was cinched to his mask with steel straps, but the mask itself was nothing resembling his usual style; it was more akin to a rebreather, with wide black eyepieces and a long cylindrical filter connecting to a series of tubes that flowed to the back of the collar. Multiple air filters were strapped to the studded apparatus over his chest, each one bearing jagged scars and signs of rust as though having endured years of use.

He recognized her the moment their eyes met. She knew that he could see, even though his face was concealed, as his posture tensed and then immediately relaxed as he assessed her, remaining in place.

“Oh. They warned me about you.”

He carried Cypher’s voice, but the words were not his. They were hissed and sputtered, as though through a forked tongue. He was practically alien, not the Cypher she knew. He studied her briefly, as a curious scientist might study an exotic specimen, then raised his pistol and shot her three times at point blank range.

Each impact was different from the last. At first there was surprise, and a sharp pain; then shock, and a dull heat in her chest; then the vague feeling of being pushed over, as though someone had reached out and knocked her to the ground with a simple shove. The pain melted into the shock as adrenaline coursed through her veins, which she wasted by writhing on the ground like a worm instead of taking the reins of her situation and trying to fire back. But she had dropped her Phantom, and was completely paralyzed under a crisp, perfectly blue autumn sky. 

This is not my Cypher. But if not, whose Cypher is it? Is it even Cypher? 

It was hard to form words, her regular stream of consciousness choked with blood as it leaked from her broken veins. She tried to breathe, but that was difficult too; her longs were similarly flooding.

The adrenaline couldn’t help her for long, and the pain returned like a lit match under her skin, accompanied by a creeping sensation that she could only describe as the imminent sense of her own mortality.

Am I going to die? Again?

It was not a bad place to die, all things considered, but she would prefer not to. Julius Werz was completely forgotten; she couldn’t even remember his name, or even when he was relevant, as her vision began to grow blurry and her face tingled with a painful numbness. There was something hot pooling at her back, which she soon realized was blood, as the powerful bullets he used had penetrated cleanly through her suit, leaving her with immense organ damage and internal bleeding.

Yes, I’m going to die.

She decided as much; why fight the inevitable? It didn’t hurt so bad now, and by comparison living and breathing hurt a lot worse. Her muscles were already relaxing, anyway, so the process had begun. It didn’t hurt so bad.

A face. A body. Raze?

The Brazilian’s look of alarm roused her, kindling instincts that had been suppressed by the overwhelming urge to give up. Now the pain returned, as abandoned synapses roared to life and her muscles tensed in anticipation of a second chance. She thought it was too late, but Raze thought differently.

“Meu Deus. Viper. Stay with me. Breathe carefully.”

No. Don’t tell me what to do.

“Sage, this is Raze. I have her. What’s our ETA?”

Who cares? I’m not going with.

“She’s secured. She doesn’t have long, though. Fuck, fuck, we don’t have long-”

No, we don’t. So why bother?

“What about her suit? Whoever shot her, it went right through- I’m still with her, she’s still with me, but hurry-”

Don’t bother hurrying, please.

She was vaguely aware of her body being dragged down the street, the Cypher-not-Cypher who assailed her nowhere to be found. Perhaps he would return shortly to finish the job, or perhaps this was just the initial step in a long, winding game he intended to play. Who was he, anyway? She had too much to think about now, and her body refused to give up a second time.

But blood loss had its say in the matter, and as she felt a cold, violent wind on her face she slipped away into unconsciousness, which may as well have been death for her. Time ceased and with it every worry dissipated for a bit.

The euphoria did not last. Tranquility faded away and then the urge to survive dragged her by her hair into a harsh, unpleasant reality that unfurled around her and was decidedly not the streets of Rabat.

Her second return to the living world was greeted only by the monotonous beeping of medical machinery, and the harsh buzzing of overhead fluorescents. For a few seconds, she could not move a single muscle; she wondered if she had been paralyzed. But slowly, agonizingly, her nervous system reacted to unexpected commands and she could feel everything at once.

It took every ounce of control for her to not scream in pain. 

Fuck. Why didn’t you listen to me? I said, why bother-

The door hissed open and Sage strode in with calm eyes and white knuckles, as though she had heard Viper come back to life and knew her brief period of peace and tranquility was at an end. 

“It didn’t have to be like this,” Sage admonished her. “You went too far, too fast.”

“I almost had him, too.”

“And then you lost him.”

“Yeah, well. Get me some water.”

Viper was too pissed off at being alive to do such a simple thing as ask for a drink politely. Sage, under normal circumstances, would have denied such a request - but bound by the Hippocratic oath as she was, she begrudgingly retrieved a pitcher of cool tap water for her patient. Viper obligingly drank from it greedily, her energy already sapped and her head beginning to spin from the dehydration incurred by her treatment. 

Resurrection is a bitch.

“Your vitals have stabilized, but your body is confused and significantly damaged,” Sage informed her, taking readings and jotting down notes without so much as a single attempt at making eye contact. “I will remind you, Viper, that the post-resurrection healing process is a prolonged and-”

“Tell me something I don’t know. I’ve been here before.”

“And you’ll be here again, and again, if you keep making simple mistakes,” Sage snapped. “And one of these days, I’m not going to reach you in time.”

“You didn’t reach me. Raze brought me to you.”

“Your memory is faulty.”

“I think I’d remember your cruel face if you had been the last person I saw.”

Sage seemed to think that was funny; it was rare for Viper to hear her laugh, and that only further incensed her, as it usually would, except now she could do nothing about it but glare angrily at Sage, who refused to reciprocate the gesture.

“I know you didn’t want to revive me.”

Sage was tinkering with her saline line. It would be the perfect moment for her to sabotage something, if she wished, but Viper knew she wouldn’t. Sage would weather her barbs and arrows with a straight back and a serene expression, as she always did until she was ready to snap back and laugh in Viper’s face as she had just done.

“I know you don’t want me here at all.”

“You don’t know anything, clearly.”

“I know that you aren’t about to-”

“What you should know is who shot you. Curious that you’ve not mentioned that at all. Who was it?”

Viper’s barb died on her tongue and slid back into her throat, which was still bone dry from significant dehydration. She had practically forgotten how absurd that final encounter was, right before she had died at his hand. To admit what she had seen and heard would almost be too crazy, but she had no reason nor the energy to lie about it.

“It was Cypher.”

Sage’s fingers gripped the saline line so hard that her nails punctured the plastic tubing. The drip alarm wailed for several seconds before she disconnected the line and snapped a new one in before snapping back to Viper in turn.

“Don’t pull my leg,” she said, harsh. “I saved your life, but I can-”

“I’m not taunting you.”

“I find that hard to believe, Viper.”

“He dressed like Cypher. Had his voice, too. He acted like he was expecting me…almost like he had planned this.”

“Cypher was on base for the entire duration of the mission. He was literally giving us directions as we raced to you. He never left.”

“I’m not saying it was the Cypher we know.”

What was she saying, then? That a carbon copy clone of Cypher, completely consistent with every trait of his character, had taken to the streets of Rabat in an explicit bid to kill her? And had almost succeeded, too, if not for Raze’s quick arrival and Sage’s timely intervention? 

“You are suffering some sort of poisoning,” Sage said, shaking her head dismissively. “Have you been testing your own equipment on yourself?”

“Go to hell,” Viper spat.

“I still need to fill out your morphine line. You will want that, I promise.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“It is admittedly hard to, given what you’ve just said. I have to assume you’re delirious and dehydrated and that is affecting your memory and judgment.”

“I am as lucid as ever.”

“I would doubt that, if not for your unceasing insults and slights on my character.”

“I don’t have a different answer for you. I know what I saw, and what I heard.”

“Try and relax, Viper, you will just strain yourself more trying to antagonize me.”

“Fine. Go to hell, then.”

Her voice was growing strained just from speaking at a normal volume. Her head spun like a top and shutting her eyes did little to alleviate her unfortunate situation. She would have to wait for the multiple drips inserted into her upper arms to begin working their magic, and bite the bullet until then, and Sage appeared to be taking her sweet time with the setup. But before long tranquility surged into her veins and the pain abated, and with it the restlessness she felt as her report fell on deaf ears.

She wouldn’t sleep if she had a choice, but she did not have a choice this time; minute by minute, Sage’s concoctions put her to sleep, and she rested for the first time in a good long while as the overhead lights flicked off and she was left in comfortable darkness.

“I know what I saw.”

“I don’t doubt that Viper, but…”

“But what?”

“It’s just…”

Brimstone trailed off, his assessment of her report unhelpful. She had put a ton of work into it, too - late nights and early mornings, in spite of her struggles with resurrection sickness. She saw that as just another barrier to bravely vault over, an obstacle that would not be an impediment to her strength and tenacity. Sage disagreed.

You shouldn’t be consuming caffeine so soon after.

You need to go to bed earlier. Rest is crucial.

Your habits will kill you.

Sage had advice ready at every turn, and Viper had a cold reception for every instance of it. The healer would not relent, and Viper would not change, and so they remained locked in a standoff day after day as Viper trudged through the post-resurrection symptoms determined to prove Sage wrong.

“Resurrection is one hell of an experience,” Brimstone said, pushing the report aside, having obviously made his conclusions already. “Sage revived me once. Only once.”

“London. July 1978.”

“Yes. And I was out of service for a solid two weeks.”

“I remember.”

“So then you’ll remember just how little I was able to do. Even a man of my vitality was floored by the condition.”

“Frankly speaking, I don’t care.”
“You should care, Viper. Don’t make me lecture you about your own health again.”

Viper winced as an unexpected tightness struck in her chest, and an upwelling of nausea nearly doubled her over. She gripped the edge of Brimstone’s desk with shaky fingers, her knuckles whitening on the sharp contours of the moulding, the veins in her wrist pulsing out of her skin and her forearms shaking. The nausea passed, but the tightness and fatigue induced by the effort lingered as they tended to do.

“I’m fine.”

“You can’t treat your body like this.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I have a different assessment,” Brimstone said, his tone level but his frustration evident by the tightness in his jaw and the way he folded his arms across his chest - not steepling his fingers like he usually did when he was contemplative. “Let’s not make this hard, Viper.”

“The easy option would be to let me go about my day and get back to work.”

“I can’t allow that in good faith. Don’t make me manage you and ground you until you’re better.”

“I am not troubled by your empty threats.”

“It’s not an empty threat if I intend to go through with it, Sabine.”

The use of her first name without warning struck her. She furrowed her brow, hoping it would unsettle the typically stalwart supervisor of the Protocol, but he was unmoved. She determined then that his threat was indeed genuine, and that she had crossed a line. If it hadn’t been the slap , which he still had not mentioned to her face, it was her annoying insistence on denying the reality of her situation time and time again. If she could put herself into Brimstone’s steel-toed boots, she would probably have felt the same way. Fortunately, Sabine Callas refused to see life through the eyes of anybody but herself. 

“I need to make a decision,” he said, tapping said steel-toed boots against the side of his desk, eliciting a series of hollow thumps that made her grind her teeth. “A decision about how to handle you. You’re setting yourself up for failure, Sabine. I have to intervene.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“There is no bluff to call here, so please spare us the trouble.”

“You can’t.”

“I sure as hell can.” Brimstone rarely raised his voice, but now he was doing just that, his commanding aura taking form in his fiery eyes and stiff jaw. “If it’s for the greater good of this operation, I will do whatever I need to do. Including force you to stay here, if it comes to that.”

“I deserve a choice.”

“You have a choice. It’s here and now. Will you let your body and mind heal the way it deserves, or am I going to have to force you to heal?”

The choice was not really hers, she realized, and her condition prevented her from full resistance. A younger Sabine might have been able to put up a real fight here, but nausea was returning and her muscles were aching and she felt weak and languid. Surrender was her only option unless she wanted to destroy herself for a chance at victory.

“Fine.” She slapped her hands on her thighs, where they continued shaking uncontrollably. “Have it your way.”

“It will be better my way.”

“Disagree.” She paused, thinking that maybe he would relent. He would not. “So what am I allowed to do, then?”

“I am not restricting you from your duties here,” Brimstone said. “My only demand is that you stay here, and here being this island.”

“Fine. I agree. Is that what you want to hear?”

“It need not come to this, Viper, if you had just-”

“Spare me the lecture. I don’t need it.”

She wouldn’t breach the newly-founded agreement they had; she would not need to stoop that low, nor endanger her employment, to get what she wanted. But she had a sneaking suspicion that the next two weeks would be the most banal, intolerable ones she had ever endured now that her home base had become a makeshift prison, for her and her alone. The conversation around Neon was still up in the air, and she had many wandering eyes in the Protocol she would have to dodge whenever she was out of her lab, which would not be often. 

“Viper.”

Cypher’s voice made her blood freeze in her veins, and if she had been walking around the Protocol’s hallways armed she might have drawn and leveled at him, as if making up for her prior mistake. Her hand raced to a holster that had been returned to the armory, and found only a jeans pocket where she had been expecting a gun.

“Jumpy, are we?”

“Cypher.”

“I read your report.”

“Haven’t we all, by now?”

“I thought it was-”

“Are you here to make fun of me?”

“Quite to the contrary.” Cypher had a habit of lurking in the shadows, but had no disguise this time; he was out in the open, vulnerable, on the level with her. He had just so happened to round the nearest corner quickly enough to trigger her sensibilities, and she could relax once she laid eyes on him.

A familiar voice. The same hat. Beady eyeholes and a well-worn mask. The Cypher I know.

“If you have commentary, you can save it for the yearly audit,” she said. “I don’t know if I want to hear it.”

“I’m merely curious. Satisfy me?”

“Depends on your question.”

“Well, there are lots of questions. I think some are harder to ask than others.”

“Then the answers will be similarly difficult.”

“You minced no words in your draft. Another Cypher. That was how you introduced him.”

“And that’s who he was.”

“Hmm. And was he exactly like me? A carbon copy?”

“No. He was different.”

Cypher leaned in. “You didn’t mention that in your report.”

“Why should I have? Nobody would believe me anyway.”

“I believe you.”

Cypher had no real reason to lie to her now, even if he had before. She still was suspicious of his motives, and whether he was really telling the truth or just trying to assuage her. Then again, Cypher was not the type to feel the need to do that. 

“Look at it this way,” Cypher said, as if to build her faith in him. “We have been through so much together in the last five years that defies precedented reality. What makes this any different?”

“Lots of things.”