Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

SUNDAY 1962-11-04

“Unkie. I need help with math.”

“Not now. I’m thinking,” Yuri sighed in exasperation. 

Why had he agreed to babysit his niece all day? It was his day off (not that he had any choice in the matter, Chloe had forced him to take the day off—damn you Chloe!) and here he was, spending it with his little gremlin of a niece. He loved her, because she was Yor’s daughter, but…
Surely she’s old enough to watch herself, she’s fourteen for God’s sake! Back when I was her age, I was already going off to college, to make the world a better place for Yor.

That’s why. He’s doing this because Sis asked him to. His beautiful gracious sister needed his assistance and how could he deny Yor aid when she needed it most. Well… not even Yor. It was her pathetic husband Loidy who had asked in her stead, saying that Yor would be so happy if he could lend a hand for the day. How dare he take advantage of his only weakness!

It had been seven years since that suspiciously perfect blond came into his life and announced that he’d been married to Sis for a year. At first, Yuri thought there was no way Loidy could be good enough for his sister. Sweet, sweet Yor. Such an innocent soul, too good for this world. There is no man alive who is good enough for her. But over time, Yuri had begun to realize that despite Yor’s perfection, her grace, her lovely soul; the man she had found? Loid Forger? He’s too good for his sister. He’s too perfect, too handsome, too competent. 

It’s too good to be true! Which can mean only one thing:
It isn’t true; “Loid Forger” is a spy.

Of course, Yuri was not an easy man to fool. He suspected ‘Loidy’ time and time again. He appeared out of nowhere. He’s friends with way too many powerful people despite being a nobody. He got injured the same time that Twilight did, in the same places. He’s never once spoken of his previous wife, the supposed mother of his own daughter. It’s like he didn’t know her—just adopted the girl for his cover.
All the signs are there!

However, every single time Yuri got close to exposing him, it just didn’t work out. Something or someone (usually Chihuahua Girl) would get in his way, and maybe even push away his suspicions. That went on for years, until somehow Yuri stopped suspecting him. Yuri believed that Loidy was—somehow—a genuine man. He would even go so far as to say he trusted the man—okay, maybe not that far, but still. Sure, he had been suspicious at first, but Yuri could accept that he might have let his feelings get in the way and cloud his judgement. Just because he married Yor didn’t mean he was a spy. After all, how could the man his precious sister fell in love with be a spy? That’s ridiculous!

But then… it happened. Yuri remembered the day like it was yesterday—because it was.

“Happy birthday, Chihuahua Girl!”
Yuri pushed open the door to his sister’s apartment with a smile.
Not that it’s actually her birthday. She turned fourteen on Wednesday! Loidy was so busy with his work that he couldn’t even bother to celebrate his own daughter’s birthday. What a deadbeat father. Yor would never.

“Anya’s not home, but it’s a pleasure to see you,” Loidy—elbows deep in a bowl of frosting—spoke with narrowed eyes which suggested he absolutely did not find Yuri’s presence a pleasure. 

Yuri frowned. “Likewise.”

“I’m afraid that you’re quite early if you’re here to visit Yor—she’s out buying the cake. And if you’re here for Anya, she’s at the Blackbells while we get things set up for the party.”

“Sis is almost here, though. I smelled her on the way here!”

"Uh huh." Loidy didn’t say anything more on the matter. He just poured the frosting into a bag to dispense onto the cake—once it arrived.

Speaking of…
“Honey, I’m home–Oh, hey Yuri!”
Yor walked in with a large cake in her arms, which she quickly tossed—and Loidy caught effortlessly—in order to give Yuri a hug.

“Sis! I missed you so much, I haven’t seen you since–”

“Yesterday, yes. I missed you too, Yuri.”
Yor ducked out of the hug and crept over to her husband, giving him a kiss (to Yuri’s mild disgust).

This brought his attention to what Loidy was doing. The bag of pink frosting in his left hand, he squeezed it onto the cake with near surgical precision.

And then Yuri saw the message Loidy had put on the cake. Not a “Happy Birthday” or something of the sort, no. Rather, it was…

“I apologize for canceling your party earlier this week because of work. Don’t take offense, I promise you’re always the center of my attention. Here’s a peanut flavored cake to symbolize how much you mean to me. Happy 14th birthday to my favorite daughter, Anya.”

Very long winded. More the kind of thing you’d find on a birthday card than a cake. Nonetheless, it was very impressive to have fit on a cake—but that was normal; Loidy always tried too hard on everything. What caught Yuri’s attention was his spelling.

Loidy, ever the perfectionist, misspelled seven words.

Apologize. Canceling. Offense. Center. Flavored. Symbolize. Favorite.
The correct spellings would be…
Apologise. Cancelling. Offence. Centre. Flavoured. Symbolise. Favourite.

Alarm bells rang in Yuri’s mind, but he kept his outward appearance calm. He knew those spellings.

There was another language that was very similar to Ostanian, but spelled their words incorrectly. -IZE instead of -ISE. -OR instead of -OUR. -SE instead of -CE. -ER instead of -RE. A language that used one L instead of two when they were followed by a suffix. A language whose speakers continued to use the wrong spellings, even if they were writing in another.

A language that Yuri knew all too well from his work.

Westalian.

It was clear now. With how he spelled words and how he used his left hand—only in the West do they allow such barbarism—Loidy was Westalian. That in turn could mean one thing and one thing only:
He’s a spy. No wonder he’s so perfect all the time.

Unfortunately for Yuri, Loidy’s perfectionism extended to his work. Not once did his psychiatrist facade ever crack. There was no evidence of his malicious deeds—that were definitely happening!—for Yuri to submit to his superiors. 

…Which leads to the second reason Yuri agreed to babysit his niece: it gave him a chance to be alone in Loidy’s apartment all day. A perfect opportunity to find out what he’s hiding.

“Unkie! Come help me! I can’t do calculus!”

He ignored the Chihuahua, electing to sweep the apartment for bugs.
If Loidy is a spy, then he would obviously want to keep tabs on his daughter while she was alone with an officer of the State Security Service. I bet Anya isn’t even his daughter! Has she been dragged along for cover just like Yor was? No, wait, if she’s adopted then she would know, so she’s either Loidy’s kid or she’s complicit in his lies. Maybe both!
No, wait, she’s a kid. She probably doesn’t even remember being adopted, thinks Loidy is her dad through and through. 

Yuri couldn’t help but feel bad for the girl. Being raised by a spy? Rough. At least now she gets to be raised by Yor, sweet, perfect, kind, caring, Yor–

Unfortunately, there’s a slight issue with the whole ‘proving that Loidy Forger is a spy’ plan. The apartment appears completely normal. No bugs, no hidden weapons, no secret lines of communication, nothing. I’ll need to check his study. I know he’s a spy! He’s just so good that he barely leaves any clues—might he even be the Twilight? I might need to plant some evidence to get Chad to bring him in, but I’m sure ‘Loidy’ will fold and tell us the truth once we have him.

Reaching out to open the door, Yuri is startled by a tap on his back. His niece. His sweet, precious, adorable niece, raised by his amazing, beautiful, ethereal sister.
“What do you want, Chihuahua?”

“Uhm… are you a maid?”

What? Why does she look so panicked?
“Of course not. Why would I want to clean Loidy’s place?”

“Well, you’re wandering around, looking for dirt.”

Huh? What kind of joke is that?
“...I don’t understand.”

“You know, you’re not very subtle.”

What? Yuri raised his eyebrow. “Go on.”

“You think Papa is a spy. You’re trying to find evidence.”

Yuri’s eyes widened.
She’s always been eerily perceptive, but this is on an entirely different level. How did she even know that's what I was doing—it’s like she sees right through me!
“You’re crazy. Why would I think he’s a spy? He’s my family!”

“You’re with the secret police! You want to get rid of Papa to keep Mama safe. But you’re wrong! Papa isn’t a spy!”

Dumbfounded, Yuri (unsuccessfully) tried to figure out how she knew about his true job. This wasn’t even the first time she knew one of my secrets, like when she told Sis about Chloe!
“Now listen here Chihuah–”

“No!” She shouted. “You listen to me! Papa isn’t a spy!” Anya stamped her foot as she yelled. “Because… uhm… I– I am!”

…Huh?
“What?”

“I said, I’m a spy! Not Papa. He and Mama are just my cover.”

“Shut up! I heard you the first time.”
All of Yuri’s love for his niece was gone in an instant. Left in its place were unending questions.

She’s a spy? A fucking spy?
I hate spies.
WISE has a kid as a spy… When was she recruited? Does Yor know? Does Loidy know? What’s her mission? Who is her target? Is she using me to spy on the SSS? Is she spying on her crazy rich friends? Their parents?

But the most important thing in Yuri’s mind:
How dare this filthy spy use my precious sister as a cover?! I hate her.
In his utter bewilderment, Yuri failed to notice that an incredibly panicked Anya—is that even her real name?—slipped into Loidy’s office and locked the door.
“Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?!” Yuri pounded on the door.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” she teased through the wood.

She’s good at appearing calm despite panic, if nothing else. I need to get formal.
“Anya Forger, you are being detained on suspicion of espionage.”

“How is it suspicion of espionage if I already admitted to it?”

Does she not understand the gravity of the situation? The harm she’s perpetrating on my sister, the betrayal she’s committed against our country, the fraud she’s been pulling off for so long, she could be executed for this! Or is she perfectly aware and just has nerves of steel?
“Listen Chihuahua.” Yuri said sternly, doing everything he could to control his rage. “You better open this door, or I’ll be breaking it down.”

“You know Mama won’t be happy if she finds out that you trashed our apartment.”

“Get my sister’s name out of your fucking mouth, you dirty spy! Sis won’t be happy to find out that she’s raised an enemy of the state!”

“I’m glad we can agree on that. Do you really want her to be devastated when she finds out that her precious daughter is a spy?”

“The truth can hurt, 'Anya'!” Yuri spat her name with disdain. “You know it as well as I do. But Yor will get over it. Now open the damn door!”

“You know, Unkie,”—“I’m not your Unkie! Not anymore!”—“if the secret police find out that Anya Forger is a spy, that’ll make them suspicious of Mama! You’re putting Mama in danger!”

I work for them, I can vouch for her.
“I said get my sister’s name out of your traitorous mouth!”

“And if you vouch for her, it'll make you suspicious too!”

“Not if I’m the one to bring you in.”

“And when Anya Forger escapes? Who do you think will be blamed for helping her? Her super-awesome spy skills? Or her uncle?”

People don’t just escape from the SSS. But…
Yuri found himself hesitating. Does she actually have a point? I can’t underestimate her. Who knows what this child is capable of. She’s been a spy near my perfect sis, tricking even her for almost a decade. There's no way I can let her go free.
“You aren’t talking your way out of this, ‘Anya’. Open up or I break it down.”

“Can we make a deal? I want the best for Mama and Papa too. Spies aren’t supposed to form attachments, but I’d have to be pretty heartless to not care about my parents after so long with them.”

What a monster, trying to appeal to my love for Sis. To think she’d stoop so low.
“I can’t compromise with spies. Your kind is the worst of the worst. Nothing more than the scum on the bottom of my shoe.”

“I’m just asking that you don’t arrest Anya Forger.”

Yuri is startled by the door to Loidy’s office suddenly bursting open, revealing his niece standing there with… is that blonde hair? And brown eyes?
Was her unnaturally pink hair a wig she’s worn her entire life to throw off her parents? What a horrible little rat.

“Instead, you should arrest Agent Starlight.”

Well… I can work with that.

If WISE has a habit of employing children as spies, we need to invest in smaller handcuffs. She could probably slip out of these if she wanted. We cannot afford to be sloppy with spies of any size.

“Our neighbors are super nosy, can’t you take these off until we’re out of their sight?”

“And have you run away? You aren’t 'Anya', they won’t recognize you.”

“It was worth a shot,” she pouted.

I thought Anya Forger was annoying, didn’t realize Starlight was toning it down for that persona.

“Heh.”

“Why are you smirking? You’re in big trouble. And you have until we get to HQ to tell me anything you’d like to say that pertains to the Forgers. Say enough, and I might convince them to go easy on you, you cockroach.”
To think this little shit managed to convince me to conceal her civilian identity. Hmph. I hate her. This is for Yor’s sake. Nothing more.

Conducting an interrogation while driving is… challenging, to say the least. Not that Yuri Briar can’t handle a vehicular investigation, but the subject being the snarkiest kid alive definitely wasn’t helping.
She’s managing to make me feel bad even for Loidy (just a little). Scratch getting raised by a spy, raising a spy has got to be even worse.
“What is your mission? Why are you stationed at Eden College?”

“For World Peace!”

Yuri just put on his best “unimpressed face” through the rear view mirror.
“Elaborate.”

“I’m supposed to get close to Sy-on Boy! Be his friend, stay around him all the time. When the higher-ups get wind of an assassination attempt on him, I’m the agent best in place to protect him. We call it Operation Sticks!”

Sticks? That rang a bell, no wait… Strix! Some mission WISE had going on involving an infiltration into Eden College.
But…
“Who the hell is Sy-on Boy?”

“Oh. Right. Forgot you don’t know that part. Damian. Damian Desmond!”

If Yuri had been drinking something, he would have spat it out.
“Why does WISE care about what happens to him? Donovan Desmond hates the West, that’s the biggest part of his platform. I think you’re lying. You’re getting near the Desmonds for intel, not to protect them.”

“It’s for protection, I swear! Donovan hates us! If his son was murdered, he’d blame it on us. Then he’d use his grief to start a war and we would all suffer! So I make sure nothing happens to Damian. That’s what WISE is all about! We serve peace, not the government.”

“Just how frequent are these assassination attempts, to warrant an agent stationed full time? Who in their right mind would even try to go after the Chairman’s son?”

“It’s either enemies of the Desmond Group, terrorists wanting to start a war, or Desmond himself. He doesn’t really care about Sy-on at all, he’d happily get rid of him and use his death to start a war.”

If Yuri hadn’t spat out his nonexistent beverage earlier, he definitely did now.
What the fuck?

“Oh, and don’t let him know. Sy-on looks up to his dad so much, it’s kinda sad. If he knew how much his papa really hated him, he’d be devastated.”

What? Wanting to kill your son is messed up, but when your son adores you?
No, no, no. No, Yuri, no. She’s a spy. She’s a liar by trade. Don’t trust a word she says.
“Is preventing assassinations really worth infiltrating Eden College of all places? You find out about them before they happen, right? Couldn’t WISE just eliminate the suspects rather than let them get so close to their target?”

“Can’t get intel from a dead suspect or from one who chickens out. With no visible defense, they get overconfident, and then it’s easy to capture them and find out who hired them. Better to put a stop to the assassinations at their source, than to play whack-a-mole for the rest of his life.”

I hate to admit that she’s making a good point. WISE’s child spies are downright terrifying. But still…

“Unkie. It’s not too late y’know… you could turn around, pretend this never happened. If you get rid of me, there will be nobody to stop Desmond from using his son to start a war. Is that what you really want?”

I’m not your damn ‘Unkie’. "It is too late, you’re a snitch, I can’t let you free, especially near my sister. I’ve already called HQ to let them know I’ve found a spy. Regardless, if you’re compromised, we—or WISE, for that matter–- can just find some other way to stop his assassinations. Getting you out of the way won’t start a war, it’ll just remove a western spy, one who’s infiltrated way too far into Ostania’s upper class. I mean really, you’re friends with all the kids of the most powerful people in the nation! I bet they just blatantly offer intel up to you on a silver platter, not even knowing they’re helping a spy. You’re despicable. Disgusting. Backstabbing my sister. I doubt you even care about your so-called friends and family!”

If Yuri Briar had noticed that Agent Starlight’s eyes began to water at what he said, he made no mention of it.

Operation Scarlet Salmon: Mission Notes

From Anya Forger (Alias: Test Subject 007)

Unkie was super close to discovering Papa was a spy! I was scared, so to distract him, I did the first thing I could think of: telling him I was a spy instead. This might’ve been a mistake.

From Yuri Briar

Chihuahua Girl’s been a spy this whole time? I thought Loidy was the bad guy—because he (maybe?) is Westalian, while sweet little Anya was innocent. It doesn’t matter—I’ll bring Starlight in, and she’ll be facing justice for her crimes. 

Chapter Text

SUNDAY 1962-11-04

Like any other job, being a lieutenant at the State Security Service had its ups and downs. And for Chadwick Curtis, one of the biggest gripes with his job is just how rarely they’re able to actually catch a spy alive. At best, they can catch an informant.

So imagine his surprise when his Second Lieutenant calls him saying that he’s apprehended Agent Starlight of WISE and is bringing her in right now. 

Didn’t Yuri have the day off? That kid wouldn’t know the concept of rest if it slapped his sister in the face.

At least today will be eventful. 

“Scarface, you’re the ‘good cop’. I’ll be the ‘bad cop’. Chapman, you’ll be transcribing.”

Trust Gascoigne to give Chloe that job. No matter how good she is at what she does, he never appreciates her skills. At least he’s not Director Wilker… I think he only hired her because he wanted something pretty to look at in the office. I’m glad that Chloe’s got Yuri to look out for her at the HQ these days.

“Hey, open the door? My hands are full with this brat.”

Speak of the devil.

“Hey! I’m not a brat! You’re a brat!”

Agent Starlight’s voice is surprisingly–

Chloe opened the door, and froze as Yuri dragged her in. Chad couldn’t blame her.

…she’s just a kid.
Starlight is a kid?
Yuri arrested a kid?
Is he insane?

“Don’t underestimate this little devil. She’s a slippery gremlin.” Yuri says, shoving her into the chair.

The girl was blonde, her hair going to her shoulders. Sitting in the harsh light of the overhead lamp, in a chair far too big for her, sat WISE’s Agent Starlight.
About four foot six. Brown eyes. Missing a canine.
She’s quite young, perhaps eleven? Twelve?
With the way she holds her hands, she’s likely ambidextrous.

“Hey, would it hurt you to be a little more gentle?” Starlight snapped as she snarkily turned her head to Yuri. 

“Hey, would it hurt you to be a little less of a bitch?”

“You know better than to swear around a kid!”

“You know better than to commit treason!”

“Well you kno–”

Yuri slapped her.

“Hey! That hurt.”

If I don’t stop these two, they’ll just bicker and we won’t get any real intel. She must have nerves of steel to argue with us so brazenly. Most suspects crumble at the mere sight of me, let alone Gascoigne. Does she not realize how bad things are for her? We haven’t caught a full-fledged WISE spy alive in years—he isn’t going to go easy on her in the slightest.
“Okay Yuri, we’ll take it from here.”

“Not so fast.”

Yuri, Chloe, Chad, and Starlight all turn to Gascoigne as he finally speaks up.

“Yes Captain?” Yuri lets out nervously.

“Where’s her base of operations? What’s her civilian identity?”

“I’m sorry Captain, but I don’t know.”

“What? You didn’t tail her and then arrest her?”

“Oh, I… uh–”

Starlight interjected, “I knew Briar was following me. Why would I lead him anywhere useful? I think he arrested me when he got tired of being led in circles.”

Why would she stick up for him?

“You let a target know they were being followed? Just how incompetent are you, Briar? I thought you were better than this.”

“Sir, I did everything exactly as I was supposed to. She’s too damn good. I wouldn’t be surprised if Twilight himself trained her.”

Chad did not fail to notice how Starlight flinched at that comment.
Is she actually Twilight’s protege?

“We’ll discuss this failure later. Briar, you’re dismissed. Scarface, let’s begin.”

“Yes, sir.” Yuri nods, before leaving the four alone in the interrogation room.

Gascoigne didn’t waste a second.
“How do you know Briar’s name?”

“I’m a spy!” Starlight confidently replied, as if she didn’t just confess to treason. Then, she slipped one hand out of the handcuffs, brought her hands in front of her, and… made finger guns? “Knowing things is my jam!”

Silence.
Chad dropped his cigarette. Chloe, her pen.
Forget nerves of steel, she has nerves of tungsten.

Gascoigne wasn’t impressed (or at least pretended not to be), shooting her a look that could kill before slapping the handcuff back on her wrist. “I asked how you know, not why, you pipsqueak.”

Starlight finally had the sense to realize that she should be at least a little nervous in the face of Gascoigne. “Oh, yeahhh, yeah uhh– sorry. He’s pretty notorious with WISE, shooting Twilight and all.”

“Oh yeah, Twilight. You know him?” Chad asked her. C’mon kid, give us something and I can stop him from hurting you too bad.

"Well of course I know him, he was my mentor!"

That was easy.

"What does his face look like?" Gascoigne followed.

"Pfft, you think he ever let any of us see it?” Starlight chuckled. “He was far too secretive for that. Every time I saw him he had a completely different persona!"

Well, there goes her nervousness. Along with any use in the Twilight department.

Gascoigne frowned sharply.
"Do you seriously expect us to believe this man trained you and yet you've never seen his face?"

"Well yeah, I mean, the point is so no one can give up his identity. Why do you think Wheeler couldn’t provide you with his face? We limit how much information our agents have so we’re safe in case we get attacked by telepathic aliens!”

…

Telepathic aliens? Who in the world would believe in telepathic aliens? This was one of the worst lies Chad has ever heard in the interrogation room, yet she sounded… completely serious? Do I chalk this up to childhood imagination? Or are telepathic aliens an actual threat that WISE considers?

Gascoigne clearly didn’t consider telepathy to be a threat.
“WISE actually believes in that bullshit? Telepathy isn’t real.”

Once again, Chad did not miss the way Starlight flinched. He wasn't the best interrogator in the State Security Service for nothing.
Maybe telepathy is actually a thing? Does WISE know something we don’t?

“I wish, it’d be so cool if they did. They’re no fun.”

Interrogating kids is surprisingly hard—at least this one is. She keeps taking us on random tangents. I need to get this interrogation back on track.
"What does Twilight’s voice sound like?"

"Don’t remember." Starlight’s face was completely deadpan.

Huh?

Gascoigne wasn’t phased. “How can you not remember? How long has it been since you last worked with him?"

"Oh, he died a while back. Y’know, when Briar shot him? At Shellbury?” 

Chloe dropped her pen again.

“As I said, he’s absolutely notorious for it. No one had ever shot him before so he was totally unprepared and the infection did him in."

Gascoigne was phased for the first time in this interview. "W–we have reports of activity from Twilight up to last week. You're lying."

"Nuh uh~” Starlight sing-songed. “You’re coping.”

Yep. Nerves of tungsten.

“Anyway, that’s the first I've heard of any recent Twilight activity. I guess some poser is trying to pick up his name for clout.” Starlight put her chin in her handcuffed hands thoughtfully. “Wait… how do you know what spy does what?"

“Only Twilight can do a perfect impersonation of someone like what we’ve been seeing,” Chloe piped in.

Gascoigne’s annoyance only grew. “Chapman. Don’t answer her questions, she is the one being interrogated, not us.” 

Starlight took her shot at asking more questions.
“What’s your address? Your wife’s name? The name's of your mistresses? Your secret evil bad guy plans?” 

“I’m conducting this interrogation, now stop asking questions!” Gascoigne bellowed.

She’s trying to rile him up and it’s working. I need to get this interview back on track. Again. “If Twilight’s dead, then who’s been doing those impersonations?”

“How am I supposed to know who you’re talking about? That's like literally the most basic training we have. It could’ve been any of us!”

Everyone was dumbfounded. “Huh?”
All WISE agents can mimic like that? Just what are we up against? 

Gascoigne seemed to have finally caught up with the implications of what she had said earlier. “Woah, woah, woah. Hold on, you said he died in the Wheeler op? That was ages ago. You're like twelve.”

"Twelve and a half!”

All three SSS agents speak at the same time.
“Close enough”—“Shut up Chapman”—“Then how long have you been a spy?"

“Uhhh, since I was like five? I think? It's kind of hard to remember honestly, been so long and all."

What the fuck? WISE is insane, why did they make a toddler a spy?

"Cuz no one ever suspects a kid,” Starlight spoke with a smirk.

"I didn't say anything."
It’s like she could read my mind. No, it’s just a coincidence. I’m letting her mention of telepathy get to me. Trust Agent Starlight to make the interrogators doubt their own sanity while they work on her. She’s a master at this. She might've even let herself get captured.

“Your face showed me everything I needed to know.”

Forget about telepathy, WISE just trains their agents too damn well. She’s running circles around us in our own interrogation. No wonder she was so smug going into this.

Gascoigne was trying to maintain a straight face despite his obvious fury.
"I thought they'd have trained you to shut up. Instead, you're answering questions we’re not even asking. Didn't know the West had such bad spies."

“Heh.” 

“Huh? What kind of smirk is that supposed to be?” 

If Twilight was the master of disguise, Starlight must be the master of annoyance. Gascoigne looks like he’s this close to stopping the interrogation just so that he won’t have to deal with her anymore.

As if to further annoy him, Starlight mimed bringing her hands to her lips and zipping them shut, before throwing an imaginary key in the corner. To which he responds by slamming his fists onto her hands. Chloe winces. Starlight seems… more angry than hurt.
“You meanie! Just what was that for!”

“Answer me. What’s so funny?”

“Nothing! My mama told me that if someone’s just being mean, a cool girl laughs it off! A smile is the strongest weapon. It stops a fight before it starts!”, Starlight says with clear admiration in her eyes.

“Your mother?” I’d have thought a child spy wouldn’t have had any parents. “Is she a spy too?”

Gascoigne was equally surprised, but questioned her regardless. “What is her cover identity? What does she do? What is her codename?”

Starlight seemed more confused than anything. “Mama’s a civilian, she’s just my cover. Unless you mean Mommy? I don’t really remember her, the Whitecoats got rid of her.”

Whitecoats?

Gascoigne was just as confused. “The what?”

“The bad guys with the white coats. They put sticky things with wires on me, and injected me with needles. Shocked me. Made me study all day every day, the food was horrible. Scary bad guys. They wouldn’t let us leave. They…” Starlight began to cry for the first time in the interrogation, the tears falling without end. “Th–they murderlated Mommy when she stopped giving them more test subjects! P–Project Apple!”

That was the moment when Chad felt the floor drop out from under him.
“Project Apple? You’re from Project Apple? They had human test subjects?”

The spy nodded.
“WISE helped me escape and promised to help me take them down and give me a good life if I helped them with world peace!”

In that case, it’s hard to blame her loyalty to the West… Hold on, she’s twelve. Project Apple was shut down seventeen years ago. Did the experiments continue without authorization past that point?

Wait.
A child spy should be a liability. But if she’s a former test subject… they must have done something to make her more useful than the average child, to warrant her use by WISE.
Talking about telepathic aliens. Saying what was on his mind. Being so confident in this interrogation, even though she clearly couldn’t hold a poker face to save her life.
The growing panic on Starlight’s face confirmed his thoughts.
You’re telepathic.

Chad’s revelation was interrupted by Gascoigne blaring his typical patriotism about how Ostania can do no harm.
“So? Project Apple was a noble research initiative, for the good of Ostania! By siding with the West to destroy it, you’ve committed treason. To put it in words your childish brain can understand, you’re in big trouble.”

Chad paid him no mind, and Starlight was too petrified to pay any attention to him either.
Your secret is safe with me. Human experimentation is vile.
Let’s move this interrogation into my head. Tap a finger on the table gently, left hand for yes, right hand for no. Work with you?

Starlight’s left hand tapped. Gascoigne kept talking, although no one in the room was listening. Maybe Chloe, but she had probably tuned him out too.

Do you know who funded it?

Her left hand taps again. Yes.
Wait, she’s tapping it more. Morse code.

-.
..-
.--.
N-U-P

National Unity Party? This just got deep. Most people in the SSS love Desmond. Is Chloe as mad about this as I am?

Left hand tap. Yes.

Would you work with us against WISE if we help you take down Apple?

Right hand tap. Dammit. 

C’mon kid. I know you think you’re in debt to WISE, but it’s just them using you. They freed you so they could have power over you. They're the ones that hold your leash now, instead of Project Apple. Just tell us what you know and you’ll have my support.

Starlight kept tapping.

...
...
...

.-
.--.
.-..
.

S-S-S
A-P-L-E

Chad raised an eyebrow. Are you saying the SSS is in on it?

Left hand tap.

A flicker of rage passed across the typically emotionless scarred face.
I know a liar when I see one, but I’m ninety-five percent sure she’s telling the truth. That's what nineteen years of interrogation experience tells me.
…The hell do I do?

Gascoigne watched the intense staring contest going on between Chad and Starlight, all in all rather confused.

Eventually, Starlight broke the silence.
“How can I be in trouble if you don’t know who I am?”

“You’re going to tell us your civilian identity.”

“Nuh uh~” She sing-songed once more.

You’re playing a dangerous game, Starlight.

Gascoigne rolled his eyes. “Chapman. Be a dear and get me some truth serum?”

Starlight twitched. Her heart rate spiked in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety. 

You know that if you speak of your own volition, you can choose what you say. Talk now and we won’t have to use it.

Starlight scoffed. “You really think getting me drunk is going to change what I say?”

Gascoigne tried to fix her misconception, “Not drunk–”

“Blah blah, yada yada, lowering my inhibitions, whatever, drunk. You’re making me drunk,” Starlight interrupted. “What a way to have my first drink!”

“You’ve never had alcohol before?”

“I’m twelve and a half, Gas-Coin! You know giving a kid alcohol is like, super illegal. Do you want to break the law?” Starlight’s tirade was an attempt to hide her encroaching panic, if her accelerating breathrate was anything to go off of.

Gascoigne rolled his eyes. “Treason is also, as you so eloquently put it, ‘super illegal’.”

Starlight crossed her arms in front of her with a ‘hmph’ as Chloe walked into the room, a needle filled with a cocktail of psychoactive drugs in hand. Some to loosen her tongue, some to keep her awake, and some to increase sensory stimulation—and therefore pain reception.

With one look, Starlight’s face paled. “Get that thing away from me.”

Gascoigne smirked at the turn of the tables. “Is the fearless Starlight afraid of needles?”

Her entire body began to shake, her heart and lungs racing. Within ten seconds, Starlight was unconscious, blacked out from panic.

The three SSS officers shared a glance.

Chloe’s face flushed red with embarrassment. “Uh–”

“Well, we know her weakness,” Chad said matter-of-factly. Medical trauma. Of course. To be expected of a victim of human experimentation.

Gascoigne sighed. “Just do it. At least with her out like that she won’t struggle when you look for a vein. The serum should wake her up anyway.”

It took five minutes after the injection, but Starlight did wake up. (Chloe wisely removed the needle from the room to prevent Starlight fainting again, just in case.)

“Hello, Starlight.”

The girl blinked blearily as she sat up with a mumble. “Heya Gas-Coin. I feel like shit.” She numbly looked at her elbow and saw the bruising where the needle had gone in. “Oh. Lovely. I’m drugged.” Her voice was flat.

Gascoigne picked up a pair of pliers and held them to the spy’s fingernail. 

“So, Starlight. What’s your civilian identity?”

Starlight visibly steeled her resolve, and Chad couldn’t help but admire her for it.

“My name’s Billy Bob Joe Pants. Go fuck yourself.”

The subsequent sound of ripping fingernails and a crying child would haunt the Lieutenant’s sleep.

Operation Scarlet Salmon: Mission Notes

From Anya Forger (Alias: Test Subject 007)

Fuck. This definitely was a mistake. I thought they would go easy on me, being a kid and all. I’m not actually a spy, but I can’t say that! Even if they’re going to torture me…

From Yuri Briar

I might’ve made a mistake. They’re gonna hurt Chihuahua Girl—Agent Starlight, rather—and Yor’s going to kill me.

From Chadwick Curtis (Alias: Scarface)

Yuri’s out of his mind. He brought in some kid. I get that the kid’s a spy, but surely we could show her some leniency. She doesn’t know that what she’s doing is wrong—which is ironic, considering she knows literally everything. Agent Starlight is an escaped test subject from Project Apple, so she can read minds.

Chapter Text

SUNDAY 1962-11-04

In her thirteen-or-so years as an esper, Anastasia Kaliza Forger (technically her legal first name was just Anya, but let her internal monologue be dramatic) has learned that there are four types of people:

People like Becky, who are always thinking and always talking.
People like her Papa, who are always thinking, but rarely talking.
People like her Mama, who are rarely thinking and rarely talking.
People like Sy-on’s henchlings, who are rarely thinking and yet always talking.
That last type is the most dangerous type.

Today, Anya has run into all four types, each in the form of an SSS officer. 

Firstly, there is Second Lieutenant Yuri Briar. Her uncle. His mind and his mouth never shut up about his sister.

Secondly, officer Chloe Chapman. Anya's aunt, thanks to her relationship with Yuri. Strong but silent (mostly because she knows she won’t be listened to even if she speaks) with a mind that often ran faster than Uncle Scruffy’s driving.

Thirdly, Lieutenant Chadwick “Scarface” Curtis. Does his mind always run slow, or is this just because he knows he’s in the presence of a telepath?

Finally, Captain Giacomo Gascoigne. Lacks a filter. The words leave his mouth before they reach his brain. No need to read his mind—he’ll say it anyway.

Speaking of saying things without thinking them through, Anya was starting to regret saying that she’s a spy—but it's too late to back out now. And now? Not only has she found herself in the custody of the secret police, but she was careless even then.

In my whole life, no one’s caught on to my telepathy. No one knows except Sy-on Boy, and that’s because I told him. Mr. Scarface here figured it out with just a glance…

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
Papa’s psychology books that he’s always reading say that a good strategy to manage pain is to scream, but I don't want to let them win. Plus, did they account for the kind of pain you get from the loss of your fingernails?
It’s for world peace. It’s for world peace. It’s for world peace. It’s for world peace.
I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.
It’s really not that bad! My whole body feels kinda… numb? Yeah. I’m fine.

Anya would kill for some aspirin right now.

Pull yourself together, Anya!
I've been through worse—the Whitecoats.
Psychic powers weren't all I got out of that; I’ve got a pain tolerance beyond anything these guys can throw at me. The lab was a hell this place cannot begin to compare to.
The electrocutions hurt more. The un-anesthetized brain surgery hurt more.
The injections burned, they messed up my brain so badly; as opposed to the so-called “truth serum” here which isn’t doing a thing besides making me a little dizzy. Okay. Maybe not a little. Very woozy.

The restraints were tighter, less forgiving. The sterile smell of disinfectant was worse than this musty cigarette smell. That “nutrient dense" carrot slop they forced down my throat was worse than whatever they'll serve me here, including nothing.
The code that the Whitecoats put on my neck won’t go away, but my bones will heal and my fingernails will regrow. The Whitecoats killed my family, but the SSS will only be able to do that if I crack. Mama and Papa are okay.
You've got this, Anya. 

“What is your mission? Why are you in Berlint?”

Oh yeah, the Gas-Coin guy is still here, Anya thought loopily.
“My mission? Operation Scarlet Salmon! It’s to infiltrate the library! I–I need to get a book!”

“What kind of name is that? Scarlet Salmon? You mean a red herring? Bullshit. But I’ll humor you. What book is worth so much to WISE?”
“Is she straight up telling us this is a red herring? Why would she do that? Then we wouldn’t believe a thing she says… Oh… She wants us to believe that this is a red herring, to cover up the fact that she’ll actually be helplessly spewing the truth. Nice try, Starlight, but your reverse psychology won't work on us.”

Anya smiled as Gas-Coin bit the bait, his thoughts leading him to exactly the place she wanted him to go.
You’ve got this, Anya. Show them what Starlight is made of.
Sass!
“It’s called How to Torture for Dummies.” Anya grinned. “I think it tells you how to make a truth serum that actually works! Top notch stuff, the best of the best. Really gets people talking—unlike whatever you’re using.”

A vein in Gas-Coin’s forehead bulged in anger. Grabbing the bloody pliers, he quickly slammed them onto both of Anya’s thumbs, breaking them.

Anya let out a yelp. It hurt, but…
Not that much. Her eyes told her her thumbs were mangled—the unnatural angles proof enough—but her brain wasn’t getting that. A buzz in the back of her head kept distracting her from feeling much of anything.
If I act like it doesn’t affect me, they might just keep going with worse techniques. Maybe if they think this works they’ll back off?
Or… I could keep taunting him. That sounds like significantly more fun.
“You know, I’m beginning to think you don’t like me, Mr. Gas-Coin.”

He scowled at the nickname.
“Right on the money.”

Anya stared at him.
Gas-Coin stared back.
Scarface let out a sigh.
Yuri stubbed his toe down the hall, cursing loudly.
Chloe sneezed.

“Fine, we’ll get back to that," Gas-Coin told her impatiently. "What is Sylvia Sherwood’s role in WISE?”

“I don’t know who that is,” Anya sat flatly.

“Scarface, go get a picture of Sherwood. Jog this brat’s memory.”

Anya lamented the loss of the stern but respectable man, although she was struggling to understand why he wouldn’t stop Gas-Coin if he was against human experimentation.
He’s not a bad guy, he seems to be on my side. But he’s not a good guy, he’s still keeping me here. Project Apple was run by SSS people, for use by the SSS. He can’t support one and not the other, does he not understand that?

“Where is WISE’s base of operations in Ostania?”

I don’t even know that one. Papa doesn’t even think about that.
“I dunno.”

Gas-Coin snapped another two fingers, and all Anya did was roll her eyes in response—her fingers (her whole body, for that matter) felt numb. Numb, numb, numb.

Anya soon felt a wave of despair emanating from Chloe.
“Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Starlight’s unfazed. It doesn’t hurt her one bit. That’s all my fault! If this keeps up, Gascoigne will realize I slipped morphine into the truth serum! Fuck…”

Anya’s jaw hung half open.
Auntie Chloe gave me pain medicine? That’s why this is… not that bad? Wait, am I high?

Anya made a show of her eyelids twitching before the dam on her tears broke in a show of pain.
These tears cracked Chloe’s resolve.
“Oh. There it is… This is going entirely too far…Starlight’s doing an impressive job…think that Twilight’s dead…going to crack before much longer…wanted me to break out Starlight…this girl is just a kid…told me about this earlier…help her?”

Reading minds was Anya’s bread and butter, but the thoughts of her captors were currently eluding her. Given the sheer speed of Chloe's usual thoughts, Anya was now only able to make sense of a few words here and there, leaving her clueless to the context of what her aunt was actually thinking. 

Auntie Chloe doesn’t believe me—she thinks Papa’s alive? But she’s not saying anything… It would probably be a lot easier to tell what she’s thinking if I was sober. Gah, my head feels warm. I’m picking up so much more than usual! It feels like I can read the mind of everyone in this building, but none of it makes sense. It’s just a gibbery buzz. Like gnats. Ugh. None of this makes sense. By ‘lowering my inhibitions’, did they mean lowering my mental barrier to stray thoughts too? How much of this is the morphine and how much is… everything else?

Gascoigne began to shake with fury at the lack of answers from his query. “Agent Nightfall. We’ve heard that she’s your top spy behind Twilight. What does she do, who is she?”

Ah. “I don’t like Nightfall. She tries to take over my missions so she can take credit. She just wants clout! She’d stab us in the back to make a name for herself. Honestly, you’d be doing WISE a favor if you got rid of her, we only keep her around because she’s so good at what she does.”

“Which is?” Gascoigne goaded her on.

“Combat missions. She’s super good at beating up the bad guys. Or the good guys. Whoever, really.” Not that she’s so good at them nowadays, but remember what Papa said. Every lie has a basis of truth.

Looking up, Anya saw him brandishing the pliers once more.
“I won’t ask again. What is Nightfall’s civilian identity?”

Do I tell him? Sticks might be safer if I do. But she could betray WISE. Although, betray Papa? I doubt it. Maybe I could… tell a half truth? “She’s my aunt.”

“Very funny, Starlight. That doesn’t help if we don’t know who you are.”
The crunch of bone followed Gas-Coin’s words.

Ignore the pain. Think about Papa. Think about mama. Think about Bond.
Think about Becky, about Sy-on Boy, about cartoons, about peanuts.
Papa better buy me all the peanuts when we’re done, his mission is safe thanks to me.
Not that he can find out… Maybe I could tell Scruffy?
Just keep bluffing, just keep bluffing, just keep bluffing.
You can do this, Starlight Anya.
“Heh. I have transcended above pain. Above feeling.” Probably because of the drugs. “You cannot hurt me.”

Unbothered, Gas-Coin continued his questioning.
“Uh huh. What do you know about Operation Strix? We’ve heard it’s WISE’s top priority.”

Oh. Can’t tell him too much truth.
“Sticks! That’s my mission!”

“We heard it was Twilight’s.”

Chloe listened very intently.
“It is Twilight’s…”

“Yeah, it was. Not anymore—he gave it to me. He wasn’t good enough to impersonate a kid. The guy sucked.”

“What’s it about? Why would their most important job be given to a kid?”

Do I say the same thing I told Unkie? If I can get the SSS to doubt Sy-on's dad, world peace will be one step closer. But if I mention school, they’ll have a lead on my identity. That might make Auntie realize who I am. She teaches at Eden! It’s too risky.

“Well?” Gascoigne asked venomously.

“I–uh, I… it’s protection! I’m supposed to protect Damian Desmond from assassination attempts. His father has tried to hire people to kill him, so that he can blame it on Westalis and declare war. I serve world peace, and I’m not gonna let the Evil Superboss Desmond lay a hand on Damian while I’m watching!”
That sounds convincing. I think?

Chloe freezes, dumbfounded.
“Wait, is that real? Donovan Desmond is trying to have his own son murdered, as a scapegoat? That’s… exactly what Grandfather did with me!”
The fact that Anya had just revealed herself to attend the school Chloe taught at seemed to have slipped her mind.

Gas-Coin was not dumbfounded.
“That’s ridiculous. WISE’s top mission wouldn’t be protecting their enemy’s son. Because I'm nice, I’ll give you one more chance to tell the truth.”
However, his thoughts betrayed him.“Bingo! The serum’s finally doing its thing. She just spewed all of that out. Everything she says here on out is the truth.”

Anya’s jaw hung open again.
“How am I supposed to tell you the truth if you won’t believe the truth?” 

Another crunch of bone followed, and Anya whimpered as Scarface entered the room.
“Here’s a photograph of Sherwood.”

Anya’s eyes lit up at the familiar face.
Dammit. Couldn't disguise my recognition of Grammy Sylvie…
“Oh! Embassy lady!”

“Huh?” 

“She works at the embassy! The upper brass tried to recruit her, but she refused. Too attached to Ostania. I think she’s cool, but my coworkers don’t like her. They call her a traitor.”

Gas-Coin raised his eyebrow, but for once seemed to believe her.
“Finally, something useful. We’re always wasting so much effort tailing her, it’s tiring.”
Chloe seemed impressed, but that’s about all Anya could glean from her thoughts.
“...Starlight just…and pulls that off…because kids…naturally trusted?”

“Scarface, for a recap. She says she doesn’t like her aunt, Agent Nightfall. Won’t tell us who that is. Apparently Operation Strix is protecting the younger Desmond kid from assassins sent by his father, but that’s just ridiculous. However, if that is the case…she’d have to be someone close to him to protect him. Get me the most recent yearbook for Eden College. Call Briar in here while you’re at it.”

Oh. Oh no.

“What am I, his errand boy?” Scarface acknowledged the telepath in the room. “Is Desmond actually trying to kill his son?”

He wasn’t—as far as Anya knew—but with how much he hated Sy-on Boy? She wouldn’t be surprised. She nodded.

“Wow. Y’know, my grandson’s in his year at Eden. If Desmond’s power grabs get him hurt, there’ll be hell to pay. Anyway kid, this doesn’t look great for you. Open up for your sake, if nothing else.”

Anya didn’t think she’d ever get used to people talking to her in their mind, even if Sy-on always did it. Scarface left again, leaving her to sit in silence with Gas-Coin.

In the silence of the interrogation room, Chloe’s mind ran circles around Anya’s comprehension.
“...not like she had a choice…test subject to spy…isn’t going to crack…Twilight trained her…go easy…can’t ask that, they’d have my head…no Chloe, don’t think like that…specific orders…do nothing…compromised…if she’s a helpless kid…”

Anya forced her breath steady.
They won’t recognize me. They won’t recognize me. They won’t recognize me.
But…Auntie Chloe will. Once she realizes who I am… I’m either dead, or free. Why did I get wrapped up in this? Being a spy sucks. Bondman makes it look fun. 

Gas-Coin had a sinister smile as he cleared his throat, knocking Anya out of her own mind. “So, you go to Eden College. Have you ever taken an economics class?”

Yes.
“No.”

“Shame. If you did, you might have noticed that our lovely scribe here has a side job as your economics teacher.”

Anya felt insulted more than anything else. “Of course I noticed that, I’ve known for years!”

Chloe twitched, her thoughts’ speed making Anya’s head spin.
“What is she talking about? I thought that regular WISE agents don’t know that I’m in the SSS! Am I compromised? Or is Starlight a higher clearance than I thought? I don’t understand spies.”

Gas-Coin narrowed his eyes and Chloe twitched.
“Did you now?” He drawled. “When and how did you find that out?”

“My basic mission briefing?” Anya said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Is it really a surprise? Remember what I said: I’m a spy. Knowing things is my jam!”

Gas-Coin nearly blew a fuse, but successfully managed to keep a cork on his anger.
“Chapman. Even if Starlight hasn’t been in your class—which she’s probably lying about—you should’ve seen her around the school anyway. Look closely at her. Do you have any idea who she is?”

She’s going to realize who I am, sooner or later. If Scarface is around when she does, he’ll probably realize she knows. I need to bite the bullet.
Anya made nervous eye contact with her aunt, teacher, and only possible ally in this situation.

And sure as day, she connected the dots. “She’s Anya. Oh my god. She’s Anya. Anya fucking Forger.” Chloe’s poker face rivaled even Twilight’s. She appeared entirely passive, betraying zero emotion. On the inside, she was falling apart. “…Agent Starlight…Anya Forger is a spy…Yuri’s niece…her dad probably doesn’t know…oh my god…didn’t notice…can help her…getting hanged…I know Anya’s tough…unflappable spy…Yuri arrested her…had today off?…arrest his own niece…Yor’ll kill him…Loid too…scary guy…rather face her than him…a dead man walking…”
“I don’t recognize her, Sir.”

Anya didn’t let out the breath she’d been holding, but goddamn she felt like it. I’m safe.

Gas-Coin—oblivious to Chloe’s mental turmoil—sighed. “It was worth a shot. While we’re waiting, let’s talk about moles.” 

“What about them?” Anya asked with zero emotion in her voice.

“You obviously have one with us. Who is it?”

“You really don’t know who? I thought the great Gas-Coin himself would’ve been more competent.” Anya’s voice is flat and deadpan, but her words are as mocking as ever.

“Who is it, Starlight? I want a name.”

“Wilker.”

Chloe dropped her pen again.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”
It seemed Gas-Coin didn’t find it funny.

“Of course it is! You think I have any idea who our mole is!? Agents rarely even know each other’s covers! There’s no fucking way they’d tell us who–”
Starlight’s angry tirade was interrupted by her final unbroken fingers meeting the same fate as the rest.
Thishurtsthishurtsthishurtsthishurtsthishurtsthishurtsthishurtsthishurtsthishurtsthishurts

“Kids aren’t supposed to say words like that.”

Really Gas-Coin? That’s all you have to say? It hurts so damn bad, too much even for the drugs, I wanna just–
Wait, what’s stopping me again? Papa won’t hear it. He can’t ground me for swearing.
“Fuck! That hurts! That really fucking hurts! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Slightly embarrassing time for Yuri to appear, but he walked in nonetheless.
“Chad said you needed me?”

“She’s barely given us shit. I’ll admit you’re better at torture than I am. She’d better give up her civilian identity, her mission, and WISE’s base of operations in Ostania by the time I’m back, or you’ll be the one paying for it.”
“Starlight was willing to stand up for Briar when he brought her in, let's see how she fares with his fate in her hands.”
Gas-Coin walked out, slamming the door.

“Well, Starlight. Seems it’s just you and me.”

“And Chloe.”

Yuri did not comment on that. On the outside, he was confident.
“Anything you’d care to spit out before we get started, Ms. Traitorous Trash?”
But on the inside?
“Our HQ is designed so that the walls let sound through, so suspects can be swayed by hearing the screams of others. But it’s working against me, hearing Anya’s cries while I filed paperwork… Now I have to cause them? What have I done?”

“Do your worst!”

“Happily. Chloe? Get me a tub of water.”

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. My hair might not stay hidden if it gets wet…

Anya might not have a particularly high view of her uncle, but she could at least acknowledge that he was exceptionally good at doing his job while he was falling apart on the inside.
As it turns out, no matter how much you claim to dislike her, waterboarding your niece is far from pleasant. Granted, it was far from pleasant for her too. Everyone involved, really.

Gasping for air as her head is pulled out of the tub, Anya sent her uncle a glare.
"I'm not–” She gasped for air. “–telling you anything!”
I thought they were supposed to hold me under for way longer.
“You’re soft, Briar. You’re going easy on me. Why? Are you scared?”
Just need to make Unkie doubt himself a bit mor–

Anya’s train of thought was derailed off a bridge and into a river as her head was plunged under again.

Hold your breath.
0
Count the seconds.
1
You’ll last for at least sixty,
2
Unkie will let up before then.
3
Don’t try to breathe in the water.
4
Don’t struggle,
5
spare the oxygen.
6
Close your eyes.
7

8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14.

Anya’s lungs burned for air. She visualized herself in other scenarios which forced her underwater that didn’t involve torture.

15
You’re saving Ken.
16
You’ll get a Stella from it.
17
He’ll be okay.
18
Papa will save you.
19
He always does.
20

21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27.

28
You slipped off a surfboard,
29
because Mama pushed it
30
way too hard
31
Mama will save you.
32
She always does.
33

34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40.

Intrusive thoughts always took over Anya’s mind when she was underwater.

41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47.

Now is no different.

48
You’re underwater.
49
No more than three years old.
50
Not floating, not sinking.
51
You were “uncooperative”.
52
They were “preventing resistance”.
53
Men in white coats with clipboards,
54
waiting, standing, writing, watching through the glass.
55
Tubes, lines, needles, wires in your body in the water.
56
There’s an oxygen mask too.
57
Papa will save you.
58
Mama will save you.
59
They always do.
60
Not today.
61

62, 63, 64, 65…

66
That oxygen mask
67,
would be
68,
nice right now.
69,  70,            71,                              72,                                                     73,

Although her eyes were already closed, Anya’s vision faded.

The first thing Anya remembered was coughing water all over her uncle. Or was she vomiting water? She wasn’t sure. It felt like both. Her lungs felt heavy. They probably were.
She could barely breathe.
I remember my head getting dunked, but… not much more than that. I hope I didn’t say anything…

“–rlight. Starlight. Starlight!” “Anya!”

She was being roughly shaken awake—was she asleep?—by Yuri.
The force of the shaking made Anya eject more water from her insides onto Yuri's outsides.

“Are you okay?”
“Gascoigne would’ve killed me if she died on my watch. She’s too valuable to let die. That’s why I care that she’s okay. Nothing more.”

Heh. Unkie’s worried about me. When’s the last time that happened?
“What’s it look like?”, is what Anya tried to say.
Her words came out as a garbled mess, alongside more water.

Concern was a strange look in the eyes of the man who had just been torturing her.

“Yuri, she can barely breathe." Chloe rolled her eyes. "No way is she going to be able to answer any questions.”

“I might’ve gone too far.”

“You don't think?”

Before long, Gas-Coin walked in.
“So? What did she say?”

Yuri stared at the floor awkwardly.
“I, uh. Overestimated her lung capacity.”

The captain raised his eyebrow, so Chloe finished for him.
“What Yuri means to say is that he decided it would be a good idea to waterboard her, and instead she passed out for a solid five minutes. There’s so much water in her lungs she can barely even breathe right now, let alone tell us anything.”

“Dammit Chloe! Throwing me under the bus like that!”

Anya chuckled at her uncle’s thoughts, which turned into a sputter and then a full blown coughing fit.

Gas-Coin simply sighed.
“Briar, you’re off your game today. Leave us.”
He sat down across the table from Anya.

A few minutes passed, with a silent stare-down interrupted only by coughs and watery splutters.

The door opened.
“Here’s the yearbook,” Scarface said as he slammed it on the table unceremoniously.

The next half hour was spent with the three SSS officers analyzing Anya’s face and comparing it to various kids in the yearbook, because there was little more they could do until Anya’s lungs cleared up.
And while Anya’s lungs may have been slowly clearing, her mind was not.
Scarface is too good at noticing the tiny changes on my face. He saw my recognition of Papa, and of Grammy, and he knows I’m telepathic…
Anya focused on a speck of dirt on the wall. She counted up prime numbers in her head—using all her mental energy to do so, she’s not good at math—and let the sounds, sights, and thoughts of the interrogation room fade into the cloudiness of her drug-induced high—although it was far less than what it had been, having worn off a decent amount while she was unconscious.

Anya hardly noticed, but eventually they got to the F’s.
She was lucky to have rapidly grown out of her baby face in the last year. The picture of her, despite being a single year old, was too different for the connection to be made by either Scarface or Gas-Coin.
“Guess she’s in another year. Makes sense in retrospect, she’s too young to be in Desmond’s classes.”

Gascoigne scoffed, unimpressed by his underlings. “Chapman, prepare a cell for her, and see if you can find some smaller handcuffs. We’ll let her stew overnight.”

I’m gonna miss dinner. Mama’s gonna be so worried.

Having a gun pointed at your face was surprisingly nerve-wracking.
Doubly so when you are dizzy from a lack of oxygen.

“I dare you to try anything.”

While she tried to say “wasn’t planning on it, Gas-Coin”, Anya still mostly stumbled over her words and coughed water everywhere. Her handcuffs were unlocked before Scarface pushed her wrists behind her and Chloe replaced them with handcuffs that actually fit her.
Guess I won’t be slipping out this time. At least she’s trying to be gentle with my fingers.
Wait, Auntie's thoughts are buzzing in her head like flies. What’s this, a flashback?

Anya dived into Chloe’s mind to see what had happened.

Anya Forger is Agent Starlight. Anya Forger is Agent Starlight. Anya Forger is Agent Starlight.
In her spiral, Chloe failed to notice that Yuri Briar was pacing back and forth anxiously, and walked straight into him.

“Hey! What the Fu–Oh, Chloe. How are you?”
Yuri was not doing a good job of pretending to be okay.

“Clearly better than you, Second Lieutenant Briar. Where can I find child-sized handcuffs?”

“Oh uhhhhh– I’ll show you. Follow me.”

“Alright.”

The two SSS agents walked through corridors in awkward silence, side by side.
Yuri turned his head to start mouthing in Chloe’s direction.
“I’ve made a huge mistake.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow, then mouthed back. “What else is new?”

“Agent Starlight is my niece. I arrested and tortured my own niece.”

“I noticed. Chad and Gascoigne didn’t, and I don’t plan on telling them.”

“Chloe. Sis is going to kill me. At first I was thinking she’d be happy that I helped make the country a safer place, but I’m realizing how much she loves her daughter. She’s never going to forgive me. And I’d never admit it to Starlight, but… hearing her cries? I feel bad for her. What the hell do I do now, Chloe?”

Trust Yuri Briar to trauma-dump out of nowhere.
“Isn’t it obvious? We break her out.”

Anya had never been more thankful that her uncle was as crazy as he was about Mama, and that her aunt was willing to help him. Chloe and Scarface left with her to take her to a cell, while Gas-Coin went to do… whatever it is he did. Anya stumbled several times, the hands on her shoulders holding her up unrelentingly. Scarface’s mind was all but empty while Chloe’s was racing incomprehensibly.

Then it began. The hand Chloe had on Anya’s shoulder? She gave a short squeeze, enough for Anya to notice, but not Scarface. More squeezes followed.

-.-- ..- .-. .. yuri
.-- .- -. - ... wants
-- . me
- --- to
..-. .-. . . free
-.-- --- ..- you

Of course, Anya didn’t need to know Morse to know what Chloe was saying, she could just read her mind. Regardless, she’d been taught it by the Whitecoats, and remembered it so she could know the secret messages in Spy Wars.

Chloe slipped a key into Anya’s mangled fist, and continued with her Morse.

-- . . - meet
.... .. -- him
.- - at
.--. .- .-. -.- park

The three got to the cell, which Anya noticed was conveniently out of the way of any guards. Scarface unlocked the door. “I hope you’ll talk more tomorrow, for your sake. Good night.” He pushed her in unceremoniously. The door slammed, locking with finality.

Anya waited for at least ten minutes—approximately, she had no way to know for sure—to give time for her captors to retreat. Sitting on the bench in silence, she repeatedly coughed up more water. Once her lungs felt light enough, she stood up.

You got this, Anya. Operation Jailbreak, go!

Thanks to her “stubby legs”, Anya was able to reach her hands down and step over the handcuffs, to get her hands in front of her. First the baby face, now this. Yet another thing that’s finally coming in handy for me. Guess lying about my age to Papa wasn't all bad. Quickly realizing the key Chloe gave her was for the cell and not the cuffs, Anya set it down. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she slipped her fingers under her wig and pulled it off.

I’m just like Papa with his masks. Except because I have longer hair than Papa, I need bobby pins to hold it in place.

She took one of the pins out of her hair, and started bending it.
Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. While I’m glad Papa taught me how to do this, I don’t think he expected broken fingers while picking locks. At least handcuffs are easy to pick.

Anya managed to shove the bobby pin into the keyhole and successfully opened the cuff. Repeating the process with her newfound dexterity—although calling it dexterity was still a stretch—she was free.
Agent Starlight always completes her mission.

Taking the brown contacts out of her eyes proved to be more difficult than expected, but Anya managed (with no small amount of pain).
Was it overkill to change my eye color? With how much Sy-on is always thinking about my “bright emerald eyes”, they must be unique, right? Since Gas-Coin didn’t figure out who I was, it must have been worth it…

To remove any evidence of her breakout, Anya pocketed them, her makeshift lockpick, and all the bobby pins from her hair. She couldn’t really fit the wig in her pocket, so she just shoved it into her underwear. That’s what it's for, right?

Sensing no thoughts nearby, Anya unlocked the door.
Done using my hands. Better keep them in my pockets so people don’t ask why they’re all broken.

Oh fuck. I have no idea how to get out.

The twelveish-pretending-to-be-fourteen-pretending-to-be-thirteen year-old spent the next ten minutes creeping around the headquarters of the State Security Service, avoiding anywhere she could sense thoughts. Although she had no idea where she was, she at least knew she was out of the places where prisoners could be expected to be. The general lack of security surprised her, but she suspected that Yuri or Chloe could have something to do with it.

After another ten stressful minutes of avoiding people, Anya finally ran into someone.

Uh oh. Lieutenant Conrad O'Conner. One of Unkie's coworkers who's actually able to put up with him.

“A kid? I think she’s lost!”
“Hey kid! Whatcha doing here?”

Gas-Coin didn’t tell anyone about me?
“Oh uhh, I was going to mail a letter, but I only realized this wasn’t the post office after I got lost inside…”
Anya didn't need to fake the tears of an anxious lost child.

“I bet this is terrifying, does she even know she’s in the SSS?”
“Come with me. Where are your parents?”

“They’re at work. I’m with my Unkie Yuri but we split up to run errands. I was gonna meet him at the park!”

“Yuri? This is his niece? The daughter of his sister that he never shuts up about?”
“Oh! I know Yuri! I’ll take you to him!”

“Thanks, Swoopy Hair Guy.”

“Hah. What a cute kid.”

With a stroke of luck, neither Scarface nor Gas-Coin were anywhere to be seen on the walk out. Auntie Chloe must be keeping them busy. I’ll need to thank her later.

Being a spy is exhausting. No wonder Papa’s so tired all the time.

“Heya, Yuri! Found your niece!”

The man in question spun around.
“Conrad? What are–"

“She was lost! Keep a better eye on her, man. Don’t wanna upset your sister!”

“Unkie!”

Yuri looked at Anya in relief… and then, in confusion.
“How’d she get her pink hair back? Didn’t she leave that wig at Loidy’s place?”

Anya chuckled to herself. Heh. Operation Jailbreak: complete.

Operation Scarlet Salmon: Mission Notes

From Anya Forger (Alias: Test Subject 007)

My fingers are broken, my nails are ripped off, and my lungs are full of water. In spite of that, I broke out of jail. I’m trying to stay positive, but this really sucks. Now to make sure that Mama and Papa don’t kill Unkie—if they do, the SSS will be after them. I’m not a damn spy!

From Chloe Chapman

Oh my god. Yuri’s crazy. This is all crazy! I have too many questions. Why did he arrest Anya? Since when has Anya been a spy? Since when has WISE even had an Agent Starlight? Since when has WISE known I was in the SSS?

From Yuri Briar

I definitely made a mistake. I thought I could do it, but… I can’t. I just can’t. I can’t torture my own niece. And forget about Yor… Loidy’s going to kill me.

From Chadwick Curtis (Alias: Scarface)

So Agent Starlight’s mission is to infiltrate Eden College. She’s trying to save Damian Desmond from assassination… I fear that she might actually be a good person, despite being a spy from Westalis.

From Giacomo Gascoigne (Alias: Gas-Coin)

Agent Starlight is a fucking menace! To have the gall to taunt us in our own interrogation, tell us jack shit, and barely flinch under torture? Twilight may be dead, but his apprentice is so much worse.

Chapter Text

SUNDAY 1962-11-04

As far as Twilight was concerned, this day could not get much worse. Getting called to the “hospital” on a weekend was never a good sign. He received not one, not two, but three side missions from Handler, and none of them went particularly well. Maybe I really have lost my edge.

To top it all off, Yor had a meeting with the Lady Patriots Society, so he needed to call Franky to babysit Anya. But Franky had the gall to turn him down, saying he had a date. As if. As much as Twilight loathed needing to turn to Yuri Briar for help, Loid Forger was nothing if not a devoted family man—one who did not have an overtly hostile relationship with his brother-in-law.

Twilight thought that his daughter was old enough to look after herself, after all she’s fourteen (allegedly). However, Loid would never forget what happened the first—and only—time that he left her home alone. Getting kidnapped by Edgar Edgerton of all people? He would never let that happen again, he would never again open his apartment door to find his beloved daughter missing.

So when Loid opened his apartment door after a grueling day, just wanting to come home to his family, and saw the place vacant? He almost fainted on the spot.

0.00000s

No sign of Anya, no sign of Yuri, no sign of a struggle. Think, Twilight. You’re the top spy in Westalis. She’s not in her room… no noises from the bathroom, no shadows from behind the counters… Where could they have gone? Where would they be? 

0.01143s

Bond is still here, they didn’t take him on a walk. Even if they had, Anya knows that she needs to leave a note. The counter is clear. 

0.01999s

Get a grip, Twilight. How could you let your daughter disappear like this? You’re a failure of a father AND a failure of a spy!

0.02935s

No Loid, calm down. Be reasonable. Wherever she is, she’s with Yuri, he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Yuri wouldn't dare incur Yor’s wrath.

0.03975s

Despite all these reassurances, Twilight could not shake his distrust of the man. Yor may have trusted him, but he did not. First and foremost, he was an officer of the State Security Service.

0.05199s

What if he’s taken Anya to force me to reveal myself as a spy? It would be suspicious if I did anything that “Loid Forger” couldn’t in order to get her back.

0.06283s

Would Yuri do that? Would he use his sister’s beloved daughter to expose a spy?

0.06423s

He might, the methods of the SSS are ruthless. And she’s a critical asset to my mission—yes, she’s for the mission. Nothing else. Nothing more. Loid’s daughter, not Twilight’s. Loid’s daughter. Loid’s daughter. Loid’s daughter.

0.08060s

Loid’s daughter.

0.08215s

Aren’t I Loid?

0.08643s

Afterall, how could the best spy in Westalis forget: the importance of truly becoming the role. In order to fool everyone, you must first fool yourself. Anya is Loid Forger’s daughter.

0.10000s

And Loid Forger would move mountains for his precious daughter.

“Bond? Do you know where Anya went?”

“Borf.”

Loid’s first order of business was to call Yor.

“You have reached the Desmond Est–”

“My wife, Yor, is in the Lady Patriots Society, and I need to speak with her urgently.”

“Understood, please hold.”

His second order of business was to visit a certain “cigarette salesman”. Although he wasn’t much of a cigarette salesman, as his number one customer (Loid) was a non-smoker. Perhaps a more fitting statement would be that he was a Spy Wars comic book salesman. Semantics. Regardless of what he sold, his date had, without a doubt, ended by now—if it ever started. Franky seemed uncharacteristically happy considering he just had a date. Did it go well for once?

He seemed ready to gloat before he noticed Twilight’s grim expression, a stark contrast from the usual ‘upset Franky, relaxed Loid’ dynamic after a failed date.
“What happened, Twi?”

“Anya’s missing.”

Franky’s face instantly fell to be exactly as grim as Twilight’s.
While Franky was the first to give the advice that you shouldn’t get attached to a cover family, he by no means followed that advice. Franky “I know a guy who knows a guy” Franklin may have been one of the most well-connected people in Ostania, and a self-proclaimed friend of Twilight, but where he truly prided himself was in being Anya Forger’s “Uncle Scruffy”.

It was time for Count Scruffyhead to get to work.

“I got this contact, she’s a sex worker. If anyone would know where to find a missing teenage girl, it would be her.”

Loid raised an eye at that. “How’d you meet this ‘contact’?" 

“It’s not what you’re thinking, Twilight! I’m not some heathen who would have sex with someone I’ve just met!” The informant raised his hands angrily. “I hired her so I could ask her on a date, thought that if any lady would be willing to go out with me it would be someone who’s regularly with guys they don’t know…” He pouted. "Turns out she’s a lesbian. Great source of intel though, we’ve stayed in contact throughout the years.” 

Twilight walked away halfway through that. He really didn’t need to know his informant’s romance woes.

His third order of business was to return home and wait there in case Anya returned. 

I should probably also contact Sundown so tha–

Twilight’s train of thought was instantly derailed by the door to his apartment slamming open (the dent in the wall becoming ever so slightly more pronounced than it already was) to reveal a visibly distressed Yuri Briar carrying a visibly disheveled Anya Forger, whose face was streaked with tears—or water?

Twilight became a spy so that he could ensure a world where kids wouldn’t have to cry. And currently, his daughter was crying.
She’s not really your daughter. She’s just a part of your mission. Nothing more.
Nothing more? Who are you kidding? Even so, it doesn’t change the fact that she is a child. A child who is crying. That is unacceptable.

“Papa!”

Twilight had been a spy for almost two decades, and there were very few times in which he had been left truly speechless.
This was not one of them.
“I was worried sick!” The spy shouted. “Where the hell were you two!? Anya, why are you crying? Yuri, what happened to her?” Loid ran over to his daughter and pulled her into a tight hug.

Yuri started to sputter out a pathetic excuse for an excuse before he was interrupted by Anya.
“W–we got arrested by the Secret Police!”

Twilight had been a spy for almost two decades, and there were very few times in which he had been left truly speechless.
This was one of them.

Anya, having sensed his utter bewilderment, elected to elaborate. “They thought that I was some rebellious punk teenager! They thought I wanted to overthrow the government, b–because I dyed my hair!”

That—without a doubt—was the single most ridiculous thing Twilight had ever heard in his life.
“Anya, your hair isn’t even dyed.”

“They d–didn’t know that! They let me go once they realized it, though!”

While he’d never admit it, Loid had a weak spot for his girls. He trusted them fully, they could get away with almost any lie they wanted, no matter how outlandish.
He sighed to himself. “I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it. They didn’t hurt you too bad, did they?”

It was at this moment, as she raised her hands for him to look at, that Twilight realized just how fucked up Anya’s fingers were. Bent, dislocated, or downright shattered, none of the bones had been spared.

And she's– missing her fingernails… She's–
Loid’s heart dropped. That’s the work of the SSS if he’d ever seen it. He hugged his daughter tighter, as his entire body shook in anger.
Guess I won’t be writing this off so easily.
To add to it, Anya soon coughed up water. Clicking together the pieces in his mind, he had a pretty good idea of what had happened. Yuri Briar—the fearful, quivering Yuri Briar who stood in front of him right now—had had his own niece waterboarded.

Twilight took a step back, his eyes landing on Yuri, who flinched.
But why? Does he know I’m a spy? Did he assume Anya knew something? Is this a warning?
I will kill him. How dare he do this to my precious daughter.
She’s only my daughter for the mission.
Is she? Then why do I want to shoot Yuri right here?

Anya’s voice brought him out of his spiral, if only temporarily.
“They uhm. Wanted t–to know who I was working with…”

Bond padded up to Anya, who tried to pet him only to wince when her fingers touched his fluff. The dog whimpered in sympathy.

Twilight turned to Yuri, who was looking everywhere except at Loid.
“And…they didn’t interrogate you? Care to explain why?”

If looks could kill, Yuri Briar would be six feet under. Although he may have been a highly capable officer of the SSS, a master of interrogation, and seemingly immortal, even he crumpled before the father’s fury.
“I. Uhm. Well, you see, uhh–”

Anya piped in to save him once again. “Th–they were going to! But once they found out that he wasn’t my parent, just a babysitter, they let him off!”

“Uh huh. Is that so?” Loid delivered a glare, as suspicious as it was murderous, to his brother-in-law, as he shook with anger.
He looks far too guilty.
"Yuri."
No way he isn't responsible for this. 

"L–Loidy.”

The SSS doesn’t just randomly arrest people in public because of something as small as dyed hair.
"Where the hell did you bring Anya, that got the attention of the SSS?"
He put Anya in danger, he had to have! I can’t just cut him off from my daughter, Yor would never let me do that.

"Oh uh–" 

"–we were at the park!" Anya interjected once again.

I can’t call him out on it, it would put my mission at risk! The average psychiatrist wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the fact that they’re talking to an SSS officer!
"How come Anya's hair color has never raised suspicion with the SSS before? We’ve gone to the park as a family hundreds of times in the past."
But if I don’t call him out for lying, he could hurt Anya again. 

"I…guess she's never been around them before?"

It doesn’t matter that he’s lying. It doesn’t affect the mission.
"And why was she around them? They don't just show their faces in public randomly. You're hiding something."
Doesn’t matter? It doesn’t matter that Anya’s been tortured? 

"Arghh, Loidy! Spit it out already! What are you trying to say!" Yuri exclaimed, oblivious to Twilight’s mental war with himself.

Loid, hold your tongue, do it for the mission.
For the mission. For the mission. For the mission.
Oh, Twilight. Fuck the mission.
Do it for your daughter.
"You work for the SSS."

The apartment was silent, save for Anya’s occasional whimper of pain that she tried to suppress.

Yuri stared at Loid.
Loid stared back at Yuri.

Anya stared at both of them, concerned.
“…Papa versus Unkie?” She muttered, trying to defuse the situation.
Bond stared at all three of them.
“Borf?”

Loid continued to stare unblinkingly at a very uncomfortable Yuri.

“Uh, pardon? I work in the Department of Foreign Affai–”

The floodgates of Loid’s fury had opened, and Twilight could not contain them.

“Yuri Briar. Do you not remember when you dragged me to a party of your coworkers, and every single one of them started interrogating me about my relationship with Yor? They were drunk, so plenty failed to conceal their profession and everyone else was too drunk to notice. I knew they were State Security, because I know how State Security does interrogations. Back when I was in the Westalian Army, I had a bad run-in with Ostanian military intelligence—it's how I lost my eye”, the man removed his glass eye to demonstrate. Yuri shuddered. “...and I could recognize that interrogation style anywhere, it's no different from yours. As the head of the psychiatry department at Berlint General, I’ve received many VIP patients over the years, some of which were members of the SSS. They were interrogating their goddamn psychiatrist, because interrogation is all they know how to do, and you’re no different. Oh yeah, that reminds me. Our first meeting? You mentioned going to Hugaria. Talked about the old man who runs Kalpatia’s. Did you know that he retired while I was still there as a student? Why would you lie about that? It’s obvious to me. My doctoral thesis was on the psychology of lying, have you ever read it? A good lie needs enough plausible details to be convincing, but not so many you get caught. You wanted Yor and I to think you traveled to Obda to explain your absence, when in reality you were doing SSS shit you didn’t want us to know about. Don’t even get me started on your threats! You threatened to have me executed and to have our marriage annulled! Those aren’t in the power of a mere diplomat. I also seem to recall Anya telling me you called her spy cartoon “western propaganda”? You’re not subtle, don’t deny it! Hell, Anya keeps finding bugs around our place after you visit. Do you have no respect for your sister’s privacy?!”

Yuri looked utterly shellshocked. He opened his mouth to say something, but the only thing that came out was utterly unrelated.
“You actually are Westalian?”

Twilight didn’t entertain him with a reply; neither man said anything further on that matter.
Yuri had never before been as scared for his life as he was at this moment.
Loid Forger, family man, was terrifying.

Fuck. Now you’ve gone and done it, Loid. Now he knows you’re a spy. You just had to let your feelings get the better of you. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I can play the “overprotective dad” role to perfection.
Is it really a role? Thanks to this bastard, my daughter was tortured.

Pulling up his shirt slightly to expose the gun he carries on him at all times, Loid moved into Yuri’s face, his nose mere millimeters away.
“I don’t care who you work for, but don’t you dare hurt my family. If you harm one hair on Anya’s head, make her shed a single tear, I’ll be the one having you executed, legality be damned. Are we clear?”
Twilight put his hand on the gun, unable to stop it from shaking in raw fury.

Yuri was completely out of it, just muttering to himself. “You weren't kidding when you said you’d protect Yor from spears, bullets, or meteors…”

“Unkie.”
Anya attempted to pull Yuri out of his own thoughts.

Loid was more successful, speaking with a cold fury.
“I’ll ask one more time.”
The safety on his gun clicks off.
“Where did you bring my daughter that got her in the eyes of the State Security Service?”

"Okay, so, you see w–"
"–we were at the park!"

Damnit Anya! Stop interrupting him!

"Unkie got called back to work while we were at the park, and they said it was super urgent, he was needed for something, it couldn't wait!"

Yuri finally found his voice.
"Yeah, so I had to bring the Chihuahua with me, but I left her in the lobby to wait while I did what they needed me to!"

"and that’s when they arrested her for having pink hair?"

“Yep.”
“Yep.”

Loid and Twilight’s thoughts ran antiparallel. Side by side in opposite directions.
That at least explains why Yuri looks so guilty…
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. An arrest and torture, for pink hair. Which she’s had her whole life. There is no way he didn’t do this to her.

“Bullshit.”
Loid drew his gun, cocking it.
I would shoot this man right here if I didn’t want Anya to see it. But thanks to him, Anya’s already seen so much worse. She can handle a little blood, she’s never been squeamish.

“Papa! Stop!” His daughter moved in front of him. “Unkie didn’t do anything! It was an accident. Don’t shoot him, or Mama will be sad.”
How is Anya still vouching for him, after everything?
She'd only do that if he truly is innocent.
Or if she believes that he is.
You know your daughter better than anyone. She may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but no one can get a lie past her. Not even Twilight, professional liar. If she’s vouching for him, he didn’t do it intentionally.
Even if it’s absolutely his fault?
It's not like he tortured her himself. Even if it is his fault, should you really shoot a man in front of your daughter? Should you really kill the only blood family your wife has left?

Clicking the safety on his gun back on, Twilight took a step back.
“Very well then,” he said. To himself or to his daughter, he did not know. “I’m taking you to the hospital, Anya.”
Need to relay this incident to Handler. Even if they’ve let her off, being in the eyes of the SSS once is already a problem for Operation Str–

His train of thought was cut off abruptly when he noticed Anya’s teary eyes and look of utter horror and despair. Right. Anya has severe medical trauma.

“P–Papa… I don’t–hic–wanna go to the hospital…pl–please don’t m–make me…”

You’ve done it again, Twilight. You’ve made your daughter cry. How’s your mission to make a tomorrow without tears going now?
Be rational. Appeal to her hobbies.
“Anya, I need you to be reasonable here. If you ever want to be able to hold a tennis racket again, you’ll need to have surgery on them as soon as possible. You’re a big girl. You know, there’s a lot of studies that suggest that the number one way to overcome a fear is to face it, to expose yourself. Do you want to spend the rest of your life living in fear?”

Anya looked at her father with tears in her eyes, only slightly less than before.
“C–can we wait for Mama?”

A reasonable requ–

“Wait, yeah, hold on. Where’s Yor?”
At the mention of his sister, Yuri returned to his “normal” self. 

“Yor is on her way home from a meeting with the Lady Patriot’s Society. I called her as soon as I arrived home and you two weren’t here. She should be home any minute, in fact.”

That is assuming we account for the likelihood of her running across rooftops to get here faster, rather than bothering to wait for any vehicle.
Never quite understood why she does that, but at least she’s punctual.

Anya brightened up significantly at that.

Yuri however did not.
“Uhm. Loidy. Sis doesn’t know what I do for work. It’s– It's a dangerous job, it’d just worry her! I don't want to make her worry. Can we, uhm, like, pretend I really do work for the Department of Foreign Affairs when she gets here?"

"Is that really why? Or do you just not want your sister to know that Anya's injuries are your fault?"

"They're not his fault, Papa."

In spite of Anya's statement, Yuri's silent guilt was worth a thousand words.
The opportunity to have blackmail on an SSS officer?
For the first time since getting home, Loid and Twilight were truly in agreement with how to proceed.
By unleashing his fist upon Yuri’s face, of course.

Loid felt raw, sadistic, vindictive joy at Yuri’s pained yell.

Operation Scarlet Salmon: Mission Notes

From Anya Forger (Alias: Test Subject 007)

All in all, job well done if I do say so myself. My hands hurt like fuck, but at least Papa and Unkie aren’t at each other’s throats, and Unkie still doesn’t think Papa’s a spy. Yes, he thinks I’m a spy, but you can’t win them all.

From Yuri Briar

How did Loidy buy that?! She just happened to get arrested because her hair is dyed? We don’t arrest people for something like that, let alone torture them. But it turns out my suspicions were right—kind of. Loidy is from the west! He knew I was SSS this whole time. But he’s not a spy.

From Chloe Chapman

Why didn’t I think twice before helping Anya? Er, Starlight. I handed her that key in front of a security camera. I’m dead. I still can’t believe that my own niece is a spy.

From Chadwick Curtis (Alias: Scarface)

Somehow, Starlight escaped. And yet I don’t find myself wanting to go out and drag her back. I doubt she’ll try anything fishy now that she’s free, because she knows I could tell Wilker about her telepathy. I don’t think I actually have it in me to do that, though.

From Giacomo Gascoigne (Alias: Gas-Coin)

We’ve underestimated these Western dogs. I don’t envy the guy who has to tell Wilker we caught Starlight and then lost her. We didn’t manage to figure out a damn thing about who she is!

From Loid Forger (Alias: Twilight)

Yuri was babysitting Anya at the park, but he got an urgent call to action for the SSS. He wouldn’t tell me what—not that I could ask without arousing suspicion—but whatever it was, he had to bring Anya with him, where she got detained. I didn’t realize the SSS was so suspicious these days to investigate people because of unnatural hair colors. I understand Yuri's reasoning for bringing her to work; you can’t really leave your babysitting charge alone in public. But it still doesn’t mean I forgive him. He should've turned down his summons. He put his job over my family, and even though he didn’t mean to, he's severely hurt Anya. Now she's been tortured because he didn’t bother to keep an eye on her.

Chapter Text

SUNDAY 1962-11-04

Yor Forger’s day had—as far as she was concerned—started off pretty well!
For starters, she hadn’t pushed Loid out of the bed in the night. Anya willingly ate the breakfast she made. She got to see Yuri for a bit before leaving to go hang out with her friends. She quite enjoyed spending time with Melinda and the others in the Lady Patriots Society. Okay, mostly just Melinda, but Janet, Kathy, and Margaret don’t need to know that.

However, the day had quickly turned sour when she received a call from her husband.

Her daughter and brother were missing?!

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. This isn’t good. Not good at all. Was there a break-in? Were they kidnapped? Did they go out and get hit by a car? Were they mugged? Kidnapped? Murdered? 

WERE THEY PICKED UP BY THE SECRET POLICE?

An image filled her mind, of Anya being dragged away by SSS officers while Yuri was held back.

“Mamaaaaaa!!! Help meeeeeeeee!”
“Sisssss! I couldn’t stop them!!!”

Oh no. This is bad. Are Anya and Yuri going to die???

Promptly declining Nola’s offer for a ride home, Yor opened the window, defenestrated herself onto the roof of the Desmond Manor, and took off sprinting.

Melinda chuckled to herself, having long since gotten used to Yor’s quirks.

Yor’s sheer speed as she ran and jumped from roof to roof was nearly unmatched, the cars below her may as well have been stationary. It was however beaten by one thing:
The pace of her mind.

If anything’s happened to either of them I’ll find the person responsible and kill them on the spot. Shopkeeper would understand.

Unless…

Her thoughts shifted; from the rapid panic of Yor Forger to the cold fury of the Thorn Princess.

Could it have been another Garden assassin? Who else would have the guts to go after my family?

Mistletoe wouldn’t want to upset his parents.

Foxglove wouldn’t risk Miss Connie’s wrath.

Gympie? I know she used to be jealous of my family, but I think she’s happy with Demetrius.

Could it have been Wolfsbane? But every time I have a job at his hotel I make sure to clean up after myself! He can’t get on to me for that.

Is Lily mad that she needs to keep making more stilettos for me? But Thistle and Hemlock are so much more wasteful with their weapons.

Thistle might be bitter because of my higher ranking, but I don’t pull superiority on him to boss him around like Hemlock does.

I know Mancinella doesn’t really like Loid, but she adores Anya. Plus, he’s a frequent customer of her boutique, she wouldn’t want to lose business. 

Ivy would’ve shot them in broad daylight, she doesn’t like secrecy. 

Sundew could’ve done it just to sate her bloodlust, but she really only kills corrupt businessmen she’s met while working her day job. She’s never even met my family.

I don’t know about Daffodil. I’ve never met them, because they've been on the same protection mission for so long. I don't know how they fight, or even their gender…

It might have been Hemlock. I’m overdue for another one of his tests—I don’t know why he keeps insisting on it, I always win. My family is my strength. Did he decide to go after them to try and win? No, I made it very clear that I’d kill him if he tried, and he doesn’t have a death wish. I think.

But Oleander… Could it have been Oleander? I know I’m supposed to trust all my coworkers, but Oleander's with the SSS! If anyone wanted to make my family disappear…

No Yor—you can’t think like that. Your coworkers wouldn’t go after your family.

Shaking away her traitorous thoughts, Yor leapt off a building and grabbed a power line, hastily ziplining onto her balcony.

“Loid! I’m here–" Yor exclaims while jumping in through the window, stopping in place when she sees her daughter and her brother.

“Mama!"
“Sis!" 

They're safe. Standing right here. They're not dead. They’re ok. Thank God. Deep breaths. 

Running over to Anya and enveloping her in a tight hug, Yor banished her catastrophizing thoughts to the back of her mind. 

“Uhm. Mama? That hurts.”

Right. No breaking bones.
It was at this point that Yor realized that Yuri’s face was heavily bruised, as if he’d been punched very hard fairly recently.

“Yuri, what happened to you? Where were you two?”

Her little brother looked at the floor awkwardly.

“They went to the park—without leaving a note, I should say,” Loid started with a glare, “and ran into the SSS while they were there.”

Yor’s blood ran cold.
I was right. Oleander, when I get my hands on you–
“What… what did they want?”

Anya spoke up. “They thought dyed hair was suspicious, that it meant I was a punk rebel or something! They let us go when they realized my fabulous locks are au naturale.” Anya flicked her hair to the side, splashing droplets of water onto the floor. She flinched in pain as she did so.

Is her hair wet because they were trying to wash dye out of it? She's always had such a unique hair color, I didn't realize it could be a risk. I've been in this family for seven years and I’m still learning things. Did Ashe’s hair also cause trouble?
Wait. She flinched. She’s in pain. Anya’s hurt!

"Mama, look!" Anya held up her hands. “Bond has better finger dexterity than me now!”

Yor’s blood ran colder as she took in the juxtaposition of her daughter's smiling face and mangled hands. Each finger appeared to have three times as many joints as it should. The tips were caked in blood, with no fingernails in sight. Yor was pretty sure she saw bone protruding in several places.
How can she be cheerful? Isn't she in so much pain?
“Why…? Why did they do that to you?” Yor’s voice cracked.

Yuri, sensing her murderous aura, cut in to explain.
“They wanted her to give them names of other members of her ‘organization’, but she didn’t give any, due to her, uh, lack of an organization.”

“Anya, if this happens again—which it won’t—just, make up some names, please," Loid told her.

“But Papa, what if the names belonged to real people? I don’t want them to get hurt! Uhm—Mama?”

They hurt my daughter. They broke her precious little fingers. For what? Because her hair is pink? I’ve never liked the secret police, but this is another level of cruelty. I’ll snap their fingers, crush their hands, whoever did this will beg for death, and I’ll give it to them happily, how dare they hurt my daug–

“Mama.”

“Who did this to you? Names, faces, anything you can tell me.”

“Mama! No stabby thoughts! It was a misunderstanding, please don’t kill anyone!”

Anya knows me so well…
Not that she knows just how stabby my thoughts really are.

The drive to the hospital was tense (the whole time) and silent (at first)—not to mention incredibly illegal. Loid broke every traffic law known to man. Yor had no idea their car could go this fast. Anya pleaded with her father to slow down.
“Papa, I won’t die if we get there ten minutes later…!”

Loid was having none of it.
“We’ve already waited long enough for your mother, I won’t accept a single unnecessary delay!”

They waited for me? Surely that’s an unnecessary delay. Anya needs to see a doctor right now!

Anya seems to have caught on to her distress. Reaching up and patting her on the shoulder with her elbow, she tries to comfort her mother.
“It’s okay Mama, Papa’s just stressed. I asked to wait for you. I need you with me in the hospital.”

Anya always knows just what I need to hear. But that doesn’t change how much pain she must be in. Why’s she the one comforting me, I should be comforting her. My Anya…

“Mama, my legs work fine! You don’t need to carry me!”

Ignoring her daughter’s words, Yor sprinted into the ER with Anya in her arms, leaving Loid in the dust.
“My daughter needs a doctor! Her fingers are hurt!" 

The receptionist did not seem to share Yor’s urgency.
Raising an eyebrow, she inquired further.
“Is this the result of an accident or injury?”

“Miss Frost, I–" 

Anya cut her mother off, holding up her hands.
"What's it look like, Ms. Grumpy Lady?”

Yor was taken aback by her daughter's rudeness.
"Anya, that's not–”

Fiona was surprised by neither Anya’s injuries nor her words—not that showing emotions was something she was known for.
"I'll take that as a yes." 

At the perfect time to diffuse the tension, Loid ran up behind his family.
“Fiona, how fast can you get a surgery scheduled for her?”

“Should be able to get her in in about an hour.”

Yor’s stress must be getting to her, because Fiona’s lips looked like they were moving way more than just the words she was speaking. Her head hurt—that must be why.

Leaving Loid to get things sorted out with his coworkers, Yor sat down to appease said headache.
The secret police hurt Anya. They hurt Yuri, just because he was near her. They tortured her. They broke her fingers. They kidnapped her. My daughter. My daughter. These monsters dared to lay a hand on my Anya. She was looking forward to the tennis meet with Fontaine Academy so much, but now Eden will need to find someone else to take her place… Anya will be crushed. The secret police are absolutely tyrannical. Torturing my daughter because her hair is a unique color? I’ll have to propose to Shopkeeper that we do some…pruning. Surely the world would be a more beautiful place without scum like them in it. I don’t care that we’re supposed to work with them. Sorry Oleander, but I’ll be painting the walls of your workplace red with the blood of your coworkers. And you, if you get in my way. 

The Thorn Princess was too lost in her thoughts to notice the alarmed look upon her daughter’s face.

Yor had never really been in a hospital before, besides when she was visiting her husband at work. When she was a kid, they hadn’t had the money. When she was older and got injured on a job, she was usually able to shrug it off. If she couldn’t do that, Gympie was usually able to put something together that helped, and if it didn’t, then Mistletoe could treat her. And even now that she had a family, Anya would do everything she could to avoid ending up in the hospital.

All that goes to say is that Yor found the wait time in this so-called “emergency” room to be surprisingly long.
It’s been two hours since we were called out of the waiting room. Didn’t Fiona say it would only be an hour until surgery? Maybe I misheard her. Her lips were moving funny…

Fiona entered the room breaking Yor away from the monotonous—and bloody—thoughts.

“We’re all ready for you, Miss Forger.”

Yor gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead.
“You can do this. It won’t hurt as bad as whatever those bad guys did to you!”

Despite her words, Yor was nervous on behalf of her daughter. Fiona seemed to pick up on this, putting a reassuring hand on Yor’s shoulder.
“She's in good hands." 

Anya, looking at Fiona nervously, nodded.

“I’m ready.”

Another thing that Yor is learning about hospitals: waiting rooms are boring, they make her feel helpless, and as a result her mind wanders.

Loid is so busy, trying to get things straightened out for Anya’s care. He’s been calling the school, talking to doctors… I wish he would let me take on some of the load. He’s filling Sylvia in on what happened… I’ve never seen her look so distressed. Today she nearly lost the only family she has left. I can’t imagine what she feels like right now. She looks furious, is Loid telling her that the SSS was responsible? I get it, Sylvia. I want to kill them too.
Wait…

A memory from seven years prior, burned into Yor’s mind, resurfaced.
A day she can’t forget, because her daughter was kidnapped.
The day they adopted Bond.

“Excuse me. State Security. Investigating the incident that occurred in the City Center. Do you mind answering a few questions?”

The secret policewoman had long, wavy, red hair. She had a low, stern, yet not uncaring voice. Although her eyes were mostly hidden behind her sunglasses, an essence of blueish-green could have been seen behind them. 

“I see. Then it’s safe to assume that this dog is also one of the animals trained by the terrorist group. Which means we’ll be taking him with us.”

Despite being approached out of nowhere by the secret police, Loid hadn’t seemed phased. “Please, take good care of him.”

“This is a delicate matter. Given the tenuous relationship between East and West, we’ll need to keep this under wraps, so your silence is crucial. Thanks for your cooperation.”

Yor had been unnerved by the presence of the secret police, but tried to act normal.
“Since all that’s over now, why don’t we go and look for a puppy together!”

“Sounds good. Come on, Anya.”

They did not go look for a puppy together. Instead, the father and daughter had gotten into an argument.

“No way! I wanna keep Mister Doggie!”

“Listen, Anya–”

“I wanna take care of Mister Doggie!”

“You can’t, that dog belonged to the bad guys!”

“I don’t care who he was with, he saved me!”

“I understand, but didn’t you say that you wanted a small dog?”

“Well now I want this Mister Doggie! It’s okay he’s big!”

“You’re being difficult!”

Anya burst into tears, but the secret policewoman quickly found a way to silence her tears.
“Very well, he’s yours.”

Yor remembered asking if that was okay.

“I highly doubt one of these dogs going missing will cause an issue. The terrorists have been taken into custody, and this particular pup didn’t cause anyone harm.”

Loid and the secret policewoman were whispering off to the side. Almost as if they knew each other, although Yor was only realizing this in retrospect.

“What about all those other Mister Doggies? Will the police ociffers be mean to them?”

The secret policewoman had leaned down to Anya, her splitting image, and said such kind words to her, as if she knew exactly what would calm her.
“Don’t worry, you sweet thing. The dogs are going to be well taken care of. They’ll all be given soft beds to sleep in, and nice yummy food to eat. But this pup here? He didn’t have an easy life before he met you. So it’s very important that you’re always extra good to him. And I know he’ll be good to you. Can you do that?”

“Fanks a lot, Boss Lady!”

Seven years later, watching her husband converse with his mother in law, who had long wavy red hair, bluish-green eyes, and a low caring voice, Yor finally clicked the pieces together in her head.
Anya wasn’t afraid of her, Loid whispered with her, and she relented to Anya’s tears in an instant, willing to break rules for her…

The kind secret policewoman who had let them have Bond was Anya’s grandmother, Sylvia Sherwood.

Sylvia loves Anya so much, there’s no way she would condone this torture, is that why she looks so mad right now? I guess I should probably leave the murder to her, she'll be able to find exactly who did it, instead of indiscriminately killing everyone. I don't know what rank she has, but it's probably pretty high if she could bend the rules so we could keep Bond.

Yet another past memory surfaced to Yor’s mind; the night she and Loid got married.

A car swerved from the next lane over, crashing into their van.
“What the– Hang on, Yor!”

“Huh?! Who are those people, do you know them?”

Loid anxiously drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Seems that– some of my patients are still, uh, having psychotic breaks!”

“Being a doctor must be very demanding.”

“The best course is to avoid them for a bit.”

In retrospect, should Yor really have believed that they were psychiatric patients? They looked more like the types of thugs she would have to take out for a job!

Picking up a crate, Loid slammed it into the head of two of the “patients”, before pulling a pipe off a wall.

“Hey Loid, sorry to pry, but are you supposed to hit your patients?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. I’m uhh, using a cutting edge technique known as the, uh, concussive recovery method!”

How did I ever believe that?

Those weren't patients, they had a grenade, and Loid threw it straight back at them! I guess Sylvia must have made some enemies, and they went after the only family she had left—her son in law! 

Loid fought them off so well! Did she train him in case that would happen? Or is that just his military training? Whatever the reason, he's so strong! He told me Sylvia works at the Westalian Embassy, but I guess that’s probably a cover. Or maybe she works there to spy on the West? I'm not sure. Loid clearly knows about her job, he was talking with her the day we got Bond. But I don't think he supports the secret police himself. Afterall…

Yor remembered a conversation she and Loid had, back before they got together for real. 

“I think I want our marriage to continue on forever.”

Loid, completely missing her point, had responded:
“Well of course, it can continue for as long as you want! Afterall, your risk of being arrested won't ever really end.”

Even back then, he knew the reason I'd agreed to the marriage was to avoid secret police suspicion. And even having loved the daughter of a secret policewoman, Loid was willing to help me avoid them. He's such a lovely man.

Yor was broken out of her thoughts by a sudden entrance into the waiting room.

“Loid!”

Franky walked up to Loid, who had by this point finally sat down across from Yor as they waited, and angrily shook his shoulders.
“Why didn’t you tell me you found Anya!?”

"Franky, I’ve–”

"I've been looking for her all day long! I had to hear it from Sund–I mean Alex–of all people!”

That caught Yor’s attention.
Was he going to say Sundew? Franky knows Sundew? I thought Sundew’s name was Paige, not Alex. Maybe she has multiple names?

“I'm sorry, Franky. I've been preoccupied caring for my goddamn daughter! Cut me some fucking slack, will you?”

Franky raised his hands in surrender.
“Geez man, sorry." 

Yor however, was paralyzed in shock, her gaze transfixed on the woman who had followed Franky into the waiting room. 

She was taller than Franky, although a little shorter than Yor. She had dark blue eyes behind wire frame glasses, and straight black hair that was parted at the center. If one looked closely at the black gloves she always wore, one would notice that her pinky and ring fingers were unmoving and unnaturally bulged outward. A particularly astute viewer could piece together that she had lost them, stuffing the glove fingers with cotton. 

Yor was hardly astute, but she knew this fact nonetheless—because she knew the woman. The whiplash hit her like a bus; after all—she was used to seeing her with a Blackbell M82 in her hands. 

Ivy?
Franky knows Ivy????
If he knows both Sundew and Ivy…
Could…
Could Franky be an assassin? Is he… Daffodil? 

Yor asked nervously,
"Uhm, Franky, who is this?"

"Ivy’s a uh, friend of mine.” Franky said… embarrassed? “She was helping me look for Anya. Followed me here when I got the call that you guys found her.” 

Ivy tilted her head in confusion.
"You two know each other?"

"Franky's my brother in law!"

Now it was Franky’s turn to be confused.
"Since when have you two known each other?!”

“Uh–"
“Uh–"

A look of understanding crossed over his face as he connected the dots, and Yor panicked.

If Franky is Daffodil, and he knows now that I know Ivy, then he knows I'm an assassin!
Desperately, Yor mouthed to her brother-in-law.
“Please don't tell Loid." 

He mouthed back.
“I won't." 

Yor breathed a sigh of relief.

Ivy pulled her over to the corner of the room, and said to her in a low voice.
“I’m so sorry this happened, Yor.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but I know better than most what it's like to lose someone to the secret police. You almost did today. This isn’t the kind of thing your daughter will just be able to shrug off. She’s not invincible like you are. Plus, you get in the eyes of the SSS once, they never stop looking. If they decide to throw a criminal record on her, she'll struggle to get a job for life. Unemployment hit me hard once my sentence was up. Do you want your daughter to suffer like that?”

Yor knew only too well what had happened to make this woman seek out assassination. Ivy Irwin, age 33. A former member of the Red Circus, her closest friends were all arrested at a protest. She took it upon herself to free them, by taking hostages in an attempt to negotiate with the government. Although she was arrested as a result (and lost four fingers to torture) she was later released following a deal Billy Squire made with the SSS.

Despite being free, Ivy was utterly unable to find a job thanks to her severe criminal record—aggravated assault, child endangerment, kidnapping, and terrorism, to name a few. Ivy had started with prostitution to make ends meet, but when one questionable job wasn’t enough to live off of she joined Garden as an outlet for her burning rage against the SSS for the murder of her friends.

If the SSS get their hands on Anya again, she could be forced into some truly horrible jobs just to live… I can’t let that happen.
“Ivy, what do I do?”

“You make them pay the price for threatening your daughter. Shopkeeper will understand. I’d gladly help you.”

“You’re just looking for an excuse to kill the secret police.”

“Guilty as charged." Ivy raised her hands in a mock surrender.

“I think I’d rather do it myself, if I do it at all.”

“Alright. Just know that the offer still stands.” Ivy left her fellow assassin to her thoughts.

She’s making revenge sound really nice…
But Ivy’s always so hot-headed—she held Anya hostage after all—so should I really listen to her advice?

MONDAY 1962-11-05

Yor’s hands trembled. The surgery had gone well, but it was only a small comfort. Anya looked so small, sleeping in the hospital bed. The clock read 1:00 AM. She was asleep, knocked out from all the drugs they’d ran through her IV. Thanks to both her hands being in casts, they had to put the IV into her neck.

Yor whispered to herself.
“My sweet baby…how could they hurt her like this?”

She leaned over her daughter’s bed to brush her hair away from the IV. Her eyes caught a glimpse of black ink in her skin, towards her nape. Moving the hair further, Yor saw two letters and three numbers.

TS-007

She froze.

Anya has a tattoo?
I’ve never seen it before. She’s way too young for one. Surely Loid would have told me.

Yor stepped away from the bed so she wouldn’t hurt her daughter.

I've been her mother for seven years and I've never seen it. It must be new. Which means–
The secret police did this! It’s like Ivy said. They’ve marked her as someone to watch.

Something in Yor snapped. Hands shaking, she quickly scribbled out a note to Loid for when he returned from the restroom.
I’m going to go home to grab Director Chimera for Anya. Be back soon.
With that, the Thorn Princess leaped out the fifth story window of the hospital, landing with a soft thud.

Remember what Shopkeeper says.
“Don’t let your morals prevent you from doing what is right.”
I’m sorry Sylvia. I’m sorry Oleander.
Your people hurt my daughter.
And I’ll water the ground with their blood.

Operation Scarlet Salmon: Mission Notes

From Anya Forger (Alias: Test Subject 007)

I thought everything would fall apart when Mama showed up, but it still hasn’t. Mama, Papa, and Unkie still don’t think anything’s amiss about any of the others, and only Unkie knows I’m a spy (except I’m not). I’m not so sure about Aunt Fiona…

From Yuri Briar

Loidy didn’t tell Yor I work for the SSS. He conveniently left that fact out, even though I tortured his daughter—not that he knows that. Yor sounded like she wanted to kill my coworkers! Again, she has no idea I did it… God, I feel like shit. First Starlight, now Loidy. Both sticking up for me when they have every right to hate my ass.

From Chloe Chapman

I had to tell Wilker we lost Starlight. Funny. I’m the reason we lost her. He’s a hard man to lie to, but I’m a damn good liar—better than Twilight, if you ask me. Wilker has no idea I did it, but holy fuck he’s mad.

From Chadwick Curtis (Alias: Scarface)

Agent Starlight’s words got me thinking. She said that the SSS has a hand in Project Apple. I’ve been looking into the project, but all the files I can find on the matter are heavily redacted. I know I’m taking a risk—these are beyond my clearance—but it’s worth it. I can confirm that Project Apple is still active, still experimenting on humans. I found papers on nine subjects, numbered TS-000 through TS-008. TS-000 is deceased, while TS-001 through TS-008 are alive and in custody, with the sole exception of TS-007: presumed dead in a facility-destroying explosion. That must be Starlight—it’s likely WISE faked her death.

From Giacomo Gascoigne (Alias: Gas-Coin)

How did Starlight slip past us? Was no one watching the security cameras? I’ll be sure to check them tomorrow to see what the hell happened.

From Loid Forger (Alias: Twilight)

Yuri’s in my debt now—Yor doesn’t know it’s his fault Anya’s hurt. I know it isn’t really his fault (it’s not like he arrested Anya himself) but I still want to blame him. Does that make me a bad person?

From Yor Forger (Aliases: Thorn Princess, Nightshade)

Franky's an assassin, and Sylvia's in the secret police. Huh. I don't have time to think about that right now, though. From what Loid, Yuri, and Anya told me, Anya and Yuri were hanging out at the park. The secret police spotted Anya and arrested them because unnatural hair colors are a sign of anti-government rebels. Then they tortured them! Anya got the worst of it, but Yuri wasn’t safe either. I’m glad the secret police let them go once they found out that Anya’s always had pink hair—not that it’ll spare them from my wrath.

Chapter Text

SUNDAY 1962-11-04

Nightfall was bored. One would assume that she could relieve her boredom with the endless backlog of side missions WISE needed doing, but Nightfall was relegated to mere administrative paperwork duty—and the occasional recon mission—ever since her debacle with Wheeler seven years prior. Thanks to her stubborn refusal to rest, she turned what would have otherwise been an easily healed fracture into a severe and permanent limp in her right leg. To add insult to injury, that fight shattered every bone in both arms. And as she hadn’t let them heal either, Nightfall’s arms were forever wracked with pain whenever she shot a gun or landed a punch. She could manage on missions (according to herself), but Handler would never assign them.

All that goes to say is that the story of Nightfall, the once-great spy trained by Twilight himself, was an urban legend used at WISE to scare rookies. “This is what happens if you don’t allow yourself time to heal from injuries.” Yeah, Nightfall knows it, she was an idiot. She doesn’t need it rubbed in by becoming a cautionary tale. She was foolish to think that her love for Twilight or her training to fight Yor Briar would be enough to save her. She couldn’t even do a simple infiltration mission these days, because her limp would give her away in an instant. Her attempt to win Twilight’s affection through overwork had ultimately done little more than permanently throw more work onto his plate, as he was now covering for her missions. Not only that, but her attempts at usurping Yor Briar’s role as wife had gained the attention of Handler, who chastised her for allowing her feelings to get in the way of Operation Strix. Nightfall, brazen as she was, had ignored this warning and continued interfering. Handler’s response was to appoint Agent Sundown to be Fiona Frost’s “boyfriend”, so that any attempts Nightfall may have made to win over Twilight would have resulted in her civilian identity’s reputation being tarnished. Damnit, Handler. With the resulting extra work of a civilian identity on Sundown’s plate, he too was made more busy and thus, Twilight’s workload increased even further. 

With the realization that her attempts at loving Twilight were really only making things worse for him (along with her acceptance that he was madly in love with his “cover” wife) Nightfall had, over the years, made peace with the fact that pursuing her love wouldn’t work. She would even go so far as to not deny that she felt something for Sundown.

Nightfall was bored, and Fiona Frost was no different. As far as cover identities go, the hospital clerk did not have a particularly interesting life either. Nightfall understood that the identity of Fiona Frost was a necessary supporting role for Twilight, so she didn't complain. Answer calls, schedule appointments, explain to distraught mothers that no, your child’s papercut is not a medical emergency.

Currently, the distraught mother in question is Yor Briar.
She can wait her tur–

Oh.

Looking at Anya Forger, Nightfall quickly realized the situation at hand.
torturedsecretpolicestrixcompromisedextracttwilightnow–

Speaking of Twilight, here he is.
“Fiona, how fast can you get a surgery scheduled for her?”
“Anya was arrested by the SSS. Tell Handler.”

“We should be able to get her in in about an hour.”
“Did Yuri Briar do this? Are we compromised?”

Twilight responded with no on both accounts, which sent Nightfall’s mind racing.
Really? Didn't he literally have Briar babysit his child while he was on a mission today?
I highly doubt he had no hand in this. What’s Briar up to? Is he trying to expose Twilight?
…does Yor Briar have something to do with it?
It’s not like Yuri Briar would try anything against Anya Forger without her permission.
Were we wrong in our assessment? Could Yor Briar be a threat to Operation Strix?

Nightfall watched Yor Briar from afar as she sat in the waiting room. She seemed antsy, anxious.
Is this truly what a worried mother looks like? Or is she playing it up?
Has she been acting as a worried mother for years? Quite the impressive long-con. Worthy of Twilight, I dare say, if she’s been able to slip this past him for so long.
Why are the Briars acting now, of all times? Did they finally get conclusive evidence for Loid Forger as Twilight’s alias? If so, why did Anya Forger pay the price, and not him?

“Fiona, can I speak with you in my office?”

“Of course, Doctor.”
Following Twilight into his office, Nightfall was met with her Handler and their Dusk Squad compatriots, “Steven Sherwood” (Eventide) and “Alex Anderson” (Sundown). 

“Hey, Nightfall! Good to see you! How’s that leg of yours that you didn’t rest when I told you to?”
Eventide really should have retired by now, but he was determined to work as the “banterous grandpa” of the WISE office until he dropped dead. The mustached man’s cheer was not matched by anyone else in the room.

“Not the time, Eventide. This is a serious matter.”

“Geez, who pissed in your cereal, Sylvia?”

“The State Security Service did. Twilight, explain what happened.”

Twilight nodded as he began. “Yuri Briar took my daughter on a walk to the park and got called away on urgent SSS business while there. He brought Anya with him, where she was interrogated due to her unique hair color—they assumed she was some form of youth anarchist due to her dyed hair. She was released after they realized her hair was natural, but by then they had already pulled out her fingernails and broken her fingers. I suspect she was waterboarded as well. I… yelled at Yuri to uphold the image of Loid Forger as a protective, loving, and caring father, and I… may have gone too far. Put simply, he now knows that Loid Forger is aware of his job at the SSS. He does not suspect me of being a spy, and my wife is unaware of her brother’s involvement in today’s events.”

Eventide and Sundown were both shocked, while Nightfall shared a glance with her Handler that said, “there’s something he’s not telling us”, which Handler voiced.
“Did Briar tell you that’s what happened?”

“Yes, and Anya confirmed it. I was suspicious at first too, but my daughter is very good at reading people; she is very difficult to deceive—even for me. Since she said that that’s why she was arrested, I believe her.”

“Are you sure that he hadn’t threatened her into agreement?” Sundown asked.

“I gave Anya the perfect chance to say so, because I had my gun out. She could’ve spoken up about his threat and he’d be dead in an instant. Instead, she stood in front of him and said that it wasn’t his fault.”

Eventide exclaimed, “Twi-Guy, you almost shot an SSS officer!?”

“The bastard deserved it! Yor trusted him to watch over her!" Twilight yelled. "He took his eyes off her for maybe half an hour, and she got tortured!”

Handler facepalmed as Sundown threw his cap at Twilight. Nightfall shared her sentiment, although not outwardly showing it.
Men.

“Excuse me, I need to check on my family.” Twilight said as politely as he could muster while storming out of the room like a five year old throwing a tantrum.

Eventide waited a good ten seconds to make sure he wasn’t coming back.
“So we can agree that he’s either stupid, blind, or lying, right?”

“Yep.”

“For sure.”

Handler got straight to delegating tasks.
“With Yuri Briar now aware that Loid Forger knows his true job, we have a valuable piece of blackmail on him. Nightfall, you need to ensure that Yor Forger does not find out what her brother does, or we will lose that blackmail. Tail her. She cannot know that he works for the SSS, especially if he’s responsible for today’s events.

Eventide, see if you can get Anya to talk about what happened once she’s out of surgery, she might tell you more because of your “Friendly Grandpa" demeanor. I think she trusts you with things she'd never tell Twilight.

Sundown, you’ll be tailing Yuri Briar. Report any suspicious contacts he makes. We need to know if he truly suspects Twilight or not. However, do not tail him into the SSS HQ. That’s far too risky.”

Sundown’s task seems… pointless.
“Handler, with all due respect, if Yuri Briar suspects Twilight, his work is going to be the place he talks about it. How are we supposed to know if he says something there?”

Handler took a deep breath, before letting out a single word that silenced the entire room. “Midnight.”

The so-called “Man Without a Face", Agent Midnight’s identity was a secret to even his fellow agents, with only Handler herself knowing his true face. Nothing more than a name, Midnight was something of WISE legend.
His identity was kept under such tight lock-and-key that his face, race, build, skills, age, and even mission history were a mystery. Not even Handler’s bosses knew who Midnight was. Twilight had outright said he didn’t believe there was an Agent Midnight—perhaps because Mr. “Ignorance is Weakness” didn't want to consider that there was information that even he couldn't know.

Midnight was among WISE’s longer active agents, having joined nineteen years ago—less than a year after Twilight himself. He had been placed as a mole in the State Security Service. Despite that, Midnight was not to relay information (except in cases of extreme urgency) as he could be compromised. His ability to act on SSS operations was considered more valuable than any information he could give. For example, during the operation to retrieve Wheeler, Twilight was exposed as the fake Wheeler due to the color of his tiepin. Midnight was aware of there being no correct color, but chose not to tell HQ, allowing WISE’s other mole in the SSS to be caught, giving State Security a false sense of, well… security.

All that goes to say is that getting information from Midnight was a huge risk. Any information from the SSS landing in WISE’s hands could inadvertently influence operations, resulting in the SSS becoming aware of, identifying, and eliminating the info leak. 

“Are… you sure about this, Sylvia?”
Nightfall shared Eventide’s apprehension, although she didn’t voice it as he had.

“Yes. We can’t risk Yuri Briar discovering Twilight, so we need all the info we can get. Loid Forger’s position is far too valuable, he provides too much intel and sway as a member of high society. And if the Prime Minister finds out his closest confidant is a spy? There’s no doubt that he would take that as a direct attack on Ostania, and use it to declare war.”

Handler's tone was sobering.

With a bug in her hand, Nightfall opened the door to the room with Yor and Anya Forger.
“We’re all ready for you, Miss Forger.”

Yor Briar reassured her daughter. “You can do this. It won’t hurt as bad as whatever those bad guys did to you!”

I will find out if you're a threat to Strix, Briar.
“She's in good hands."
Nightfall planted the bug on Yor Briar’s shoulder.
I won't let this woman hurt Twilight's daughter.

Anya seemed determined.
“I’m ready.”

Nightfall sat at her desk, typing up a report. She didn’t particularly care for its contents—although the report was flawless nonetheless—as her mind was elsewhere. Specifically, her mind was focused on her earpiece, listening in on Yor Briar. She was conversing in hushed whispers with a woman Nightfall did not know. The woman was instantly suspicious, given that she had arrived with Franklin.

“I’m so sorry this happened, Yor.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but I know better than most what it's like to lose someone to the secret police. You almost did today. This isn’t the kind of thing your daughter will just be able to shrug off. She’s not invincible like you are.”

Yor Briar, invincible? Nightfall scoffed.

“Plus, you get in the eyes of the SSS once, they never stop looking. If they decide to throw a criminal record on her, she'll struggle to get a job for life. Unemployment hit hard for me once I got charged. Do you want your daughter to suffer like that?”

A solid point, but just what was this woman charged with?

“Ivy, what do I do?”

“You make them pay the price for threatening your daughter. Shopkeeper will understand. I’d gladly help you.”

Shopkeeper?

“You’re just looking for an excuse to kill the secret police.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“I think I’d rather do it myself, if I do it at all.”

“Alright. Just know that the offer still stands.”

Nightfall was confused. Perplexed. Bewildered. Yor Briar, so casually discussing murder?

She must have noticed the bug. She’s trying to play up her anger at the SSS for me, to distract me from the fact that she's actually working with them.

MONDAY 1962-11-05

Nightfall continued to listen in on Yor Briar for hours, with little to show for it. It had long since passed midnight.

“My sweet baby… how could they hurt her like this?”

The bug then picked up the sound of a scratching pen on paper, a window opening, a rush of wind, and then the light touch of feet on the ground.

That perked the spy’s attention.
Did she just–
Jump out of a window?
She would only have reason to do that if she wanted to exit discreetly.
Why would she care if people saw her leave?

She’s going to report to the SSS about today!

Nightfall grabbed a gun (it hurt to shoot, but she’ll manage), a cane (necessary for the amount of walking involved in tailing someone), and a black wig (Fiona Frost’s platinum blonde hair being too distinct) before running out of the hospital after Yor Briar as fast as she could.

Yor Briar is surprisingly fast.

Luckily for Nightfall, tailing missions were about the only field missions she was still assigned. She could be fast when she wanted to—even if it left her aching for days. Plus, how could the disabled woman who might be following you be a spy? Wouldn’t a spy want to be more inconspicuous? It was the perfect setup to follow unnoticed.

The way Yor Briar was walking was hurried. As if she wanted to run, but didn’t want to attract the attention that doing so would invite.

Why such a hurry, Briar? Got an appointment you might miss?

With each turn, Nightfall became more and more certain of the destination: Yor Briar was going to the SSS HQ.

I knew it. She’s going to turn in Twilight.

As the spy prepared to take a photograph of the woman outside the building for Handler, Briar paused. Reaching into the pockets of her dress, she pulled out a pair of… knives?

Long, pointed, golden stiletto knives, each with a ring on the back end. Rings that Yor Briar looped her fingers into and rapidly spun around in her hands, before catching them with an expertise Nightfall knew all too well, one that suggested she had done so, many, many, many times before.

What.

Yor Briar—no, this is not Yor Briar, this is a demon in human flesh—walked up to the entrance of the SSS HQ, kicked down the door—the reinforced steel door—and walked straight into the lion’s den.

Nightfall’s earpiece crackled to life, and a woman’s voice came through.
The familiar voice of Yor Briar, but twisted. Darkened. Evil. Downright murderous.
No wonder she had discussed murder so casually earlier.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I’m terribly sorry for the interruption, but may I have the honor of taking your lives?”

There was a gunshot, the ding of metal, and the groan of a man grievously wounded. No sound of footsteps.
Did she just reflect a bullet?

Her voice continued.
“Actually, there is no honor in taking your life, I’m not sorry for the interruption, you are not gentlemen, and this evening is only good because it marks your death. You tortured my daughter, and god knows how many others. Goodbye.”

“Come in, Lieutenant! We’re under attack! Do you copy? There’s a woman with long black hair an–”
The officer’s plea for help was cut off by a stiletto through his throat.

A cacophony of sounds came through the bug. A swish of fabric, light footsteps, and the spluttering of liquid accompanied by cries, screams, and groans. However, notably absent was the sound of heavy breathing. Twilight’s cover wife was barely breaking a sweat as she murdered a dozen highly trained men in cold blood. The sound of gunshots was plentiful, but given that the rampage continued, none had hit their mark.

Until one did… almost.
It hadn’t actually hit the vengeful mother, but rather grazed her shoulder, taking Nightfall’s bug with it.

The spy and her earpiece were both stunned silent.
Yor Briar, the kind and caring mother, was clearly a very experienced killer. She was not affiliated with the SSS, she was not behind the torture of Anya Forger, and most importantly:

If she finds out that Twilight has been using Anya Forger for a mission, he’s dead.

Nightfall shook with fear. The phrase this woman had uttered had sent chills down her spine, as if she knew that it was one that countless men had heard just before their death.
“May I have the honor of taking your life?”

Yor Briar is a cold-hearted murderer. Why the hell is she so experienced at killing? What reason would she have had to kill so much in the past? She’s a goddamn psychopath! If I can’t deal with her now, Twilight will pay the price. 

From a distance, Nightfall looked through the door that this woman had kicked down and saw a lack of movement and an assortment of corpses. It seemed she had moved on. Cautiously, she approached the entrance and walked into the belly of the beast.

████ was no stranger to blood.

████ was eight. She lived with her parents and twin brother in Posseckt, a small village straddling the border of Ostania and Westalis near the border of Slovakoczechia. She dreamed of becoming an actress. He dreamed of becoming a professional fencer. She thought he would make a great actor. He thought she would make a great fencer. She was as good at swordfighting as he was, if not better. He was incredibly dramatic while he fought, saying things like “while you were cutting your hair, I was studying the blade!”, as if he was a character in a Snakesphere play. Despite their differing interests, the two were close. They were strangers to blood.

████ was nine. To her, blood was merely a side effect of a game that she and her brother played. They pretended sticks were swords, and they sparred. They had done it their entire lives, but now that her brother had begun growing, he was quite strong, and he didn’t know how to hold back. However, he also didn’t really care. If ████ was bleeding, it meant that he was winning. It meant that he was stronger. That isn’t to say she didn’t enjoy these spars too. After all, her brother could bleed too. Therefore, she was no stranger to blood.

████ was ten. “Westalians are evil!”, said the neighborhood kids to the east. ████’s father was a Westalian, so she didn’t get along with them. “Ostanians are monsters!”, said the neighborhood kids to the west. ████’s mother was an Ostanian, so she didn’t get along with them either. She got into fights with all of them. She didn’t enjoy it—this was no friendly spar with her brother. They made her bleed. Her brother fought them too, but he loved every second of it. He bled, but not as much as she had. So he was stronger. She was no stranger to blood.

████ was eleven. The grownups talked of war. ████’s mother wanted them to move away from the border, the risk was too high. East or West, didn’t care, as long as they weren’t near the front lines. ████’s father was having none of it. The war was to the north. It wouldn’t touch here, no one cared about this tiny village. He beat his wife for even daring to suggest that she knew better than him. ████’s mother bled. Her brother averted his eyes, but ████ watched on, hurting for her mother, feeling as if she herself was bleeding on the inside. She was no stranger to blood.

████ was twelve. East and West were fighting. Pick a side, they said. ████ couldn’t pick a side. How could she, when her family was on the very line? Yet even they picked sides. Her mother spoke of the evils Westalis was doing. Her father spoke of the crimes the Ostanians had committed. They fought. They bled. Her brother had become cynical growing up with war. He believed they were both wrong. That both sides had committed great horrors. That humanity was inherently evil. That Ostania and Westalis were both bad in and of themselves and needed to be uprooted. ████’s parents stared at him in confusion. And yet, they still fought, and bled. Meanwhile, ████ fought with her brother, as she stubbornly saw the inherent good in humanity. They both bled. She was no stranger to blood.

████ was thirteen. Her parents had had enough. The household’s tension had grown too thick. So they split. They both wanted to keep their children. So they fought. And they bled. With no better option, they decided to each take one child. ████ was to go with her father to Frankfurnt, in the West. Her brother went with her mother, to Dresdent, in the East. ████ didn’t care that she would be separated from her brother. Those days, he was tiring to be around. He had grown to care too much about strength. Ultimately, she realized her brother was a psychopath. They sparred one last time before moving away, but it was not a friendly one. She supported Westalis. He supported Ostania. Insults and threats had been flung. “I thought you and I were the same”, he had said, as he realized that his sister didn’t enjoy killing, didn’t enjoy death, didn’t enjoy bloodshed. The spar ended with ████’s stick embedded deep into her brother’s right knee. He would likely never walk right again. Both twins had blood streaking through their ash-gray hair. It hurt, physically and mentally. She cried, and he called her weak for it. She was no stranger to blood.

████ was fourteen. She bled from her insides out. Was she dying? What could she do? She tried to ask her father to take her to the doctor. “We don’t have the money for that”, he had said, while drinking expensive alcohol. She had asked again. “The hospitals are for the soldiers”, he had said, despite opposing the war. She had asked once more, desperate. He had had enough, giving her a black eye as opposed to a ride to the hospital. The blood dripped from her mouth, so she resigned herself to her fate. And yet, she survived, the blood from her insides stopping after a week. It returned a month later. She was no stranger to blood.

████ was fifteen. She was no longer bleeding on a monthly basis. She wished she still was. She wished she and her brother had swapped places, political positions be damned. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about their drunken father getting him pregnant. But her brother is dead. Westalis—the country she had fought with and split away from her brother to support—just firebombed Dresdent to hell and back. Nine in ten died. She had stabbed him deep in the knee last time they saw each other, so there was no way her brother could’ve outrun the bombs. She killed him, her own brother. She sobbed, tired of war. “Stop it with the damn emotions!”, her father had said, striking her across the face. That night, ████ had left her father’s house with a bloody nose and all she could carry—including the child inside of her. She was no stranger to blood.

████ was almost sixteen. She was homeless in Bonnt, as far away from her father as she could reasonably get in her state. He might not even be alive—because Frankfurnt had been bombed heavily in the months since she had run away—but she took no chances. She had nothing. No family. No belongings. No hopes, no dreams. She may have once dreamed of acting, but now all the acting she did was pretending to be okay, and all she dreamed of was the day she would finally be dead. She gave birth on the streets of Bonnt. ████ left as soon as she could stand, leaving an infant and a pool of blood in her wake. She was no stranger to blood.

████ was barely sixteen. The authorities had arrested her for child manslaughter via abandonment. She didn’t care. Her brother was right. There was no inherent good in humanity. She was spared from charges so long as she joined the Westalis Intelligence Agency. Her hands would get bloodier, but does that matter? After all, she was no stranger to blood.

The girl now called Nightfall was sixteen. She killed her first man. A terrorist, planning to assassinate the Prime Minister of Westalis. It was a bloody endeavor. Her superiors lauded her for succeeding in such an important mission while still so early in training. She didn’t listen, she understood that they had thrown her at that mission expecting her to die. She didn’t care that she was teenage cannon fodder. She just waited. Waited for her next run in with blood. She was no stranger to blood.

Nightfall was eighteen. She had lied for peace, stolen for peace, killed for peace. She spilled blood for peace. She almost died for peace, time and time again. She was nearly left to bleed out in a warehouse in Lamburg. She would have bled out if it weren’t for her mentor, the twenty-two year old Agent Twilight who had defied orders to return, covered in blood, for her. She was no stranger to blood, and neither was he.

Nightfall was twenty-five. She destroyed her body in the name of peace. She became a bloody pile of broken limbs in the name of peace. She beat Winston Wheeler into a bloody pulp in the name of peace. She never healed from that fight, thanks to her own hubris. Like her brother, she would never walk right again. And still, she was no stranger to blood.

Nightfall is thirty-two. She is no stranger to blood.

She is no stranger to blood. She is standing inside of the headquarters of the State Security Service, surrounded by corpses. She is no stranger to blood, she thinks, as the stench of freshly spilt blood permeates the air. She is no stranger to blood, and yet she gags, retches, and vomits from the sight surrounding her. 

Nightfall is no stranger to blood. She is no stranger to death. She is no stranger to suffering, to misery, to pain. And yet, she is horrified as she stands surrounded by a dozen men, dead by stab wounds to their skull or neck.
Nightfall is no stranger to blood.

She wished she was.

Despite the carnage, it seemed that the killer had taken extra care to make their deaths as painless as possible.
Why? If she was doing this out of revenge, wouldn’t she want them to suffer?
There’s… so much blood.
I can’t let my squeamishness stop me from saving Twilight.
Pull yourself together, Nightfall!

Alarms blared, warning of an intruder.
Nightfall drew her gun and left the room, following the trail of death and destruction.

She passed a man with a hole in his forehead, dripping deceptively little blood.
She passed a man with a slash across his neck, so deep that his head seemed connected by a mere thread.
She passed a man lying in a pool of his own blood, coming from a trio of stab wounds in his chest.

Were any of these men innocent?
Were any of these men Midnight?
Were any of them friends of Yuri Briar’s?

Handler’s words echoed in Nightfall’s head.
“Ensure that Yor Forger does not find out what her brother does.”

The carnage told Nightfall one more thing; this woman had no idea of her brother's true profession.

She would not dare risk hurting him.

It was only a matter of time until she would, if she kept up this bloodbath.
Nightfall hurried through the halls, trying to ignore the increasingly gruesome kills she passed. The mercy that this rampage had started with was no more.
These look downright sadistic. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my brother did this.
My brother… How long has it been since I’ve even thought of him?

Before long, she heard a voice yelling. The same grim and murderous tone that twisted Yor Briar’s voice earlier, but now that Nightfall was hearing it in person? She was petrified.
“You tortured my daughter! You ripped out her fingernails!” She roared. “Her precious little fingers are broken, she’s in the hospital right now! How is this okay? How is this just!”

Although Nightfall heard gunshots earlier, she heard none now. All she heard was the cling of metal on metal, and the clattering of a gun knocked to the ground.
Her victims died before they could even shoot, let alone scream.

She could stroll into WISE HQ and kill every last one of us.
She would stroll into WISE HQ and kill every last one of us, if she thought we were hurting Anya.

Nightfall shook in fear. Cold, raw, pure, fear.

I’m sorry, Twilight. For the sake of Strix, for the sake of WISE, for the sake of peace itself, and for the sake of your life…
Your wife will need to die.

Nightfall peered around the corner, gun raised.

She saw the killer, her back turned, holding up a man by his neck.
“This is for my Anya,” she let out in a low, dangerous whisper that nonetheless carried to Nightfall’s ears.
She forced her stiletto through his eye, then through the other, before stabbing it into his mouth.

Don’t think about how that could be me. Don’t think about how that could be me. Don’t think about how that could be me.
Now’s my chance.

She shot thrice, ignoring the searing pain in her arm from the gun’s recoil.

Her target spun around and ducked in an instant, allowing the first bullet to strike the man she had been killing. She struck the next two in midair with her blade, sending one into the body of a man who had entered the room at a very bad time, and the other straight past Nightfall’s ear. The spy barely had a chance to react before her foe had removed one of her spiked earrings and threw it like a dart straight at her face.

Nightfall moved out of the way not a moment too soon, the projectile leaving a trail of blood across her cheek.
Oh, fuck. I don’t stand a chance, do I?

The spy’s body screamed at her as she felt a thrown blade embed itself in her arm.

Ripping the stiletto out of the face of the man who was very much dead, the demon in the body of a woman sprinted towards Nightfall.

You can still fight, limp be damned. Handler may not believe it, but this will be the proof you’ll need. Who cares if there's a knife in your arm? Pain is for lesser spies.

Nightfall swung her cane towards her rapidly advancing adversary. Clearly not expecting a melee confrontation, the red-eyed woman allowed the cane to strike her stiletto with force enough to cause her to miss and stab six inches deep into the wall as if it was butter.
“I’m sorry.” Nightfall pulled the trigger once more, firing a bullet into the woman’s chest, who yelled out in pain, before kicking the gun out of the spy’s hand.

A direct gunshot didn’t kill her–?

She yanked the stiletto out of the wall and held it to Nightfall’s neck.
“You’re not with them. Who are you?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the Thorn Princess. My codename is Nightshade. Now answer me.”

The Thorn Princess. What a terrifying and beautiful name.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you tha–”

They were interrupted by a squad of SSS officers entering the room.

Nightfall internally thanked whatever deity there might be for the distraction, as this beast pulled her weapon out of Nightfall’s arm, before turning on a dime and pouncing. All of them were dead in the blink of an eye. Nightfall took her chance and fled.
She’s far too strong to kill in combat. She didn’t recognize me, so I’ll just have to poison her once she gets back to the hospital.

Nightfall didn’t make it back to the hospital. In her haste to get away from Twilight’s wife, Nightfall ran straight into a squad of men. All pointing guns. Straight at her face.

One of them spoke into his radio.
“This is team Bravo, we’ve found the black-haired woman.”

Chapter Text

MONDAY 1962-11-05

Due to Handler’s reluctance to put her on field missions, it had been a long, long time since Nightfall had last sat on the wrong end of an interrogation table. Nonetheless, here she was, being interrogated by… Hat Guy, with Note Dude taking notes off to the side. Nightfall had no idea what their names actually were, so she just referred to them by that in her head. All she knew was that both men held the rank of commander in the SSS.
Seems they’re really bringing out the big guns for this interrogation. They’re scared. Desperate, even.

“So, Nightfall, is it? You’ve put on a most impressive display.”

She remained silent.
How would they know who I am?

Hat Guy grabbed her by the hair and pulled, taking her black wig with it. The platinum-blonde hair of Fiona Frost shone in the harsh light from above. “A little birdie told us that Nightfall was WISE’s greatest combatant. That would be you, wouldn’t it? Few have the strength to kill so many so easily. I daresay it’s impressive.”

So we have a mole problem. Although the mole is either lying or behind the times—I can't fight for shit. Interesting. “I didn’t kill those men. However much I may wish, I unfortunately bear the burden of self control.” While I might not be able to kill Yor Briar myself, there are other ways of getting her out of the picture.

Hat Guy raised an eyebrow.
“You mean to tell me that there is another black-haired woman rampaging through our headquarters?”

Nightfall stilled as her mind raced.
When someone is arrested by the SSS, nine times out of ten their family is too. If they were to learn what she did here tonight, Twilight would pay for it. I…
Fuck. My hands are tied.

Nightfall remained silent, resulting in a fist to her face. She didn’t bother to even yell out in pain. It’s how Twilight had trained her. In an interrogation, don’t say anything.
Don’t try to be smart, don’t try to be cocky, just sit there and take it. They thrive off of reactions.
She spat blood onto the table. 

They were interrupted as a third guy (Beard Man?) entered the room and slammed a photograph of her on the table.
“Found her in our records. Fiona Frost. Hospital clerk at Berlint General.”
Great. Another man I’ll need to make sure dies.

“What’s your goal, Nightfall? Why the massacre?”

Silence.
Her hair was grabbed and her face slammed into the table.
“Is this Starlight’s retribution or something?”

Note Dude complained to Hat Guy.
“I swear, the one time we finally catch a spy, she escapes and sends her coworker to kill us all right after! What the hell?!”

These comments sent Nightfall’s mind racing.
Who the hell is Starlight? We don’t even have a Starlight. Something’s happened…
Doesn’t Anya Forger call herself Starlight Anya?
She got arrested today… Did she lie about why?
It can't be that they suspect Twilight, because then they would just arrest him.
Did they think that she was a spy, because that silly nickname resembles WISE codenames?

Hold on. If they think that I'm responsible for the killing, then the Thorn Princess will be left unchecked, so they’ll all be dead sooner or later anyway. Twilight’s training to stay silent assumes that the interrogators will live. Hat Guy talks. So. Much. I bet I can get him to reveal stuff without even realizing it.
“We don’t have a Starlight," Nightfall told her interrogators.

“Oh, really? Little brat, probably twelve years old or so? Gave us real trouble? Doesn’t ring a bell? I didn’t have the pleasure of torturing her myself, sadly, I only heard about it secondhand.”

Bingo. Thanks for the intel. Sounds like Anya Forger to me.
Which means she escaped, and she's in serious danger.
“You take pleasure in torturing kids? Sick fuck.”

None of the three men commented on that.
“I won’t ask again. Why? What does WISE gain through this extermination?”
If I allude to the fact that the extermination is still happening, they might stand a chance to beat her. Can’t have that happening, she’s my ticket out.
Nightfall was silent. Beard Man grabbed her arm and pulled until it dislocated, which, due to having happened before, came out quite easily… and therefore, rather painlessly.
Honestly? It barely hurt. 

She stared, unimpressed.
“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Note Dude seemed unnerved, but his thoughts were likely interrupted when the door to the room opened, with their very angry superior (Chief Mustache?) standing there.
“Have you gotten anything from her yet?”

“No. She won’t budge.”

“You realize that this could mean war, right? We need to know what WISE is trying to gain from this, and now. Get TS2.”

What’s TS2?

As Nightfall soon learned, while being stared down by Mustache, the correct question to ask was who is TS2. Note Dude opened the door, and Hat Guy and Beard Man dragged in a woman—no, a girl. A teenager, probably around seventeen. 

She had long orangish-red hair that looked like it had never been cut nor brushed in her life. Her skin was a sickly pale white as if she'd never seen the sun. She had eyes a dull blue-green, that when combined with her hair, eerily reminded Nightfall of her Handler.

This girl looked as if she were simply awaiting the day she would be dead. A look Nightfall remembered only too well, one that had looked back on her whenever ████ gazed into a bloody puddle on the streets of Bonnt.
Who is this?
What have they done to her? 

She was roughly shoved into the chair across from Nightfall, the girl’s shackled hands brought onto the table.
“Make her spill WISE’s plans. Why did they order this attack?”

The girl (TS2?) gently placed her hands on Nightfall’s and made eye contact.
A soft and meek voice entered her head.
“Do you copy?”

Nightfall practically jumped out of her seat.
What. The hell. Is happening.

“Sorry, it’s one-way. I can’t hear what you’re thinking, if you’re wondering that. I’m just making you hear things. Psychic illusion abilities. Nod if it's working.”

Cautiously, Nightfall nodded. Whatthehellwhatthehellwhatthehellwhatthehellwhat–

“Since I can also make you see and feel things, they want me to make you experience indescribable pain until you spill whatever it is they want you to spill.”

Nightfall tensed.

“Don’t worry. These sleazebags really think I’d willingly help them, while they're holding me prisoner? Whenever they’re not using me, they pretend I don’t exist, so that the West won’t learn about me. Secret weapon and all. Not to be a downer, but… unless it’s really really important for someone to stay alive, they kill anyone they use me on, for the sake of keeping me a secret. Only a few people know about me, and most of them are around us right now. That being said, just sit tight. I’m making it look to them like you’re writhing and screaming in agony.”

The spy didn’t know if she could trust this psychic teenager, but she didn’t exactly have a choice. The grip on her hands got tighter, and the onlooking SSS men smiled sadistically.

“I’ve always let them believe that I need skin-to-skin contact to do my thing, so they have no idea they’re the ones I’m doing this to.”

Nightfall was surprised.
This kid’s smart.

A minute passed.

“You can talk by the way, they won’t hear you. I’m overriding all their auditory input with screams.”

Lovely. “What’s your name?”

“Olivia, although they’ve never used it. Yours?”

“I… don’t have one. Not anymore.”

“So you’re actually a spy?”

“Yes.”

“You’re actually admitting it?”

“I’ll be out of here before long, anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

Nightfall nods.

“Well, if you do get out… Can you do me a favor? Work your hardest to topple the SSS. Every one of them I’ve met is a corrupt shithead who loves to oppress and cause pain and nothing more.”

“When I get out of here, I’m bringing you with me.”

“No.”

“What?”

A pause. “If I’m gone, they’ll use real torture in my stead. I’m not going to let people suffer just because I want freedom.”

“Are you crazy?”

“I’m a human weapon. Crazy comes with the territory.”

“Was–” Nightfall held back a snort. “Was that a Spy Wars quote?”

“Maybe. My little sister says it all the time, and I don't know what she picked it up from.” A beat. “I’m going to stop the illusion soon. I assume you can act as though this was you?”

Nightfall found her vision replaced with the visual input Chief Mustache was receiving. Forcibly seeing a tortured version of herself in her mind’s eye was… disconcerting, to say the least.

“Can you tell them something? Anything?”

What? Nightfall shook her head at the request which came out of left field. Is she actually with them? Was this all a ploy to build trust? Don’t tell me I fell for the oldest trick in the book—Good Cop, Bad Cop.

Tears formed in the teenager's eyes, as her voice entered her mind again. “It doesn’t have to be true or anything. If they realize I’m not actually torturing you, they’ll–” She stopped to take a deep breath despite not using her actual vocal chords.

“They’ll use real torture instead? I can withstand that.”

“No. It’s my niece.”

Nightfall froze, her own ‘niece’ coming to mind.
Her own niece, who also suffered at the hands of the SSS.

“If I’m not perfectly compliant, they’ll run experiments on her too.”

Too? Nightfall had a bad feeling. “Experiments?”

“Psychic powers aren’t natural, you know. I went through hell—against my will—to be able to do this. They call it Project Apple. As long as I pretend I’m doing what they want me to, Luna gets to live a normal life, no experimenting on her. Or at least, as normal a life as you can live in captivity.”

The realization hit Nightfall like a truck. That’s why she refused to escape. She’s scared for her family.
“When I’m out of here, you and her are coming with me.”

“She’s not here. I don’t know where she is. I can only see her a few days each month. Project Apple is separate from the SSS on paper, but they’re really two sides of the same coin. Information, prisoners, evidence, money, it’s all flowing back and forth. My family is being held at those labs—plural—but I don’t know a damn thing about where any of them are.”

Nightfall sighed. The least she could do is take this information to Handler, and they could work out a plan of attack against this flagrant violation of human rights.
With Yor Briar on the loose, all these men will die anyway. It makes little difference what I say right now.
“Alright.”

“Thank you.”

Olivia pulled her hands away, and Nightfall gritted her teeth, allowing tears to come to her eyes. She looked up at their captors.
“Please,” she choked back a fake sob. “Make her stop. Don’t do it again. Please. I’ll…I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Mustache smiled. “Perhaps we can have a little talk.” He looked at Note Dude.
“Take TS2 back, it doesn’t need to hear state secrets.”

It? She’s a human. Sick fuck.

As soon as they left the room, Nightfall started talking.

“It’s a distraction. It’s too hard to work in this country with so much surveillance, so I’m supposed to keep you guys occupied tonight while we take out as many of your snitches as possible. Once I’d cleaned out the HQ, I was supposed to burn all your records to put a pause on your operations for as long as possible. We need you off our backs.”

“Why? What is WISE planning that we need to be blind to?”

“We’re staging an operation tomorrow, breaking into the Desmond Estate to discover if he has any correspondence suggesting he wants to start a war.”

The man looked pleased with himself.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Thank you, Miss ‘Frost’. Now. Care to explain why the West is infiltrating our hospital?”

Nightfall opened her mouth to lay down a lie, but she was interrupted, because Note Dude entered the room. That is, his corpse entered the room at high velocity, knocking the door off its hinges.

Everyone in the room—hold Nightfall—immediately stood up in shock.
Everyone in the room—hold Nightfall—immediately fell to the ground, each with a stiletto embedded in their forehead.
How many of those does she carry?

“Miss, are you alright? I’ll get you out of here, I promi–FIONA?!”

Nightfall nodded.
“Mrs. Forger.”

“What are you doing here? Did they–no, don’t tell me they… Were they not satisfied with Anya, so they went after her aunt too?”

Nightfall mentally facepalmed.
“You do realize that I’m not related to your daughter in any way, biologically or legally?”

The woman didn’t seem to hear her, too transfixed on the swelling cut along Nightfall’s cheek.
“Wait, you’re that woman from earlier!”

Oh. Oh no. sheknowsrunfleeabort–

“I’m so sorry, Fiona! I didn’t know it was you, I swear!”

Huh?
“Yor. I… I shot you.”

“Yeah, misunderstandings happen.”
Yor Forger ripped the handcuffs off the spy’s wrists with little effort.

How strong is she…?
“I was trying to kill you.”

“Who wouldn’t? You saw the wife of a close friend killing people! You wanted to protect Loid, right?”

Yes, that is what I was trying to do, but–

Yor Forger cut her thoughts off.
Oh no! Fiona, you can’t tell Loid about this! Please.”

She raised an eyebrow.
I’ll absolutely be telling him.

“I’m serious! You can’t tell anyone. Not a soul. It’s Garden policy to kill anyone who knows our identities, and I really really really don’t want to kill you. I hate killing good people—that’s what Garden is about, we prune the worst people from society for the betterment of all. B–but you’re a good person! I don’t want to kill you, even if you’re a witness.”

She thinks I’m a good person. If only she knew…
Wait, did she say Garden?
Oh.
I am so out of my league. Killing her is out of the question. I can’t even tell Handler about her, can I? She’d tell Twilight, and Twilight would act weird around his wife, and then she’d know I snitched, and then I’d be dead…
“Alright, I get the idea. My lips are sealed.”

“Thank you so, so, so much. C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”
With that, the assassin—oh my God, Yor Forger is an assassin—lifted Nightfall effortlessly before she was interrupted.

“Yor, slow down. I can walk.”

“Are you sure? Didn’t they take your cane when they arrested you?”

Yor pondered to herself for a second, setting Nightfall down, who grabbed her cane from near Hat Guy’s corpse. Nightfall didn’t flinch, despite the pain in her arm from where she had been stabbed. Yor continued talking.
“Wait, no, hold on, you were already here. What were you doing?”

Nightfall spoke as she ripped a length of fabric off the uniform of one of the fallen men, and tied it tightly around her arm wound as best as she could with a single hand.
“Following you. It’s awfully suspicious to leap out the fifth story window after midnight.”

“Oh! I was so lost in my thoughts I must’ve not noticed you… did… did anyone else see?”

“No, your husband didn’t see anything.”

“Phew. Yeah, I was, uh. Uhm–”

“Going to murder dozens of secret police officers?”

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds bad. Th–they tortured my Anya! All because of her hair being pink! I needed to teach them a lesson.”

“That’s not what happened,” Nightfall told her.

“Huh?”

“You say that Anya was arrested for her hair. Your husband told you. Your brother told him. Your daughter told him. But someone in that chain has lied. The SSS does not arrest people for exotic hair colors. If they did, I would know it. My hair’s far more clearly dyed than hers—that’s why I was wearing a wig when I followed you—and yet I’ve never been given trouble for my hair.”

“Wait, your hair isn’t white?”

“No, it’s gray. Anyway, while you were going on your little rampage, I was being blamed for it.”—“Oh no, I’m so sorry Fiona”—“They thought I was a Western spy trying to take out the secret police for a tactical reason. While I was being questioned they said some very strange things. They mentioned that earlier today, they apprehended a spy called “Starlight”. A young ‘bratty’ teenager, who, unfortunately for them, escaped. Sound familiar?”

“Starlight Anya…” Yor Forger breathed out, looking at Nightfall, before continuing. “Don’t Westalian spies use codenames like that? I’ve heard of a guy called Twilight, but I’ve never considered that Anya’s nickname could sound similar! Did they think she was a spy because of that? Because she’s from Westalis?”

Great. Yor Forger, Twilight’s wife, is not only a highly skilled assassin, but she’s also already heard of Twilight.
“That’s my theory. Anya was accused of being a spy. In which case, we can’t really blame her at all if she lied about why she was arrested. However, it also means she wasn’t released. She escaped.”

A murderous glare flashed across Yor Forger’s eyes, and Nightfall flinched—despite it not being directed towards her.
“That means they’ll try to get her back!”

"Indeed." Nightfall nodded. “Since we’re already in the area, would you like to destroy some evidence with me?”

As it turns out, breaking into the records room of the SSS HQ is quite easy when there's no one to stop you.

“Yor, can you stand watch? I’ll look through the files.”

“I can look through them too, Fiona! I file paperwork all the time at City Hall!”

Once again, the words of her Handler echoed in Nightfall’s head.
“Ensure that Yor Forger does not find out what her brother does.”

This’ll be difficult.
And I’d really like to look through these for information about Project Apple, but I’m on such a tight schedule. On top of that, I cannot let Yor Forger know about this. It’s clear from her response to Anya’s torture that she acts irrationally in cases of extreme emotion. If I mention Olivia to her, we lose any possible element of surprise. I think if any more progress is to be made on the Project Apple front, Handler will need to ask Midnight for aid. There is little I can do.
“I file patient’s charts, you know. This’ll be fast, but I’d feel safer if I knew you were watching my back. Never know when more people will show up.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve killed them all.”

“Reinforcements will arrive, sooner or later.”

With the antsy mother off her back, Nightfall began to rapidly flip through the files in the cabinet for F’s.

Francis, Franklin, Fraser, Freeman, French, Frey, Friday, Frisby, Fritz, Frobisher, Frost.

Fiona Frost
Alias: ⟨WISE⟩ Nightfall
Occupation: Hospital Clerk, Berlint General Hospital
DOB: 1929-12-25 (age 32)
Known contacts: Alex Anderson, Franky Franklin, Loid Forger

She pocketed the file, before thumbing through the Fo’s.

Forbes, Forcer, Ford, Foreman, Forfitt, Forger.

Loid Forger
Occupation: Psychiatrist, Berlint General Hospital
DOB: 1923-08-27 (age 39)
Marriage: Ashe Sherwood Forger [1946-10-13—1953-03-12], Yor Briar Forger [1955-08-06—]
Family: Anya Forger (daughter)
Known contacts: Franky Franklin, Donovan Desmond, Fiona Frost, Jonathan Jeeves, Sigmund Authen, Barbara Authen, Yuri Briar, Chloe Chapman, Sylvia Sherwood, Steven Sherwood, Alex Anderson, Gerald Gorey

All good there, Twilight’s file is clean.

Anya Forger
Occupation: Student, Eden College
DOB: 1948-10-31 (age 14)
Family: Loid Forger (father), Ashe Sherwood Forger (mother), Yor Briar Forger (step-mother), Yuri Briar (step-uncle), Sylvia Sherwood (grandmother)
Known contacts: Damian Desmond, Rebecca Blackbell, Cornelia Connell, William Watkins, Megan Montrose, Allison Paulette, Ewen Egeburg, Emile Elman, Fredrick Curtis, Tertius III

She’s not marked as Starlight? That’s strange.

Yor Briar Forger
Occupation: Civil Servant, Berlint City Hall
Alias: ⟨Garden⟩ Nightshade
DOB: 1928-04-06 (age 34)
Marriage: Loid Forger [1955-08-06—]
Family: Yuri Briar (brother), Anya Forger (stepdaughter)
Known contacts: Matthew McMahon, Gustavo Gardner, Julian Jones, Melinda McMahon Desmond, Camilla Corrigan Daniels, Sharon Seager, Millie Myers, Dominic Daniels
THIS INDIVIDUAL IS GARDEN’S THORN PRINCESS — DO NOT APPREHEND

Nightfall froze, looking at the paper, and then started thumbing through the dozens of other papers stapled to it, chronicling every hit the assassin has completed.
“Yor? Come here.”

Yor Forger looked over the spy’s shoulder.
“What is it?”

Nightfall turned to her.
“It seems they already know that you’re an assassin. They’ve got your fingerprints along with a list of every murder you’ve ever done.”

The woman visibly deflated looking at the records.
“Oleander…”

“What?”

“Oleander. Another Garden member. Side job in the Secret Police, making sure we don’t get arrested. I always thought it was just destroying any evidence on us, but I guess Oleander's just been… ordering us to not be arrested. Despite the evidence.”

It is impressive how robustly Garden is integrated into the state.
“That’s a good thing, right?”

“I guess… but uh… did you know why I married Loid?”

Yes.
“No.”

“I was scared of getting reported to the secret police! I was scared that because I was single, someone might catch on that I’m an assassin! I could’ve been spared so much worry if Oleander had just… told me I was off the hook.”

Nightfall smiled at Yor.
“If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have married Loid, would you? You would’ve never become Anya’s mother. That’s worth any amount of worry, right?”

“I guess. But why are you happy about that? Don’t you like Loid?”

Nightfall metaphorically spat out her coffee.
Had Yor Forger seen through my affections when even Twilight hadn’t?
“Didn’t think you knew that. Yes, I do. It’s why it means so much to me that he’s happy. As much as it pains me to admit it… you put a smile on his face I would never be able to.”

“Fiona…”

“Enough romance talk. There’s another issue with these files. Mine outright marked me as ‘Nightfall’, so I’ll have to destroy it.”

“Oooh, sounds like Twilight!”

Nightfall ignored that comment.
“And yet your daughter’s has no such mark. In the eyes of the state, she’s innocent.”

“So they didn’t arrest her for being a spy?”

“On paper, yes, that’s the case. But Anya Forger has no record of being arrested, regardless of the reason, even though we know she was. Call me suspicious, but something doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’m missing a big piece of the puzzle. It’s like she was arrested, but they didn’t know that she was Anya Forger, which is really strange. She’s a very… distinctive girl.”

“Maybe she disguised herself? She loves spy shows and disguises!”

“It’s a possibility. We can check their security cameras. We’ll need to destroy the footage anyway, because you’re probably on it murdering dozens. I doubt even Oleander would be able to save you if the SSS found out what you did tonight.”

“Oh, right…”

Yor Forger’s voice trailed away, but Nightfall wasn’t listening. Her mind was stuck staring at Yor Forger’s file. At a name listed near the bottom.

She put the file back into the cabinet, banishing her thoughts before they could interfere with her mission. 

Instead, the spy focused on her thoughts on how her forearm hurt like hell. Yet even that reminded her of him.

She found a cigarette lighter nearby and lit the F cabinet ablaze, files and all their traitorous thought-inducing names included, before pocketing the lighter.

Breaking into the security room was no more difficult than the records room for the assassin. 

The spy, however, had a far greater challenge.
“Ensure that Yor Forger does not find out what her brother does.”
In a room full of live security footage of his workplace? And I need to look through past footage to find out what happened to Anya Forger. I’ll need a distraction.

Nightfall “accidentally” restarted the alarm alerting the SSS of an intruder.
Yor jumped up in surprise.
“Fiona?! What’s that?”

Nightfall pretended to panic. “They must know we’re here. Can you hold them off?”

Yor nodded, running out of the room and closing the door.

Nightfall had looked through many security tapes in her time as a spy. Few were as disturbing as these, which put together a tale—one of Yuri Briar arresting and torturing his own niece.

She saw Yuri Briar escorting a handcuffed Anya Forger—clearly Anya Forger, despite the fact that she was wearing a wig—through the halls of the SSS, into an interrogation room. 

She saw Chloe Chapman leave and return to the interrogation room, bringing a tub of water.

She saw a clearly distressed Yuri Briar leave the interrogation room, his hands wet and his eyes wide.

She saw Yuri Briar run into Chloe Chapman, and despite the silent footage, she was able to bear witness to the two conspiring through mouthed words to help their niece escape.

She saw Chadwick Curtis and Chloe Chapman escort a handcuffed Anya Forger to a cell.

She saw Chloe Chapman discretely slip a key into Anya Forger’s mangled hands.

She saw Yuri Briar leave the SSS HQ.

She saw Anya Forger expertly pick locks with broken fingers and completely change her appearance from within her cell, before emerging.

She saw Anya Forger speak with Conrad O'Conner.

She saw Conrad O'Conner escort Anya Forger out of the SSS HQ.

Unfortunately, Nightfall did not see the inner workings of the interrogation. While there was a camera inside, it had been knocked eschew, and was thus pointed at the table. Nightfall could not read Anya Forger’s lips, nor those of her captors, and the footage was silent. She could only watch in horror as she saw the child’s fingers broken one by one, and she could only watch in horror as she saw the child’s uncle dunk her head below the waves.

Nightfall felt the floor fall out from under her feet.
I’d… suspected he might have arrested her. But to have been the one to do the torture?
Twilight would be… I can’t tell him. If the quiet, kind, caring Yor Forger was willing to murder dozens, who knows what he would do?
He can never know… He’d kill Briar. His cover would be blown. His wife would be heartbroken at the death of her brother. Operation Strix would be over.

Nightfall took a gun from one of the nearby corpses and shot up all the monitors in anger, before pocketing all the relevant tapes and burning the rest. The spy wished she could let the fire spread beyond that room, but arson of the SSS HQ was too bold. Even for her.

She extinguished the blaze once its purpose was served.

Emerging from the scorched room, Nightfall was unsurprised to see Yor Forger surrounded by corpses.

“Hey, Fiona!"

“You were right. Anya was accused of being a spy, but by chance she was wearing a blonde wig at the time, and they never realized it wasn’t her real hair. I'd recommend you avoid telling your husband what's really happened to Anya. ”

"Yeah… he would wonder how I knew. Speaking of that… how did she escape? Isn't the security here, like, really strict?”
Yor Forger asked the million dollar question. 

To which Nightfall answered with truth. “Chloe correctly identified her as Anya Forger, but kept her identity safe, choosing to instead break her out.”

Yor Forger’s eyes were wide. “Chloe Chapman? Chloe’s with them? She's my brother's girlfriend! I… I hate the secret police. She witnessed the torture first-hand… But it's not like she could've spoken up without risking herself… I don't know what to think of her. I mean it’s not like I automatically hate everyone in the secret police, Sylvia looked so mad after what happened today…”

“Sylvia?”

“Anya’s grandmother! Sylvia Sherwood. I, uhm, don’t think I’m supposed to know this but I’m pretty sure she works for the secret police. She looked furious when she found out what happened to Anya…” 

How did she even come to that conclusion?
If she could jump to that conclusion, she could easily jump places knowing that Chapman is in the SSS. Why the hell did I tell her the truth?
I could've just not given a name. She didn't even ask. Yeah, I’m off my game. Everything feels like it's spinning…
Damage control, damage control, damage control. "Thanks to Chloe, Anya Forger is not only free, but also for all intents and purposes innocent. I burned any footage Anya appeared in, so they can’t use her face to find her. All the footage of you has been destroyed too.”

Tears of gratitude came to the woman’s eyes.
“I need to thank her.”

"You can't. Not without her questioning how you know.”

Dismay covered Yor Forger’s face.
"Then I'll at least thank you, Fiona, I can’t thank you enough. I… I dragged you into this mess of torture and murder and… you’re still helping me and my family. You don’t deserve to have to deal with this…”

“You’re a hero from the shadows, whose great deeds will never see the light of day.”
Maybe being thanked once in a while wouldn’t be too bad.
“Anya doesn’t deserve to deal with being an accused spy, and I’ll gladly help her with that. Really, none of us deserve to live in a country where our every action is scrutinized for signs of treas–”

Nightfall is cut off when she feels a bullet fly into her leg, as more SSS officers arrive at the scene.

Yor wastes no time in lifting her compatriot over her shoulder with one hand, while sprinting at her foes, stiletto raised in the other.

The spy resigned herself to her fate.

The two women had left the SSS HQ and were on their way to 128 Park Avenue, because Yor Forger needed to collect “Director Chimera” for Anya Forger.

“You know, I could’ve fought them off. You didn’t need to carry me,” Nightfall told Yor.

“I’m not going to risk you getting hurt!”

You risked jumping out the window with me over your shoulder… I feel dizzy just thinking about that.

The assassin continued. “Although, I suppose you did pretty well while fighting me. Where’d you learn to fight like that anyway?”

Can’t exactly say spy training, can I? That’s not even true. Spies are trained with firearms, not melee weaponry. “My brother. He was big into fencing when we were little. We’d always spar with sticks like they were swords.”

“I didn’t know you have a brother.”

“Had.”

“Oh…”

Nightfall didn’t need to elaborate. Everyone had lost someone in the war. She elaborated anyway. She didn’t know why. She couldn’t rationalize it “for the mission”, she just did. Her mind felt foggy anyway. “Dresdent. ‘Forty five. We were fifteen. I gave him a pretty nasty injury in our last fight before the bombings, so he couldn’t run to the shelter fast enough.”
Or so I thought.

“Don’t blame yourself, Fiona.”

“I don’t.” I do. “Any time I try, I can just imagine my brother saying something ridiculous like ‘Emotion makes you weak! You must sever all connection with your past to become the strongest!’ He was crazy like that.”
You’re saying too much. She’ll catch on.
████ ignored the thought in her all-too-light head.

Yor looked forward as they walked on in silence—soon broken.
“Y’know, I blame myself for my dad's death. I asked if they could run into town to get some apple tarts for me and Yuri, and that’s when the bombs fell. That’s why I became an assassin, actually. Yuri was going to starve if I couldn’t find work, and no one really wanted to hire a twelve year old.”

She’s been doing this since childhood…
“Yor, there’s nothing you could’ve done to change that. Your parents didn’t die because you wanted food. They died because Westalis was dropping bombs.”

Yor looked concerned. “Fiona, do you… hate Westalis? You do know Loid is Westalian, right?”

He told her that?
“I know. I don’t hate Westalis, but I do hate the wartime Westalian government. And the wartime Ostanian government. Everyone was being ridiculous, the war was needless. Blaming Westalians as a whole for my brother’s death is almost as stupid as if I blamed myself for my son’s death.”
And yet I do blame myself for that.

“You had a son!?”

“Yes.” Or a daughter. I don’t know. “Dresdent took my parents too, so I was homeless.” I fucking wish it took my father, but she doesn’t need to know that.
████ once again ignored the voice in her mind that said “she doesn’t need to know any of this.”
“I don’t think I need to spell out what happens to a homeless fifteen year old girl on the streets of a war torn city.”
It didn’t happen on the streets, it happened in your own home. By the one who was supposed to care for you above all else.

Yor silently looked at her, concern evident in her crimson eyes. Nightfall continued.
“I was in no position to care for an infant forced on me, so I didn’t. I ended his life just as it began to spare him suffering. It may seem cold, but that’s befitting of the Frost name, isn’t it?”

“Fiona…I didn’t know your life was so…”

“Dreadful? Melancholic? Calamitous?”

“…unfortunate.” 

“Sorry for dumping it on you. I shouldn’t have said anything. I usually never think of it, but all the blood today brought it back.”

“That’s my fault, I–Fiona?”

The spy had dropped to the ground, unconscious.

When Nightfall awoke, she was in… a hotel room?
A very, very, very luxurious hotel room. Each furnishing probably cost more than “Fiona Frost” made in a year.
Large enough it felt like a luxurious penthouse apartment.
The light outside the window suggested it to be around 4:30 in the morning.

How did I get here? I know Yor Forger and I were leaving the SSS HQ, but I can’t really rememb–

Her thoughts were interrupted as she vomited, Yor Forger catching her sick in a bucket.
“I’m so sorry, Fiona! My earrings are poisoned, and… a–and I forgot to tell you!”

I was poisoned? By an earring?
Nightfall finally had the presence of mind to look around her.
Yes, she was in a hotel room, but she wasn’t alone. Yor Forger stood next to her, but a man she didn’t immediately recognize was also in the room.

About an inch taller than Yor Forger, he had curled black hair with streaks of gray, reaching to his broad shoulders. His face looked deformed, covered in a myriad of scars, with the entire left half showing signs of having been burned. Despite that, his brown eyes looked caring, although concerned.

Fiona Frost didn't recognize him. She’d never seen this man in her life.
Nightfall, on the other hand, did recognize him. After all, she had run a background check on him in the past—not that he had the scarring back then. He was Adrian Authen, age 49, the son of Twilight’s neighbors, Sigmund and Barbara Authen.

“I’m sorry for bringing you here–” Yor started.
Where is here?
“–without asking, but it was the closest place I could that wouldn’t ask questions. This is my coworker, Mistletoe!”

Great. He’s an assassin too. Seems that background check I ran was insufficient.
“A pleasure to meet you?”

Mistletoe nodded.

A man of few words, I see.

Yor Forger broke the silence.
“He’s Garden’s doctor, so I figured if anyone could treat you it would be him. Well, I would’ve asked Gympie, she’s the poison specialist, but I can’t exactly call the Berlint University dorms at three in the morning…”

They have a resident doctor, and a poison specialist?

“I got the bullet out of your leg too. What were you thinking, walking on that?”
The assassin’s voice was deep and grating, almost artificial.

“Uh–”

“You should’ve let the Thorn Princess carry you. She’s good about that.”

Maybe not a man of few words, then.
“I assume she… mentioned how this happened?”

“Something along the lines of ‘you’re a coworker of her husband, you followed her into the SSS HQ, fought a little, then worked together to kill anyone who had hurt her daughter’?”

Comprehensive. “You skipped the part where we disposed of any evidence that could lead to her daughter being arrested again, but yes. Can I ask where I am?”

Yor Forger piped up to answer. “Oh, right! You’re in the Royal Hotel. It was nearby, and I knew Wolfsbane wouldn’t question me coming in with a body, as long as I cleaned up the blood, and he could call Mistletoe fast.”

“Hold on, Garden runs a hotel?” Nightfall cursed to herself, not meaning to have said that out loud.

“Mhm! It’s a very convenient place to kill people without the secret police catching on! Just invite them over for a luxury stay, kill them, fake their death way later, you know?”

What a setup.

“Hey, Princess!" Mistletoe shouted. "You talk too much. And you, Frost. I must say. You’re resilient. Not many could successfully shoot the Thorn Princess and live to tell the tale, let alone last several hours after her poisoning. Besides some delirium, you had very few side effects.” His words had a biting edge to them.

Delirium? I hope I didn’t say anything compromising.
“Did… I say anything strange while I was out?”

Yor Forger provided her with an answer once more.
“Well, you told me how your family died. That’s about it.”

Mistletoe was silent, but instead mouthed words, visible to the spy only.
“You sure did, Nightfall.”

She felt her blood freeze.

Mistletoe made no further reaction. “Thorn Princess, can you fetch Wolfsbane and Thistle? We need to discuss how to cover this up.”

He’s going to kill me once she’s gone.
As soon as Yor Forger left the room and closed the door, Nightfall reached for the gun she had taken to destroy the footage. She shot Mistletoe in the chest. The bullet bounced off with a cling of metal.
What.

He ripped the gun from her hand with no effort.
“Our mutual acquaintance wasn’t present, but you mumbled about ‘reporting to Handler’, which tells me that you’re a spy. Given you held up to our best, I went out on a limb and assumed you are a very competent spy, such as the famed Nightfall. Correct?”

Nightfall was frozen in fear.

Mistletoe raised an eyebrow in response. “Why would I expose you? WISE and Garden’s goals are aligned, are they not? Preserve peace by all means necessary?”

Nightfall nodded cautiously.

“Mutualism is vital for life to prosper. Don’t reveal our identities, and I won’t reveal yours. I wanted to talk to you alone because I have a… pruning job that could use WISE’s help. Not an official job from Garden, but as you’ve no doubt learned tonight, that doesn’t often stop us from pursuing… personal vendettas.”

“I’m listening,” Nightfall said meekly.

“I’ll be honest with you. Before I joined Garden I was in some rather questionable medical research work with my father. I know it haunts him to this day. I thought we were working to cure Alzheimer's, but no. We were creating psychic children.”

Oh. Oh no. That’s…

“It was called Project Apple. Once I realized what was going on, I destroyed as much research as I could and freed the only test subject I had access to. A little mind reader, I sent her to some shady orphanage where they’d never find her. It’s been eight years now, I hope she’s okay—I think she’d be around thirteen years old by now? Once I’d seen the horrors of what that little girl had been through, there was no going back. I needed to end it. Joined Garden. I used some of the research to modify my own body so I could stand a better chance to kill them, but our intelligence network is… lacking. I haven’t really gotten a chance.”

Nightfall caught her voice after a long silence.
“There’s more test subjects. I met one just a few hours ago, she’s in the custody of the SSS. They called her TS2, but she told me her name was Olivia. She could implant visions in my head.”

“Test Subject Zero-Zero-Two…" Mistletoe said thoughtfully. "Yes, that sounds right. Visions, you say?”

“Illusions might be a better word. She was speaking in my mind.”

“Psychic abilities beyond basic telepathy weren’t even on the table last I knew. Fascinating….” Mistletoe didn’t sound nearly as horrified as he should have been. “As far as I was aware, there were eight subjects. TS-000, a successful telepath, who they murdered—” he spat the word with sudden rage, “—six failed attempts to replicate that telepathy, and one success, TS-007—who I helped escape by faking her death.”

Eight subjects, seven still alive… Nightfall pondered, “Olivia spoke a lot of her family. She mentioned a younger sister, as well as a niece, which implies an older sibling as well—she was too young to have a child herself.”

“As if that ever stopped them,” Mistletoe muttered. “TS-000 was only fifteen years old when TS-001 was born—who should be nineteen or twenty by now. And subjects one through seven all considered one another siblings, so TS-002 mentioning a niece would imply that the procreation of another generation has begun…” He trailed off.

“That’s concerning, to say the least.”

“Indeed. I assume WISE would have an interest in preventing Ostania from having access to psychics weapons?”

People. Not weapons. Nightfall nodded. “I’ll talk to my Handler to see if we can arrange a meeting with your boss.”

“Good. My civilian name’s Adrian Authen, that should be enough for you to contact me. Update me on what your boss says, and I’ll tell Shopkeeper. It may be personal, but I’m sure he’ll agree to do the job if he’s actually got the information to do it.”

So the boss of Garden is called the Shopkeeper? Interesting. I suppose that means that the “Ivy” woman from earlier is likely an assassin too.

Not a moment too soon, Yor Forger entered the room, with a pair of men in tow.

“Ice to meet you, Miss Frost.” He chuckled at his own pun, before laying down another: “The name’s Wolfsbane. Or Monkshood, or Aconite. Pick your poison. Dave works too. I’m the hotel’s manager.”
He offered his hand to Nightfall.
“You see, the joke is that my codename is a poisonous plant with many names, and I use all of them? So you can ‘pick your poison’ when you name me, see?”

The man was broad and beefy (more so than Mistletoe), no better term for it. He had a remarkably large nose, although it fit his remarkably large head—which in turn fit his remarkably large body. His head was shaved, except for a dirty blond tuft at the top. He looked—although cleared did not act—exactly as one would expect an intimidating assassin to look. Large and strong, although he lacked the scars one might expect with his profession. His narrow black eyes aided the look, as did the threateningly spiked hammer that hung by his side.

Nightfall ignored his pun and accepted his handshake, noting that his hands bore the callouses to be expected of extensive brass knuckle usage.
Seems his expertise is not limited to a single weapon.
“Pleasure.”

The other man, Thistle(?), followed shortly.
Nightfall did a double take.
Is that–
There’s no way.
It’s that twink who gets Handler her coffee!
Nightfall honestly… didn’t know his name. Or his codename, for that matter. Is it 2PM? His hair was jet black rather than his usual light blond, but he was definitely the same person. Same black suit, same green tie, same round jawline, same blue eyes.

They stared at each other.
He lacks his usual nervous demeanor. Must be glad to have the upper hand on me.
“You must be Thistle.”

He walked into the room and turned to face Nightfall, while facing away from his coworkers.
He spoke: “That I am.”
He mouthed: “They don’t know.”

Nightfall immediately understood what he meant—He’s in two different top secret organizations, and neither knows that he’s in the other… How did he even get into this situation?

His usual mellow voice, unbefitting of assassination, spoke again—although annoyed.
“Can someone explain what we’re even doing here? I was just driving Mistletoe here after he got an ‘urgent call’ and I’m still pretty much in the dar–”

“If you shut up, I’ll explain.”
Mistletoe interrupted him.

Ouch. He’s the errand boy for Garden too?

“Fiona here got mixed up in one of TP’s jobs and got poisoned–”
“Please don’t abbreviate that.”
“–so she brought her here so I could treat her, and because TP can’t shut her damn mouth–”
“I’m sorry!”
“–Fiona knows too much.”

“So your response is to make sure she knows even more of us?” Thistle rolled his eyes.

“No, I want to bounce an idea off you.”

That shut Thistle up, but it got Wolfsbane talking. “Let me guess. Because Frost here works at a hospital, you want to recruit her for intel about corrupt doctors who may have had a hand in Project Apple.”

“…you know me too well, friend.”

Seems Mistletoe’s mission is no secret.

Yor Forger gasped at his confirmation.
“That’s a great idea! If there’s bad doctors who do bad things, you can tell us! I mean, we know there’s bad doctors. It takes a true monster to experiment on kids… but we can never find them. If you can help, we’ll kill them! That way, you’re being useful to Garden, so Shopkeeper won’t have you killed for knowing too much!”

That’s certainly a way to put it.

Wolfsbane added on to Yor Forger’s unspoken threat.
“It goes without saying of course, if you tell anyone our identities, we'll be putting you on… ice.”

Yor Forger laughed, while Mistletoe and Thistle turned to their colleague in annoyance. Nightfall just ignored the pun.
The fact that I’ll be killed if I say anything goes without saying. Doesn’t mean I won’t be telling Handler what I can without being discovered.

“You see, the joke is that your last name is Frost, as in ice, and putting someone on ice is a euphemism for killin–”

"Shut up!" Thistle shouted.

“I accept your proposal, but…" Nightfall looked around the room with a shudder. "Why does it require me to be in a room with so many assassins right now?”

“What, are you nervous?”
Thistle—lazily spinning a shuriken around on his index finger—couldn’t miss the chance to finally have the upper hand on Nightfall for once. As if the two weren’t locked in mutually assured destruction by revealing their WISE identities to Garden.

“Yes.”
Might as well be honest, for once. They’re all so relaxed around me, it’s like I’m not even a threat. Granted, I’m injured, but still… I could barely do a thing against Yor Forger. If these people wanted me dead, I’d be no better off than a mouse surrounded by lions.

“To answer your question, the Garden information network is exclusively people we can trust beyond all doubt. So any new informant requires the support of at least four of us.”

Wolfsbane’s reply left Nightfall’s head spinning.
Not only does the secret syndicate of assassins have their own doctor, hotel, intelligence network, and SSS plant, but they also have their own bureaucratic red tape?
“What is this, a democracy?”

“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yep!”

Operation Scarlet Salmon: Mission Notes

From Anya Forger (Alias: Test Subject 007)

Mama killed a bunch of people (yikes) and found out a bunch of things. She really wants to tell Auntie Chloe thanks, so I told her the stuff she already knew—that Auntie is in the SSS and freed me because they thought I was a spy. So now if she slips up, Auntie won’t wonder where she found out.

From Fiona Frost (Alias: Nightfall)

Operation Strix is in jeopardy. Twilight is under the impression that Anya Forger was arrested for her hair color, but this is false. Yuri Briar arrested her for unknown reasons, but it is deeply concerning that he had enough suspicion to do so. I told Yor Forger it was due to her nickname—Starlight Anya—but it is likely related to Twilight. Speaking of that, we have a second issue. Yor Forger is an assassin for Garden, and we never knew. I can’t tell Handler or Twilight or she’ll kill me. She hasn’t realized I’m a spy, but one of her coworkers has. I don’t know if I can trust Mistletoe—the way he refers to victims of human experimentation as little more than numbers rubs me the wrong way—but I fear I don’t have a choice.

From Yor Forger (Aliases: Thorn Princess, Nightshade)

Fiona knows I’m an assassin! I thought this would be a huge problem, but she’s been so understanding. My real problem is that Anya was arrested because they thought she was a spy, not because she had pink hair. Luckily, thanks to Fiona and Chloe, they shouldn’t be able to arrest her again. Speaking of that, I didn’t realize Chloe works for the secret police. I thought she was just a teacher.

From Chadwick Curtis (Alias: Scarface)

Seventy-four officers are dead. Starlight, why did you do this? I don’t understand. I’m on your side! Or at least, I thought I was. I was right, though. I don’t have it in me to tell Wilker about your telepathy. At first I thought your goal was revenge, but looking at the bodies I know that isn’t so. These people were killed with stiletto knives. Stiletto knives… Why does Starlight want me to think this was the work of the Thorn Princess?

From Chloe Chapman

Jesus fucking Christ. What the hell happened? So many people dead. And why? Was it just to clear my name, to erase the evidence that showed I helped her? Why would WISE do this? They don’t want a war, but now it seems inevitable!

From Yuri Briar

That. Fucking. Chihuahua. She was in the hospital this entire time. Did she have another spy do it? This is why teenagers shouldn’t be spies! She threw a fucking tantrum and had someone kill all my coworkers. She killed all my coworkers…

From Giacomo Gascoigne (Alias: Gas-Coin)

What the hell? Starlight breaks out, and then all hell breaks loose at HQ. This cannot be a coincidence. She must’ve sent one of her colleagues to clear her tracks. I was going to watch the security tapes today, and now she’s had them all burned! That’s what I get for procrastination.

From Loid Forger (Alias: Twilight)

Handler and Dusk Squad didn’t even believe me when I said that Anya’s arrest was purely circumstantial! Worse than that, Eventide was obviously probing Anya to find out what happened while she was arrested, but she didn’t budge. I think she knew more than she let on—she realized what he was doing, even though she doesn’t know that he’s a spy. I’m proud of her.

Chapter Text

MONDAY 1962-11-05

Chloe Chapman felt as if her heart was pounding. It wasn't—but it really should’ve been. 

As part of an undercover operation by the SSS to investigate the so-called “shady business” at Eden College (read: Operation Strix), Chloe landed a teaching job. Although it'd been years, she still hadn’t been removed from her post. The government having eyes and ears in the nation’s most elite academy was not something to be thrown away lightly. Thanks to the large time-investment of being a teacher, Chloe found herself working at the SSS HQ on weekends only. If you asked her colleagues, they might say she had gone soft from spending less time interrogating criminals and tailing suspects. Chloe wouldn’t disagree—teaching kids had a tendency to do that to you.

Even if she was soft, it didn’t particularly matter much. Espionage activity seemed to have lulled lately, despite of increasing tensions with Westalis. So imagine her surprise when what was supposed to be an uneventful Sunday at the SSS HQ had turned into one of the most intense days of her life.

To kick it off, Yuri arrested a spy: Anya Forger, his own niece. He begged Chloe to fix his mistake, and so she risked her life to help the girl escape.

Word of Starlight’s arrest spread like wildfire within the Ostanian underworld. The State Security Service had caught a spy and lost her just as fast. In hindsight, Chloe realized she had been incredibly stupid. She handed the girl the key directly in sight of a security camera.

However, it seemed Anya Forger knew this too. Because sometime in the night, the SSS HQ was broken into. A total of seventy-four men were killed. The target is unknown, but general consensus is that Agent Starlight was behind it. If she had been executing petty revenge or strategically assassinating anyone who had seen her face, no one knew for sure.

Chloe knew it wasn’t the former. Anya Forger may have been petty, but she wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t have seventy-four people killed out of pettiness.
Chloe knew it wasn’t the latter. Afterall, she, Yuri, Chad, and Gascoigne weren't targeted.

Chloe knew the real reason for the break in; the SSS’s entire collection of security footage had been destroyed—Anya Forger knew that Chloe helped her on camera; so she made sure no one else would find out.

Chloe was stupid and hot-headed and nearly paid the ultimate price for it. Anya Forger—the fourteen year old spy—saved her life at the cost of so many of her coworkers’.

Most of the SSS’s workforce had been given the day off to lie low in case Starlight attacked again.

How ironic that Chloe, who was supposed to have Mondays off from espionage duties, found herself to be one of the only ones working today.

Here she stood, on the job. In front of a dilapidated photo booth, wearing a mask over her face, a perfect replica of Fiona Frost’s. Heart steady, even if it should have been pounding. She walked in and paid using the five pent coin she'd been given. The camera analyzed her face.

The elevator descended, and “Fiona Frost” was granted access to WISE’s Ostanian headquarters.

Chloe’s heart wasn’t pounding as she walked through the HQ. She passed dozens of people she didn’t know. People who knew Frost. She was glad that the woman was notorious for being silent. She didn’t doubt her voice impersonation abilities, but these were veterans. She needed to fool spies hardened by decades of experience.

Act like you belong. Act like you belong. Act like you belong.

She walked past Dr. Forger without so much as a glance. After all, would Frost be surprised to see him here?

Pull yourself together.

Dr. Forger glanced at her suspiciously. Chloe walked faster; not fast enough.
“Nightfall.”

Chloe spoke in the emotionless drawl of Fiona Frost.
“Twilight.”

“Why the hurry?”

“Classified.”
That much is true.

“Last I checked there’s nothing classified to me that isn’t also classified to you.”

Ah, fuck. He’s onto me. What’s the phrase to get him to trust me?
“Good morning Twilight, though the night is still young.”

He raised an eyebrow at “Fiona Frost”.

Did I mess up the code phrase? That’s the correct one, right? Gah, I’m out of practice.
Chloe’s heart was not pounding. That had been trained out of her long ago.

Her heart should’ve been downright racing. Dr. Forger was terrifying. Chloe expected him to remain in the hospital watching over his daughter, and yet here he was.
If he finds out that I was complicit in his daughter’s torture, I’m dead…

Yet, all he said were two words. “Handler’s waiting.”

Chloe let out a sigh of relief she didn’t realize she was holding.
The SSS officer in disguise walked into “her” handlers office. An office currently occupied by both Sylvia Sherwood and the real Fiona Frost.

Both spies turned at the opening of the door. Shock crossed the face of the notoriously emotionless Nightfall, before quickly morphing into resignation, followed by a question.
“Why me?”

Sylvia answered her.
“Because you have a similar build and your demeanor is easy to replicate.”
She directed her voice to Chloe.
“Good morning Midnight, though the night is still young. Take a seat. We have much to discuss.”

Chloe Chapman.
Age 34.
Professor of Economics at Eden College.
True identity? Officer of the State Security Service.
True-er identity? A WISE agent.
Codename: Midnight.

In truth, the “Man Without a Face” is no man at all. Her identity is kept under such tight lock-and-key that even her gender is a mystery. 

Seven years before Twilight was assigned Operation Strix, Midnight was assigned a long-term mission of her own—Operation Hydra. The premise was nearly identical to that of Strix—infiltrate Eden College to extract intel from Donovan Desmond. She was to acquire a teaching degree and secure a job as an instructor at Eden College—Professor of Economics, as that was likely to be Demetrius Desmond’s area of study so that he could follow in his father’s footsteps.

Midnight was successful in acquiring the necessary degrees, but phase two was where Operation Hydra fell short. In order for a position to open, WISE would need to dispose of the current economics professor—Murdock Swan. Should Midnight fail to be hired in his place, they would need to repeat the attempt. Multiple teacher deaths in the same role would raise SSS suspicions to unacceptable levels, so failure was not an option. She needed to be hired.

Eden College’s elitism was no issue for Midnight, an alum of Eden herself. The high standards for instructors, on the other hand, would be the downfall of Hydra—WISE estimated Midnight would need at least six years of teaching experience in order to supersede Swan. That wasn’t an issue; they had all the time in the world to get close to Desmond—until they didn’t.

The NUP assassination of a Westalian diplomat showed WISE that they did not have three more years, so Operation Hydra was put on the back-burner in favor of Operation Strix, a far faster route to Desmond. Twilight would form a family and enroll his daughter in Eden. Unfortunately, it was soon discovered that Twilight’s brother-in-law worked for the SSS, so Hydra was scrapped entirely so that Midnight could instead be placed on a sister operation to Strix:

Operation Wendigo.
The target: Yuri Briar.
The objective: Prevent the target from discovering Twilight's current cover identity by any means necessary.

Midnight was selected due to her civilian identity already being acquainted with the target, as they were college classmates. Midnight was to join the SSS and re-befriend (or honeytrap) Yuri Briar, so that she could subtly push him away from Strix and distract him from discovering Twilight’s identity. 

How ironic that Operation Hydra was successful through Operation Wendigo; the SSS, eager to have eyes at Eden College, placed Midnight in the very position WISE had long coveted: Professor of Economics. 

Where WISE did everything they could to make their one shot count, the SSS threw a hundred applicants at the job (Midnight not among them because they preferred to use her talents elsewhere) and hoped one would stick. None did; when a position opened up once more, the SSS took a note from WISE’s book—use the person best suited to blend into the Ostanian elite: Chloe Chapman. After all, it was her surname that pushed her to join WISE in the first place.

Everyone knew that the last war started when Charles Chapman, Prime Minister of Ostania, bombed the border town of Luwen before invading. 

Many also knew the reason for his aggression: Not long before, his four year old granddaughter—Chloe—had been shot. A Westalian sniper seeking to weaken the Chapman family who lead Ostania. Chloe survived, barely, forever haunted by reflections off glass from faraway rooftops. Could that be a sniper’s scope?
She never knew for sure.

What most people did not know was that the sniper was no Westalian. He was hired by Chapman himself. Chapman, callous and shrewd, was willing to throw away the life of his granddaughter so that he would have an excuse for war.

However, little Chloe was not most people. When she was fifteen, she overheard her father fighting with her grandfather. Her father discovered the truth behind the assassination attempt. He was beyond furious that his daughter had almost been killed for political gain. He vowed to report his father to the SSS, to bring him to justice.

But Charles Chapman held great sway.

A day later, Christopher Chapman died under “mysterious circumstances", and the case “went cold". Chloe knew what really happened; Chloe knew she would not be believed.

Thus a fifteen-year-old Chloe Chapman chose to work with Western Intelligence to bring him down. She was the first—and only—spy in the history of WISE to maintain her birth identity despite being an agent.

Therefore, no one was to know that Chloe Chapman was a spy. No one could know that Chloe Chapman was a spy. Every time she met with her fellow WISE agents—which was exceedingly rare as it was—she wore a disguise. The granddaughter of your most vocal opponent, on your side? Far too valuable to risk for any reason. 

Until today. Operation Strix had been an astounding success; WISE now had an agent who was a close confidant of the Prime Minister. An agent whose daughter was arrested. WISE needed to know what happened. Was Twilight in danger?

Thus Midnight was called forth to WISE HQ for the first time in a long time. 

Agent Starlight was arrested yesterday. When asked what she was doing in Berlint, she confidently replied that she was on a mission called Operation Scarlet Salmon—but she was clearly joking. Operation Scarlet Salmon must be a mission to feed the SSS false information. I assume she mentioned it to subtly tell me about the mission, and now Handler wants to know what information the SSS bought, and what they didn't.
Chloe pushed all cues out of her voice to make it as monotone, as genderless, as nondescript as possible. Rather than mimic Nightfall, the voice she used was unidentifiable, unremarkable in any way.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“You arrived early. Nightfall was just about to explain where the hell she was last night. Isn’t that right, Nightfall?”

Chloe felt the urge to applaud the icy woman for her ability to remain steadfast in the face of their furious Handler.

“It’s a long story. Tell me Handler—have you ever heard of Garden?”

The room was silent as Chloe braced herself.
Seems I’ll be waiting to report to Handler.

Handler looked apprehensive.
“…Continue.”

“Last night, Yor Forger left Berlint General Hospital to go to 128 Park Avenue. I followed her as you instructed to ensure she does not learn of Yuri Briar’s profession, however I got sidetracked. While tailing her, I saw a suspicious individual attempting to enter the SSS HQ. Deciding that Yor Forger was unlikely to discover Yuri Briar on her walk home, I elected to instead investigate this suspicious individual. It was a time-sensitive matter, so I did not confirm with you first.”

Suspicious individual in the SSS HQ. I do not like the direction this is going.
Chloe was silent while Handler probed Nightfall.
“This suspicious individual was with Garden?”

“Yes. She goes by the codename Nightshade, and she is Garden’s Thorn Princess—that is, she is their strongest. I followed her inside, only to find dozens of bodies.”

Handler looked shocked, while Chloe felt herself fill with dread.
WISE didn’t plan this massacre? Starlight wasn’t trying to destroy evidence?
Chloe spoke up to add context to Nightfall’s story.
“‘Dozens’ is an understatement. Seventy-four people were dead this morning. The SSS has assumed WISE to be responsible and given much of their staff the day off to lay low in case of another attack.”

Handler planted her face into the desk, and groaned in despair.
“Why… We don’t need another reason for war…”

“Garden is an organization of vigilante assassins, and she had been hired to kill as many SSS officers as possible due to their—and I quote—‘vile lack of empathy and joy at torturing children’. The news of Anya Forger’s arrest had reached the Shopkeeper’s ears," Nightfall continued.

“Anya Forger”? Not Agent Starlight?

"…I believe because Franklin mentioned it to Ivy Irwin, who I have reason to believe is a garden operative. I attempted to neutralize the Thorn Princess before further damage to East-West relations could be done, but she was too strong. I retreated before she could kill me, but I was soon taken into custody by the SSS who assumed me responsible for the killings.” 

With each passing sentence from Nightfall, Handler’s expression fell further and further into despair.

But my coworkers at the SSS blame Starlight, not Nightfall. This isn’t right. What am I missing?

“They interrogated me but I learned a great deal of information. First off, the SSS have in their custody a psychic teenager whom they force to extract information from suspects.”

A psychic? What? Psychics are real? I’ve never even heard of us having a psychic. Must be a closely guarded secret… but does Gascoigne know? Does Chad know that the organization he is loyal to holds a child captive to torture people?

“They called her Test Subject Zero-Zero-Two, but she told me her name was Olivia,” Nightfall continued. “She couldn’t read my mind, but she could make me see, hear, and feel things. The aim was torture, to make me feel unimaginable pain. She was… uncooperative, choosing to make our captors see me in pain instead of directly inflicting it upon me. However, she refused to escape alongside me, stating that the SSS are using her family to threaten her. From what I have gathered, she is a victim of ongoing human experimentation.”

Handler’s eyes burned with quiet fury, but she said nothing.

“Secondly, they were able to identify me as Nightfall without effort, so it seems we may have a mole leaking information to them.”

That would be Starlight, they must have assumed she was Nightfall simply because she was a strong woman. A lucky guess on their part. But I assumed that Nightfall was briefed on Scarlet Salmon before it happened. Was she not?

Handler's dismay grew further, but she remained silent.

"On the matter of Anya Forger's arrested, it seems that Twilight was indeed either lying or misinformed. She was not arrested for her hair color, but because Yuri Briar suspected her of being a spy. I assume that her ‘Starlight Anya’ nickname was responsible for causing suspicion, as it resembles WISE codenames.”

Oh, I see. Just as Nightfall doesn’t know my identity as Midnight, she also doesn’t know Anya’s identity as Starlight. 

“As the SSS assumed the threat had passed, they stopped searching for the Thorn Princess, who killed everyone interrogating me before long. She proved surprisingly amicable despite the fact that I tried to kill her. As Anya Forger was a suspected spy, I realized that she wasn't set free, but rather escaped. Therefore, the Thorn Princess and I worked together to destroy any records that incriminated her as such.”

So that’s why we didn’t know it was Nightfall.

Nightfall set a pile of tapes on Handler’s desk.
“We burned all other security tapes so the SSS wouldn’t notice these ones missing. The security footage of Anya Forger’s time in the SSS. Evidence that… that Yuri B–Briar carried out the torture.” Even the ever emotionless Nightfall suffered a voice crack as she said that.

Twilight can’t find out.
Handler echoed Chloe’s thoughts.
“Twilight can never know.”

“Indeed. It also appears we have a potential ally, as Chloe Chapman assisted Anya Forger in her escape—although admittedly, she needed convincing from Yuri Briar to do so. ”

I was already planning to break her out. Yuri’s request just meant I had his help.
“That sounds like something Chapman would do,” Chloe said, utterly ignoring the fact that she was speaking about herself. “She’s not the most supportive of the SSS’s means, and the torture of her niece is likely a line she wouldn’t cross.”
I crossed it, alright. And I’ll regret it every day I live.

“We also broke into the records room to destroy Anya Forger’s files," Nightfall continued. "But they were not incriminating. In fact, they showed no record of any arrest whatsoever, as if Yuri Briar reported her as ‘Agent Starlight’, not as ‘Anya Forger’. On that matter, Anya Forger wore a wig during her arrest; If I didn’t know any better, it’s like she expected to be arrested and prepared as such.”

Yes, that was the whole point of Operation Scarlet Salmon, was it not? Starlight is intentionally arrested, provides bogus information to throw the SSS off Twilight’s tail, then she escapes with my help. Handler was counting on my guilt, was she not?

“However, my own file identified me as Nightfall, due to my short arrest before the Thorn Princess interfered. Thus, I took it and burnt the F filing cabinet so its absence wouldn’t raise an eyebrow.”
Nightfall placed a handful of other files on Handler’s desk.
“Here is my file, along with Anya Forger’s and Loid Forger’s.” Another file was visible in Nightfall’s pocket, which Chloe was able to identify as belonging to someone named Franklin. “They are both free of suspicion, luckily. Yor Forger was filed under B for Briar, so I couldn’t remove it without causing suspicion, but she too is clear.”

That’s… not true. We file married women by their legal last name, not maiden name. Is Nightfall hiding something in Yor Forger’s file? Not that I’ll never know. She didn’t even put out the fire, so all the ones near the F cabinet were destroyed too. Almost all the files are gone, and the SSS can’t even tell which files were the target—Wilker thinks its indiscriminate sabotage.
Chloe remained silent.

Handler finally spoke.
“Masterfully done on the damage control, Nightfall. It is… unfortunate that the SSS is pinning this on us rather than Garden, but they have no evidence, so outright war is unlikely. Speaking of, did the Thorn Princess discover your identity as Fiona Frost?”

“She identified me as Fiona Frost, hospital clerk, but did not assume me to be a spy. The woman did not seem to be particularly… bright. In our short conflict she had poisoned me, and forgot to mention it until I had already lost consciousness from it, hours later.”

Handler’s eyes grew wide.

“She took me to a Garden base to recover, and I was met with several other assassins. Overall, they were reasonably friendly. They agreed to let me live despite knowing their identities, as I could provide Garden with information about corrupt doctors to ‘prune’. One of them—codenamed Mistletoe—correctly identified me as a spy due to things I had said in my poisoned delirium, but he made no mention of it until we were alone.”

Handler slammed her hands on the table as she stood up, furious.
“You’re compromised?!”

“Yes, but so are he and his coworkers. We reached an agreement. He wouldn’t tell anyone of my identity as Nightfall as long as I kept my mouth shut about who Garden members were. So forgive me for not disclosing that information to you, as I wish to remain alive and well. I can say that they have a plant in the SSS working to keep them out of prison, but I'm not sure who. It's likely this plant will know that WISE was not responsible for the massacre, but I doubt they will say so.”

Handler looked ready to kill, but begrudgingly accepted that Nightfall had little other choice than to keep quiet about the finer details.
“What did this Mistletoe want?”

“He informed me that he formerly worked for a neuroscience organization. He left it and joined Garden as soon as he found out they were experimenting on children, to turn them psychic. This Olivia is one such child. Mistletoe—his real name is Adrian Authen—told me that he wants to use WISE’s intel network to destr–”

Handler cut Nightfall off.
“I’m in.”

The SSS supports human experimentation… of course they do. Gascoigne was telling Anya that yesterday. He made no comment at Starlight’s mention of being a test subject herself, so I guess he doesn’t actually know about this… Olivia.

Nightfall’s eyes widened in surprise at Handler’s haste.
“That was fast." 

“You could say I have a… personal stake in the matter.”

Handler? A personal stake? 

“Thank you for your report, Nightfall. You did well. Take a rest, sleep off the poison. That’s an order.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Chloe was left in the office alone with her Handler.
“I assume you'd like an update on Operation Scarlet Salmon?" 

Handler opened her mouth as if to say something else, but quickly changed it. "Yes.”

"Yuri Briar brought Agent Starlight in for questioning at 15:12 yesterday. He was aware of her cover identity, but chose to conceal it from his supervisors. Starlight was not identified as Anya Forger.”
Chloe took a deep breath before continuing.
“As far as the SSS is concerned, Starlight is aged twelve, has blonde hair and brown eyes. All images and footage of her were destroyed in last night's attack, which is being blamed on her. She revealed the following information in regards to Twilight to Lieutenant Curtis and Captain Gascoigne, which they bought hook, line, and sinker.”
She counted off on her fingers.
“She was trained by Twilight when she was five.
She—nor anyone else in WISE—has ever seen his true face.
She doesn't remember his voice.
Twilight was killed seven years ago in Shellbury, and Yuri Briar is infamous within WISE for killing him.
Perfect impersonation on the spot is a skill any WISE agent possesses.”

Handler smiled. “Well done, Starlight. Well done.”

“She refused to give the location of this safehouse or her civilian identity. She was questioned about Nightfall, to which she said–”

Chloe does her best to mimic Anya’s shrill voice.
“She tries to take over my missions so she can take credit. She just wants clout! She’d stab us in the back to make a name for herself. Honestly, you’d be doing WISE a favor if you got rid of her, we only keep her around because she’s so good at combat.”

Before returning to her normal voice to say, “I assume this is why Nightfall was identified as such last night—they were just making a guess because she was a woman with high combat ability. She refused to give Nightfall’s civilian identity, simply stating that she is her ‘Aunt’.”

“A risky move, if Starlight is ever compromised.”

Wait, what? “Did you not give her a script?”

Handler shrugged her shoulders. “I let Starlight wing it. Did it work?”

Wow. Handler must be confident in the girl’s talent.
“The partial truth seemed to make Gascoigne trust her answers more, so I would say so. Starlight was questioned on Sylvia Sherwood’s role in WISE, to which she stated ‘Embassy Lady. We tried to recruit her, but she loves Ostania too much. I like her but my coworkers call her a traitor.’ By some miracle, Gascoigne believed her, perhaps because he thought she was under the effects of a truth serum—which she was not, I swapped it for morphine when he wasn’t looking. Starlight might have just managed to get the SSS off your back once and for all, but I’d still advise that you exercise caution.”

“That girl… This was quite the gamble, but I’m glad it paid off.”

Starlight also mentioned that she used to be a test subject, but that feels… too personal to share. Hold on, why am I worried about that? Shouldn't Handler already know?
“She also shared with them the circumstances that brought her into espionage; namely that she used to be a Project Apple test subject. Given Nightfall’s report you would think she was a psychic test subject, but she made no mention of that.”

Handler’s expression was unreadable.
“I think you and I can agree that psychics don’t exist. It would be a great boon for our operations if Agent Starlight was, but she is not. Most likely, Nightfall was suffering from delusions thanks to her poisoning.”

Chloe nodded.
If Nightfall was delirious enough to reveal her identity to an assassin, she could have been convinced that she was confronted with a psychic. I really hope she’s okay, poisoning is rough on the best of days.
“I don’t know for certain because it’s not like we can see into his mind, but Chad seemed… sympathetic to Starlight’s–”

Handler interrupted her, shaking her head.
“You’ll never truly know what’s going on in someone’s head. There’s a good chance you were projecting your sympathy onto him, assuming that anyone with your morals would agree, including Curtis because you’d like to think he is a good man. Do not, under any circumstances, reveal Starlight’s identity to Curtis. You may trust him to do the right thing, but there is no doubt that his loyalty lies with Ostania and with the SSS over you.”

Chloe nodded. Chad was something of a father to her. She’d trust the man with her life. She also trusted that he would skin her alive if he learned she was a Western agent.
“Finally, Starlight was questioned on the nature of Operation Strix, and claimed that Twilight had passed the mission on to her because he was, and I quote, ‘not good enough to impersonate a kid, the guy sucked’.”

Handler failed to hold back a laugh.

Chloe continued despite her bewilderment at the sight in front of her.
“She stated the general gist of Strix to be that she has been assigned to be Damian Desmond’s personal bodyguard at school, because Donovan Desmond is planning to use his assassination to spark a war. Is… is that true? Is Desmond trying to do what my grandfather did to me?”

Handler sighed, her amusement gone in the blink of an eye.
“Yes. What Starlight described was Operation Chimera. The primary objective is to covertly prevent Desmond from killing his son, the secondary objective is to protect her friends; the children of Ostania’s elite, whose parents would have the most motive and means to go to war should something happen. I warn you, Twilight does not know his daughter is a WISE agent. Just like you, Starlight has a very valuable and longstanding civilian identity, so her presence as a WISE agent is on a need-to-know basis. You, me, and herself. No one else.”

“Understood.”

“While she did a fantastic job on Scarlet Salmon, I fear that Starlight overshared with her main mission details. If the SSS is aware that her mission is to prevent Desmond’s assassination, they must also be aware that she is a student at Eden College.”

Chloe confirmed. “Yes. They compared her to various students in a yearbook while she was there, but did not identify her. The picture of Anya Forger was old and not particularly high quality. I should note that Curtis and Gascoigne, along with Yuri and I, were the only members of the SSS to have seen Starlight’s face who weren’t killed last night.”

Handler sighed.
“Should the SSS wish, they could mobilize their forces to search the school—they would identify her regardless of her disguise considering they know her current injuries. I have a mission for Twilight today once his daughter is discharged, so he’ll need a babysitter. Would you be willing to watch over Starlight for the day? She knows your identity as Midnight. You two need to find a way to keep Curtis and Gascoigne quiet about Starlight’s appearance. Blackmail, bribery, threats, murder, I don’t care. Starlight’s identity is at stake—and with it, so much more.”

Walking up the stairs of 128 Park Avenue, Chloe's heart was now racing—for real, this time. As expected, she had gotten a call from Yuri on the Forgers’ phone, asking if she could join him in babysitting Anya because “Loi-Loi didn't trust him alone with his daughter."
Gee, I wonder why. 

Chloe's heart was racing because even though Twilight didn't know she was in the SSS, he knew that Yuri was. And she was Yuri’s girlfriend, so Twilight would assume that she at least knew that he was in the SSS, and therefore would make her complicit in Anya’s torture.

She opened the door to their apartment and was met face to face with Yor Forger. Her husband was not in sight.
Thank God. I'm safe for now. 

“Chloe! Thank you for coming over here on such short notice!" 

I'm here because Handler asked me to, but I won't deny that I enjoy spending time with my niece.
“It's nothing, really. Anya doesn't deserve to be stuck with that kill-joy all day.” 

"Hey!” Yuri yelled indignantly, while Anya chuckled.

Chloe stepped inside, and Yor’s tone shifted significantly. She sounded… open. Emotional. Regretful?
“Chloe, I… I want to thank you. Anya told me what really happened yesterday, what she wouldn't tell Loid.”

Anya told her that Yuri arrested her…?
Anya told her I was complicit in her torture?
Anya told her she’s a spy?

“She said that she was arrested because they thought that she was a spy, and that you… you helped her escape.” Yor wrapped Chloe in a tight hug and whispered into her ear. "Anya says you gave her pain medicine during the torture. Y–you saved her life. I can't thank you enough…”

The unexpected gratitude from a woman who had every reason to hate her took Chloe by shock. "I… I was just doing my duty. My duty to justice. There's nothing just about imprisoning and torturing a child, let alone for a crime she didn't commit." 

"You saved Yuri’s life too. I don't know how I can ever repay you.”

I didn't save Yuri, unless you mean saving him from Twilight's wrath.
“Don't. Never repay someone just for doing the right thing."
In a smaller voice, Chloe added, “I didn't even do the right thing. The right thing would have been to get her out before she was hurt, not after." 

Yor's caring gaze was uncharacteristically deep.
"Do you blame yourself?”

"Yes.”

"Don't. Having the courage to stand up against tyrants–” Yuri flinched as he heard that, “–is never a cause for blame. It's a big deal. To me, at least. Accept my gratitude… please.”

Chloe smiled as she nodded. She doesn't know about Yuri’s involvement. That's good. I can't fathom how she could forgive me, but I guess it's like Twilight says: “I don't understand women." 

Yor broke away from the hug and quickly stammered out:
"SorryIneedtogetgoingorI’llbelateforworkokaybye!”

She ran out the door, slamming it hard enough that one would expect cracks in the doorframe, if it weren't for the fact that the frame had been reinforced with steel. 

The spy, secret policeman, and spy undercover as a secret policeman looked at one another in silence for a solid five seconds before Chloe broke it. “So… what was that about? What did you tell her, Anya?”

“I told Mama that I lied to Papa. I wasn't arrested for my hair color, I was arrested because they thought I was a spy. They took Unkie too, and Papa can't know because it'll stress him out. I told her that you helped Unkie and I get out!”

Chloe was mildly surprised.
“You… told her I'm with the SSS? She’s only supposed to know I’m a teacher!”

Anya shook her head.
"She already knew, Mama’s not dumb. Although I’m not sure dumbness has anything to do with this, because Papa does think you’re just a teacher and he’s not dumb. He thinks it’s just Unkie.” Anya bit her lip in contemplation. “How did we get here? Mama knows that Auntie’s secret police, Papa knows that Unkie’s secret police, and they aren’t telling each other!”

That’s even dumber considering her father is a spy—did Handler really not tell him Chloe Chapman works for the SSS? It’s not off the table to keep him in the dark, given she has for Anya’s identity, so I guess she did it for mine too—at least my identity as an SSS officer. It goes without saying that Twilight can’t know I’m a WISE agent.

Anya’s mouth hung open as if she’d heard something she hadn’t expected to hear—although the room was dead silent, until she spoke.
“Y’know, it’s kind of a miracle Mama hasn’t figured out Unkie’s in the secret police, so I guess she's a little dumb. ”

"My sister isn't dumb!"
Yuri was furious for an entire three seconds of contemplation.
“...She did forget to tell me she was married for a whole year, so maybe a little… Still, don't talk about your mother like that!”

"Mama doesn't always think before she acts, but at least she's not like her brother who didn't think before he arrested me.”

“Well you confessed to my face! I swear, you are without a doubt the worst spy I’ve ever heard of,” Yuri put his head in his hands as he spoke.

“But you have heard of me,” Anya said with a smirk.

“That’s the damn problem!”

Chloe smiled, chuckling. Uncle and niece, bantering like they should. Not like a spy and their mortal enemy, but like family. 

The aunt, uncle, and niece sat at the Forger’s dining table.

“Unkie? I'm… I'm sorry.”

Yuri seemed taken aback.
"What for? Committing treason?”

"I put you between a rock and a hard place. You shouldn't have to choose between your job and your family." 

“If you’re sorry, then why did you kill so many of my coworkers?”

Anya was speechless. Almost.
"I did what now?"  

Chloe’s eyes widened. That wasn't her, Nightfall said that was the Thorn Princess! But I can't say that or he'll ask why I know…”
“Yuri, Anya couldn't have committed last night's massacre. She was in the hospital, with broken fingers!"

Yuri didn't back down, pointing at Anya with a shaking finger. “You didn't have one of your slimy backstabbing colleagues break into our headquarters last night and kill seventy-four people?" 

Anya’s eyes grew wide, their deep green expressing either pure shock, or very good acting. “Were… were they killed by small, circular stab wounds?”

"So you do know how it happened? Cough it up, or I'm taking you back to HQ.”

Chloe didn't waste a second. She slapped Yuri's face with all her might.
“You barely got out of yesterday unscathed, do you want Loid to kill you?" 

"Hey! What are you defending her for, are you a spy too?”

Chloe shifted to a scathing, mocking tone, a look of disgust on her face.
“Oh yes, of course I've been a spy secretly working with WISE for the last decade, what else could it be! It's not like I'm looking out for you!"

"I–"

"Don't be ridiculous, Yuri. You're a fool. We have a Western spy in our debt. Is that not infinitely more valuable than having one in a cell?”

Anya teared up. Was it from pain in her fingers, or from seeing her aunt and uncle yell at each other? "St–stop fighting! I'll tell you, it was the Thorn Princess!" 

She knows that?!

Yuri tilted his head.
“The what?" 

“The Thorn Princess! She's an assassin, and uhh–”
The teenager paused, as if to find the right words.
"She's an acquaintance of mine. She found out about my torture and decided she wanted revenge…”

Yuri was silent—eyes wide, jaw hanging, if he couldn’t process the fact that his niece knew an assassin—one who had killed dozens of his coworkers.

What are the odds that Starlight knows the Thorn Princess, the very same assassin that Nightfall happened to run into last night? I guess she wasn't acting on Garden's orders after all. Simply a personal grudge.
“Can you tell her not to do that in the future? Our bosses are pinning the blame for it on you. On WISE. They're considering it an act of war.”

Anya looked horrified, but also melancholic and downcast.
"I– I… can't. She doesn't know that I know of her job.”

Yuri squinted at his niece with suspicion.
“And how do you know about hers?”

“It's like I said yesterday. I'm a spy. Knowing things is my jam! But she doesn't know that I'm a spy…" 

If I had a nickel for every spy this ‘Thorn Princess’ character knows without realizing they're a spy, I'd have two nickels. First Nightfall, then Starlight…

Anya looked at the table, at her mangled hands, tears falling.
“I'm so frustrated. WISE doesn’t want war. We spend s–so much of our energy fighting with the secret police, when we really ought to be on the same side… We just want to st–stop a war, but cooperating is so hard–” she chokes, then continues “–when East and West can't just… trust each other!”

Amen, sister. “You're right, Anya.”

Yuri looked at his partner like she grew horns (like Anya’s).

“We're always fighting. Always mistrustful. But we have the same enemies. We serve the same population. Maybe I'm being a bit too hopeful, but I think you have the power to end this.”
Chloe's gaze met Anya’s.
“Yuri and I? We’re in your debt. You didn't tell your family that Yuri was responsible for what was done to you. But also, you're in our debt. We helped you escape. In a way, it's mutually assured destruction. If either of us tattles, we're both dead. But it doesn't have to be like that. It doesn't have to be a mini cold war within our family. We can work together to open communications between WISE and the SSS. We can work together to open communications between Ostania and Westalis.”

Chloe looked as though she were speaking to Anya, but she wasn't. She was speaking to Yuri. Chloe was a spy, yes, but she wasn't heartless. Although Yuri was her target, she cared for him. She loved him. She knew he was a good man at the center, beneath all those prickly layers of sisterly obsession. Chloe's biggest regret often weighed heavily on her heart. She was manipulating Yuri. She used him for a mission. She'd continue to do that for as long as she lived. For world peace. 

But with Agent Starlight, she has a chance to use Yuri’s obsession for good. He was a good man, being manipulated by the SSS. He's not the only one—Chad was a good man too—but Yuri wasn't as set in his beliefs.

If he can be convinced to work with Anya, we could cause real change. This cold war could end. 

“Chloe, what the hell are you talking about?”

This'll be harder than it needs to be.
She sighed, turning to Yuri.
"I'm saying that we need to work with Starlight. This cold war is fueled by a lack of trust, but you trust her, right?”

"I'll never trust a spy!”

"Can you trust that she loves your sister? That she wants the best for her?" 

Yuri didn't say anything; that was confirmation enough. 

“If the three of us trust each other, we can exchange information. We can get our agencies to work together, through us.”

"Chloe, you're delusional. Too optimistic. The world doesn't work that way. How are we supposed to get any information from WISE to Chad? ‘Oh, I helped Starlight escape, and she gives me intel in exchange’? He'd never be okay with that!”

"He would.”
Both SSS officers turned to their niece in surprise, who continued.
"He's a good guy. I trust him. I’d be willing to give him information. I don't wanna put you two in danger though, so he can't know you two helped me escape. He'd also probably try to arrest me, so I need to find a way to feed him information without exposing myself…”
Anya looked contemplative. 

Yuri didn't seem convinced.
“How exactly do you propose we do that?" 

“Blackmail!" 

Huh? 

“Auntie, can you grab Papa's typewriter? It's in his office." 

“Hey, you wouldn't let me go in there! Why can she?" 

"Because you wanted to arrest Papa, just cause you don't think he's good enough for Mama. Auntie Chloe is normal about Papa.”

Chloe scoffed. “You tried to arrest Loid?" 

“It wasn't because of Yor, it's because I thought he was a spy! Turns out it's his daughter…”

If only you knew that it's both…

“But no, he's not a spy, Forger’s just insane!" Yuri exclaimed. "He’s got balls of titanium. No man with any sense of self preservation would tell me to my face that he knew I was SSS, that his daughter’s arrest was my fault, and then try to shoot me. There’s no way in hell that guy is the master spy Twilight. No spy would throw caution to the wind to taunt an officer like that. He's scary as shit!”

"Unkie, Twilight's dead.”

"What?”

Chloe started laughing. "You're behind the times, Yuri. She told us yesterday. You killed Twilight, seven years ago.”

"I did what?!’

With a typewriter beneath Chloe’s fingers, the three were ready.

“Here's my plan," Anya started. "We have two problems. One, your bosses are after me. Two, I need to get information to your bosses. We can kill two birds with one stone—poor birds—by blackmailing them! We write a letter, something along the lines of ‘Hey, its Agent Starlight, protector of World Peace. I want to make a deal. I give you intel from WISE that can help stop wars, and in exchange you let me be free. Accept the deal, or’ …and that’s the part where I blackmail them.”

Yuri glared at his niece and let out a groan. With a scathing tone, he added, "They think Starlight killed seventy-four people in petty revenge.” He slammed the table in anger. “Seventy-four!”

I’ve never been particularly close to our coworkers, but I can’t say the same for Yuri. He’s probably taking this pretty hard.

“Do you understand what I mean when I say seventy-four people are dead? Wilker will stop at nothing to catch you, even with the promise of intel and the threat of blackmail.”

“We don’t need to stop him from coming after me—Starlight—we just need to stop him from coming after me—Anya.”
Anya put emphasis on 'me' the second time, as she gestured to herself. Sensing Yuri’s continued confusion, she continued.
“Wilky doesn’t know what Agent Starlight looks like. We just need to make the people who do know what I look like shut up and not give him any details. That way, Anya Forger remains free.”

Chloe turned to Yuri. "She's right. This Thorn Princess character burned our security footage. Most people who saw her were killed. It's just Chad and Gascoigne who weren’t. They're the two that we need to silence if we want her to be free.”

Anya interjected.
“It's just Gas-Coin. Scarface isn't going to say anything.”

“Don’t call him that!” Yuri shouted in frustration. “His name’s Chadwick. And he thinks you had a bunch of his closest comrades killed! People who had lives. Families. Pasts, futures. Hopes. Dr–Dreams.” The man choked up as he said that last word.

Yuri… 

“You really think he’s going to let you off the hook? Why are you so confident in him?” 

"He knows that it wasn't me. He's a smart guy."
Anya didn't elaborate beyond that.

Yuri’s eyes were glazed, his gaze still suspicious, not convinced on what they were about to do. “I don’t like the idea of blackmailing our closest friend.”

“Gascoigne is not–”

“I’m talking about Chad. Like it or not, we would need to blackmail him too. Or else it would be suspicious. And I really don’t want to do that!”

Maybe you should have thought about that before you arrested Anya?
“Yuri. We work in espionage. We’re going to have to do things we don’t like, that’s just part of the job.”

“No it’s not!” Yuri snapped. “Maybe for you, what with all the honeytraps Gascoigne puts you on–”

“Hate that guy,” Chloe and Anya interrupted at the same time for different reasons.

Yuri rolled his eyes. “Do you even have blackmail on Gascoigne?”

"He cheats on his wife.”

That was fast.
“Are you just guessing, or–”

"He cheats on his wife, Ruth, age 44, with four different women—that I know of. Vanessa Voss, age 24, Adriana Allen, age 23, Delilah Denkins, age 25, and Ilse Ingram, age 21. None of the four know about each other, although they do know that he’s married.”

Silence.

“Hey, it’s like I said! I’m a spy! Knowing things is my jam!”

Silence.

“It’s a normal thing to know! I promise!”

“Uh huh,” Yuri deadpanned. “Whatever you say, Miss Ace Superspy.”

Although thirty minutes had passed, the three were unable to draft a letter that carried the correct tone. It needed to be threatening enough to be taken seriously, and yet not so threatening that it undermined its true purpose, which was cooperative at heart. A nigh impossible balance to strike.

“You guys suck at this.”

“Like you’re doing any better, you Chihuahua!”

Speaking of dogs, the Forgers’ great polar bear of a dog walked up to them. Chloe started to give him scratches behind his neck, muttering a ‘whossagoodboy’ before she was interrupted by a ‘borf’ from the dog, whose ears stood on end.

Anya knelt down and pressed her forehead to Bond’s, closing her eyes. Her face scrunched up in contemplation for several minutes, before she opened her eyes and sat up straight. She spoke with a tone of utmost certainty, her expression absolute.
“I know someone who can help us with this. My most trusted informant. They’ll be here soon.”

She could’ve told us someone was coming earlier, but it’s like she just found out. She’s gotten no phone calls, no letters, nothing. But she sounds so… certain. How can anyone be certain about what will happen in the future? To concentrate for so long… It's like she was looking into the future!

Words from Chloe’s earlier briefing resurfaced in her mind.
From herself. “She used to be a Project Apple test subject.”
From Nightfall. “A human experimentation organization, creating psychic children.”
From Handler. “It would be a great boon for our operations if Agent Starlight was psychic.”

The undercover spy realized what her Handler hadn’t intended her to know.
Agent Starlight is psychic—precognitant, to be precise. She can see the future!

Chloe was so shocked by her revelation that she failed to see Starlight’s incredibly unimpressed stare.

Operation Scarlet Salmon: Mission Notes

From Anya Forger (Alias: Subject 007)

Auntie’s been working for WISE the whole time and I didn’t even know it. How! I’m a telepath! I’m supposed to know everything, but she's so locked into the role that she never even lets herself even think about her true job. It explains why she helped me, but now I have to deal with everything she told Grammy Sylvie, thinking that I actually was a spy. If Auntie got far enough to realize I can see the future…

From Sylvia Sherwood (Alias: Handler)

What the fuck! How did Midnight come to the conclusion that Anya is a spy? Agent Starlight? We don't have an Agent Starlight! Anya isn’t a spy! She shouldn’t have the slightest clue who or what Twilight is! On top of that, Nightfall described a psychic called Test Subject 002. But if one was to make that into an acronym, it'd be TS-002… It's been years but I'll never forget what I saw on the back of Anya’s neck. TS-007. They're from the same damn project!

From Chloe Chapman (Alias: Midnight)

How am I supposed to get Yuri to trust Starlight? He really needs to learn to trust WISE, I don’t see how this cold war will ever end with how things are going. Yuri does seem to be regretting this, which is good, but I think it’s eating him alive. I can’t reassure him that Starlight will be safe, or I’ll be exposed as a mole. But she will be safe. I’ll sooner kill Wilker myself than let him harm her.

From Yuri Briar

Yor hates me and she doesn’t even know it. “Having the courage to stand up against tyrants is never a cause for blame,” she says. She thinks the State Security Service are tyrants… She clearly hates us for what’s happened to Starlight. She can never find out about my real job. And speaking of Starlight… I did it again. I blamed her too quickly. Starlight didn’t mean for everyone to die. At least if she’s to be believed. But I… I just don’t know anymore. What am I supposed to do? Wilker is totally going to go after her, and I can’t say she’s innocent without revealing that I broke her out. I never should have arrested her. She’s going to get captured again, she’ll either snitch or crack, then Chloe and I are both executed for treason. They might imprison Yor and Loidy too for good measure. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wanted to protect Sis, but now I’ve just put her in danger. What have I done?

From Chadwick Curtis (Alias: Scarface)

Wilker said not to worry about Starlight for the time being. Apparently he has a plan to deal with her, which really can only mean one thing. Garden. 

From Giacomo Gascoigne (Alias: Gas-Coin)

Dammit! Not only did WISE destroy our security tapes, but they got our general records room too. What was it that they were trying to hide? It’s not like we managed to learn any identities from Starlight.

From Fiona Frost (Alias: Nightfall)

I know Handler mentioned that she’d call upon Midnight, but I didn’t expect to actually meet him. Or her? Twilight is capable of disguising himself as a woman, but he doesn’t if given the choice. The fact that Midnight disguised herself as me implies that she is female. I don’t know what to think about that.

From Yor Forger (Aliases: Thorn Princess, Nightshade)

I hate that I’m putting Yuri through all this. He and Anya don’t see eye to eye all the time, and now I’m making him babysit her two days in a row. I’ll need to find someone else for tomorrow. But who?

From Loid Forger (Alias: Twilight)

This doesn’t feel right. Anya’s injured. She’s in pain. And yet Handler is making me run missions like it’s any other day.. I feel horrible leaving her in the care of Yuri. At least Chloe is there. I’m lucky that she was able to talk Professor Henderson into giving her a day of leave. She’s not in the SSS, so Anya should be safe with her.

Chapter Text

MONDAY 1962-11-05

“Ms. Chapman had a family emergency today, so I will be teaching in her place today.”

Becky Blackbell couldn't be bothered to pay any attention to Henderson. Even more so than most Mondays, today had been terrible. Nothing’s going right and everything awful’s happening. Okay, that might be a slight overdramatization: only two bad things happened.

The first thing is just that; Ms. Chapman—the well loved economics teacher (and Becky’s favorite, don’t tell Henderson)—was absent due to the aforementioned family emergency.

The second thing was that Anya wasn’t at school today, so Becky was bored out of her mind. She has the rest of their friend group, of course, but she wasn’t as close with any of them as she was with Anya. Anya, the chaotic bubbly menace she was—was also the glue that holds together their friend group.

Firstly, there was Megan "Meg" Montrose. Although a very kind friend, but she didn't exactly make for good company on her own; her head was always in a book. Even if it wasn't, she… rarely speaks. Becky’s grasp on sign language was improving, but still rough. Anya usually translates for her, so when Anya was gone, Meg kept to herself even more than she otherwise would.

Secondly, Cornelia "Connie" Connell. An enigma, as if you could only really know what type of person she was by reading her mind—not that anyone could. Although she was Becky's cousin, she was far closer with Anya, the two always acting as if they were in on some secret that no one else was. Without Anya (whom she got along with like a house on fire) she stuck with a gang of her own—Crowley, Tertius, and Gloomy, frequently known as “Connie’s Reverse Harem”, despite her firmly not liking boys that way.

The third member of the 'Cecile Girl Sextet' was William "Bill" Watkins, despite being neither a girl nor in Cecile. There lay the issue—not that anyone in the group cared that he’s a boy, he was one of them just the same—but they don’t get to hang out with him at most classes, as he’s in Wald.

Their group finished with Allison "Alice" Paulette. Becky didn’t particularly like her at first, due to her shit treatment of Anya in the past, jealous of Anya getting Damian’s attention not knowing that Anya herself was oblivious. Anya's still oblivious, actually. Nonetheless, Becky could respect that Anya and Alice were good friends, as a result of years as the best doubles pair on Eden’s tennis team.
The two had something of their own tennis friend group with Specter Hall’s Grace Fein and Jessica Clark, but the Specter pair didn’t often mingle with the Cecile group, so Becky didn’t really consider them her friends. Even Alice, Becky found to be thorny and callous without Anya acting as a buffer.

Despite everything negative Becky had to say about her friend group, the six of them—Becky, Anya, Bill, Alice, Meg, and Connie—were still strong friends. Becky just tended to see everyone critically—except Anya. Without her at school today to glue the group together, they didn’t get up to much, leaving Becky bored out of her mind.

Of course, there’s also her other friends who weren’t as tightly knit into the group.

There’s Freddy Curtis, a kind boy who frequented Anya’s side—and therefore Becky’s—as he was perhaps the only student remotely near her in economic standing (Anya’s household income was still an order of magnitude below his). He was first and foremost Anya’s friend, but he considered Becky a friend as well. 

On the complete flip side, there’s Tertius III—does he even have a last name?—Prince of Septevia, a boy with the second largest ego Becky knew. Despite that, he attempted humility, going out of his way to “befriend the poor” (Anya and Freddy) to “learn their ways” (hang out with them). Tertius may be snobby, but he wasn’t a dick. Unlike some. Becky sometimes wondered if he was placed at their school by divine intervention purely to act as Damian’s foil. 

Oh, the love triangle that was her social life, Desmond and Tertius fighting over poor Anya’s affection… although Anya didn’t realize it and Tertius didn’t care. He clearly saw Anya as nothing more than a friend, so it was really just Desmond who saw the boy as a love rival (that jealous snob). Tertius enjoyed pulling his leg by acting as if he was preparing to ask out Anya—attempting to coax the jealous scion into beating him to the punch.
In that, Tertius and Becky became great friends, with their common goal.
The Damianya ship will sail one day, and I’m glad Tertius works with me to get it afloat.
But because Tertius was in Specter hall and Freddy in Hamilton, Becky didn’t see either of them today. So, she’s bored. No friends around her.

Even Arnold Crowley, whose pompous attitude and insistence that he knew more than everyone else drove Becky up the wall, wasn’t present to glare menacingly at.

There’s George Glooman, of course. A surprisingly decent guy, even if he was… gloomy. In the right circumstance—that is, when he wasn’t being depressing—Becky could see him as a friend.
(It was not currently the right circumstance.)

The only people left in Becky’s class today that she could really talk to freely would be…
Them.

Desmond and the E’s. 

Elman is… Elman. No comments. Becky only tolerated him because he’s near Egeburg and Desmond (who she tolerates because Anya asks her too—because her best friend is definitely into the boy).

There’s Egeburg. Becky didn’t particularly like the company the girl keeps—damn you, Desmond—but she made Becky feel something. Especially when she threatens to sue anyone who still insists on calling her “Ewen”. Especially now that she stopped piling her hair a foot high with gel and just let its natural length and beauty show…
Oh Evelyn, I want to run my fingers through it and…
Becky cut off her train of thought. She’s getting distracted.

Desmond was a pompous brat. Greatest ego on God’s green earth, and also Becky's cousin. She hated his guts, but… For Anya? She’ll die trying to get those two to kiss. It’s her life goal. Everyone and their mom knows that Desmond is into her… except for Anya.

Take that, Crowley. You may tell anyone who’ll listen about how Anya Forger can totally definitely read minds, but that’s beyond ridiculous. Even if psychics were real, Anya? She’s as clueless as can be. If she were a telepath, she wouldn’t be blind to Desmond’s affections.

Speaking of Desmond, he looked as bored as Becky felt. It’s as if he didn’t know what to do with himself when Anya wasn't there. No mess of pink curls to get his mind lost in. Heck, Becky didn’t even know why Anya is gone!

She hadn’t mentioned anything on Friday. She hasn’t called. She hasn’t even left a mysteriously encrypted note in my locker! Is Anya sick?

When they were younger, Anya had the immune system of a wet paper bag. If anything went around at school, Anya caught it faster and far worse than anyone else. She often bragged about how she was so good at catch, that she could catch some new strain of something that the doctors didn’t even realize you could catch! But that wasn't the case anymore. Within a few years of knowing her, Anya stopped getting sick as often, if at all. 

It’s as if she’d spent her toddler years never once encountering germs, went into school with no immunities, caught every illness under the sun, and then built up the immune system of a tank thanks to her mother’s cooking. These days, Anya never got sick (although when she does, she’s out for weeks).

It wasn't like Anya to just skip school. Well, it was, but school was short today, morning classes only, and Anya's nothing if not pragmatic. If she were going to skip a day of school, she would seek to make the most of it—skipping a full day and talking her friends into skipping with her.

What gives?

“Blackbell! Daydreaming is inelegant!”

As soon as class was out, Becky had Martha drive her to the Forgers’ apartment.
“Milady, I do believe it would be polite to call before showing at the Forger residence.”

“You know they won’t care. Finding a phone would be a waste of time! I need to make sure Anya is okay!”

The woman simply sighed. At least the Forgers were used to Becky's unexpected visits.

The two trekked up the stairs to the Forgers' door and Becky burst right in. She saw Anya sitting at her dining table with two adults—a man and a woman. The man was a carbon copy of Anya’s mother Yor—her brother, Yuri Briar. The woman, on the other hand, had magenta hair and eyes, a sight that shocked Becky—because she was Ms. Chapman, her teacher who was absent due to a “family emergency”.

“Anya! Where were yo–" 

Within the span of three seconds, a great many things happened, which Becky could not keep up with. Mr. Briar pulled a gun from his side—oh my God, why does he have a gun—and aimed it at the door. Martha leapt in front of Becky, drawing a taser from her side. Ms. Chapman kicked Mr. Briar in the knee, causing him to drop his gun. Martha fired her taser into Mr. Briar's chest and the man yelled out in pain. 

Anya slammed her face into the table in frustration. Becky looked at Anya’s hands.
What happened? Why are they in casts?

Mr. Briar ripped the taser probes out of his chest unflinchingly.
“So, you're the Blackbell brat who's been helping this spy?”

Spy? Are they roleplaying?
"Anya, what's going on?”

"You weren't supposed to say that, Unkie."

“Anya? What’s going on?"
I thought she was too old to roleplay as a spy…

Anya sighed as tears came to her eyes. She held her arms up to Becky, allowing her to get a close look at the casts. She gently moved the cast an inch down her right arm with her left, and Becky saw the tip of one of her fingers. All blood, no nail.
Becky flinched—even though it was Anya’s finger, not hers.

“I wasn't at school today because I got arrested yesterday. For being a spy. They… they tortured me. They broke my fingers. Pulled out my fingernails. They almost drowned me.”
Anya grimaced, clearly remembering the events of the previous day.

"Oh, okay."
Becky let her friend's words catch up with her, as she looked upon the girl's face and saw uncharacteristic seriousness.
Wait. She's serious! That's horrible! What the hell? How is she still alive?
Different words came out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“You're a spy?” 

"You didn't tell her?” Anya’s uncle yelled out in anger. “She's your ‘most trusted informant’ and you didn't tell her?" 

Aww, I'm Anya’s most trusted?
Wait, no. Not the time, Rebecca. She’s hurt.

Anya glared at Mr. Briar, before turning to Becky—still more serious than she had ever seen the girl before. “I guess more truthful introductions are in order. I’m Agent Starlight, of Western Intelligence. Anya Forger is my alias. Becky, this is my Unkie Yuri and my Auntie Chloe, who you would know as Ms. Chapman–”

“Since when has Ms. Chapman been your aunt?!”

“Since like… forever? I’m surprised you didn’t know. What did you think she does at my birthday parties?”

“You invite Henderson! I just assumed you invited any of your favorite teachers, which would include Ms. Chapman.”

“Please, call me Chloe. We’re not at school.”

“Oh. Sure thing.”

Anya cleared her throat loudly. “As I was saying, I’m a spy, this is my Unkie and his girlfriend, and they work for the secret police.”

“The wha?”

"The State Security Service, milady,” Martha whispered.

"Ohh…"
Wait, what? I could see Mr. Briar being a cop, Ms. Chapman’s one too? Were– were they the ones to arrest her? Did they torture her?

“They helped me get out yesterday! Anyway, I'm so glad you're here, Becky. We need your help!”

Becky’s mouth moved before she could stop it. She agreed. Afterall, it’s what she always does; friends help each other.
“Oh, sure!"

Martha looked at Anya with concern, before turning to Becky.
“Milady, I think it would be best if we left Miss Forger to her… own devices.”

Anya glared at Martha.
"You can't tell anyone. No one. Not my parents. Not Becky's. No one. It's top secret.”

The woman sighed.
“Of course not.”

Anya squinted with suspicion.
"I'm serious! You can't tell anyone, I'll pay you to stay quiet! I'll…”

She walked up to Martha, looking into her eyes with an intense verdant gaze.
“I'll buy you flowers. How do… daffodils sound?”
She spat the word with uncharacteristic venom.

Martha was silent.
Are those her favorite flowers? I never knew.

Martha and Anya looked at each other, each with more emotion in their eyes than Becky had ever seen them have. Anya, pleading. Martha… angry?

Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
Fifteen seconds. 

“Very well. I'll return for you in a few hours, milady."
With that, Martha left the apartment, closing the door.
What was that about?

Anya let out a sigh of relief.
“Becky? How good are you at blackmailing people?" 

Oh? This is going to be fun.
“Well you know me, Blackmail’s my middle name!”

“Really? I thought it was Beatrice.”

Thanks to everything she'd been told in the last ten minutes, Becky's mind was spinning.

Her best friend, Anya, was a spy. If she didn’t know any better, Becky would’ve thought she was in some elaborate roleplay, but her wounds were real.

Of course, it was an open secret that Anya Forger was the ‘token Westalian’ of Eden College. 

When they were younger, Anya occasionally got picked on by kids parroting their parents' beliefs. They would say that she can't be trusted, that Westalians are evil horned demons who eat people. 

Throughout the years, Anya singlehandedly reversed the average Eden student's opinion on Westalians. Horned yes, cannibalistic demon no. Evil? Hardly. Anya Forger was known for her heroism. Most of her Stellas came from saving people.

She's only really Westalian because her dad is from the West; she's hardly ever been; all her experience in Westalis was having gone to pre-school there and the occasional vacation.

So for her to actually be a spy? For her to be exactly what the stereotypes of Westalians suggest? Wow. Becky didn't even know what to think.
What was her mission, to increase Ostanian opinion of Westalians? It definitely worked. 

“So let me get this straight. You're a Western spy. You were captured and tortured yesterday. Your aunt—who’s actually secretly been a cop this whole time, only teaching at Eden to have eyes on us—rescued you, but now the other cops are after you. They don't know your name, just what school you go to, and a few of them know what you look like. You need to blackmail the few who do?”

"Yep!" 

“I'm going to be honest, I wouldn’t believe you if your hands weren't like this right now. What does Westalis even want with a spy at Eden?”

Mr. Briar butted in.
“So that she can make friends with powerful kids and pry intel from you about your parents without you being any the wiser." 

Wha–
Becky’s heart dropped.
What?

Anya shot the man a glare.
“I mean, that's part of it… Befriend Sy-on Boy and change his opinion so that he won't grow up to hate Westalis like his Papa. I know it feels… backstabby, but I do it for world peace! I can learn about weapon sales from you or political plots from Sy-on. I need to make sure we won't have another war, and people at Eden have parents who would be the most likely to be able to start a war. That's really the biggest part of my mission. Protect my friends! If anything happens to you and the West is blamed, we’ll have a war! It's the biggest, most important mission we've ever done.”

Becky’s dismay was… intense. Anya winced as if she could feel the emotions herself.
“You’re using our friendship for information? You’ve betrayed me? Our country?”
How long has she been doing this? Using our friendship to help the West destroy us?

Anya gave Becky a dark, cold, glare. She took a deep breath and used it to speak more words than Becky had ever heard her say in one go.
“Betray our country? Our country? I have no country. Not Ostania. Not Westalis. We kill each other over a line on a map! That’s what I want to stop. As long as Agent Starlight is working, East and West will never have war! War killed Papa’s mama. War killed Mama and Unkie’s parents. War killed all of Papa’s friends, all of Uncle Scruffy’s siblings. It’s thanks to war that Henderson never married Martha! It’s thanks to war that Papa is missing an eye. It’s thanks to war that Mama had to work the worst of the worst jobs when she was no older than we are, to keep Unkie from starving! War… war is evil. Don’t even get me started on what the last war did to Mommy! Thanks to the war, she was left presumed dead, lived in a prisoner of war camp from when she was six until she was seventeen, and only left after the war ended! It’s thanks to the war that Mommy didn’t know Grammy even though they were both alive! It’s thanks to the war that my Auntie Fiona lost her parents, her brother, and her son! I know that hate is a strong word, and to hate is wrong, but I. Hate. War. I don’t hate Ostania for what the war took from my papa, just as I don’t hate Westalis for what the war took from my mama! I hate war itself. You know who starts wars? It’s the people on top. The elite of the elite. The people who’ve never wanted for anything a day in their life. Sy-on Boy’s parents. Our classmates' parents. Your parents. And do you know who gets hurt by war? I do! Everyone else! The West hurts. The East hurts. Millions die! For what? So that the rich can get richer by selling weapons. That’s why I’m a spy! I’ll do whatever I can to make a world where no other kid has to cry. In an instant, no second thoughts. If it means that no boy will be left with nothing except a gun and a grudge, like Papa was? Then yes, I’ll kill people! If it means that no girl will be forced to go into a man’s room and do unspeakable acts so that she might pay for her brother's next meal, like Mama did? Then yes, I’ll throw away my childhood for the mission! If it means that no person will grow up behind bars, having never known freedom, barely living a life at all?! Then yes, I’ll endure the torture. I’ll make friendships and stab them in the back, if it means the information might stop a nuclear bomb from falling. I’ll allow the guilt of betrayed trust to eat away at me, rip me apart for as long as I live. I’ll throw my life on the line to protect Damian’s life if it means Donovan Desmond won’t assassinate his own son so that he might blame it on Westalis and start a war! Because guess what? He’s been trying to do just that!”

Becky was struck silent, while Anya—tears across her face—breathed in and out, fast and harsh, out of air from yelling for so long.

So that’s why she’s always muttering about “World Peace”… What has Anya had to do in her job? She threw away her childhood. I mean I know she was tortured yesterday… what else? What has Loid been through… I know he’s a veteran, but ‘a boy with a gun and a grudge’? Was he just a kid, as a soldier? And he lost an eye? What has Yor been through? Forced to go into a man’s room and do unspeakable acts… So she was a prostitute? She’s so strong… Anya’s been putting up with so much. She has put up with so much. And I got angry over what, that she didn’t tell me something I’m probably not supposed to know anyway?

“I–I got carried away. I’m sorry, Becky. I don’t blame you or Blackbell Heavy Industries for the war, it’s just… your family is one of the ones with the most to gain were a war to start, and so…”
Anya’s voice faded away in shame.

Anya… Fuck. I jumped the gun by blaming her.
"Anya? I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blamed you. I… I don't care if you're a spy! I trust that you’ll do what you think is best, always. You may be Agent Starlight now, but you’re Anya too. Anya Forger first, Agent Starlight second. You’ve always been Anya Forger. You’re my friend, first and foremost. It's not like we became friends because you're a spy, after all, we've been friends for so much longer!”

Anya looked at the floor awkwardly.
Silence. 

“Anya?" 

“Becky, I've been doing this for so, so, so long. Remember the busjacking, in first grade? I didn't panic when I had a bomb on my neck because I'd already been trained to recognize bombs. That one was a fake. No gunpowder smell, no real wiring, nothing. I’ve been a spy since I was five.”

Becky remembered the busjacking all too well. Their class, taken hostage so that they could be used to pressure their parents politically.
F–Five? She’s protected us her whole life… She stood up to the hijackers because they were trying to use us to sway our parents! Of course Westalis wouldn't want terrorists to be able to influence the Ostanian government. Wasn’t her eighth Stella from stopping some guy from killing Desmond? She's been doing this since she was five? No wonder she's so tough… I can't imagine what she's been through.

Wait…
“Does this mean the Octopeople were real?”

“That's the first thing you thought of?”

“Yes." 

Anya sighed.
"I was on a cruise, and I found out that there were a bunch of assassins trying to kill this escaping Mafia lady. She was being protected by this other assassin, but it turns out that the bad guys were going to blow up the boat anyway to kill her so I needed to find all the bombs… stressful vacation. They had to cover the whole incident up because the bombs were supposed to look like they came from Westalis to pin it on us.”

Becky was horrified. “Why were you bragging about that in class?!" 

Anya blushed in embarrassment, looking away.
“I wanted Sy-on Boy to think I was cool so he would be my friend…”

Becky started laughing.

“Becky, it's for the mission! I do not have a crush on him!” 

Becky looked at her, thoroughly unconvinced.
You jumped to your own defense awfully fast. “For the mission.” Sure Anya. Keep telling yourself that. 

“Wait, wait, wait, I need to tell you about Operation Coco-Criminal!" 

“Who names these?" 

“I do! The bad guy had a microfilm with information that could start a war—I honestly don't know what it was—and he hid it in a chocolate so he could smuggle it to Albo.”

“What kind of nonsensical plan is that?" 

“It's not the worst. One time I had to recover weapon schematics in a capsule that was swallowed by a penguin for safekeeping. Papa was so confused why I wanted to go to the aquarium so bad that one day… anyway, I don't know what the chocolate guy was thinking, and it's not like anyone ever accounts for the enemy spy being a kid, but… if you don't want your top secret data to be eaten? Don't put it in a chocolate. I kept him from getting the data and forced him to keep me alive until it… emerged. Two birds, one chocolate. I had to poop eventually, so my mentor and I crashed their airship in Lake Frigis so he couldn't get the information from its toilet,” Anya said proudly.

Mr. Briar spat out the water he was drinking.
“What the hell, Chihuahua?! That was you? We spent ages trying to figure out what happened to Snidel! Do you have any idea how expensive Enormity was?" 

“He wanted to start a war for the sake of his own glory and fame! People would die! That’s worth more than any dumb airship, you can’t put a price on blood!”

Damn, that’s deep. I still can’t believe the West’s go-to method of foiling war plots is with a kid’s antics.
“Your mentor helped you with that? Not your parents?"

"Yeah. He was called Twilight. He's dead now, Unkie shot him ages ago.”
The man choked.
“As for my parents, they don't have a clue of my work. I was recruited because my family was already going to send me to Eden in Sy-on’s year. They picked me because I was the only Westalian, and cause I thought spies were cool—among my many other fabulous talents.”

"‘Fabulous talents’, and yet you’re two bolts away from flunking out.”

“My other talents! Not academics!" Anya half-shouted. 

Becky still couldn't stop laughing. Who knew spycraft was so ridiculous?

Ms. Chapman smiled.
“I'm glad that Anya finally has someone to tell her stories to. She may be a spy, but she still deserves to have a childhood.”

Mr. Briar didn't agree.
“Speak for yourself. She's a spy, Chloe. A goddamn spy. Our enemy. If it weren't for my sister, I'd throw Starlight back in a cell without a second thought." 

Way to kill the mood.

Anya sighed.
"Alright, I get it. Blackmail now, storytime later.”
She cleared her throat.
“Our target is Giacomo Gas-Coin. He's the only person who saw my face yesterday who isn't either on my side, or dead.”

Becky’s eyes widened.
“D… dead?" 

"That assassin I worked with against the ‘Octopeople’? When she found out I was arrested, she uh… cleansed the evidence for me.”

Oh. Okay. Note to self. Don't get on Anya’s bad side, or I'll be hunted down by a mysterious assassin lady! I don't think even Yor’s training could save me then.
“What do we have against this… Gas-Coin?”

“It's Gascoigne. Chihuahua Girl can't say it right.”

Anya was indignant.
“I can! But he got really mad when I called him Gas-Coin to his face, so I'm going to keep doing it! Anyway, he cheats on his wife with four girls half his age. I don’t think any of his mistresses know about each other.”

“Wow. That sounds straight out of Berlint in Love! Waaaaait!" Becky gasped. "Oh my God, Anya, we've spent so much time arguing over whether soap operas or spy thrillers are better, when what we really should have done is combine them! Spy thrillers with crazy romance plots! Imagine the potential! Falling in love ‘For the Mission’! Enemies to lovers! Fake relationships! ‘I’m yours, and not just for the mission!’”

"Oh Becky, you have no idea…”

"Back on topic, you two,” Mr. Briar sighed.

Anya shook her head to get her hair out of her vision.
"Right! Blackmail. So, Becky. As you’ve probably noticed, things are kind of tense between me and Unkie. He wants to arrest me for treason, but he can’t because it’ll make Mama sad."

Anya’s uncle shot the girl a murderous glare, which she ignored.
“To compromise, Auntie wants us to work together. The feud between Western spies and the secret police is fueled by mistrust. We work on the same goal, and yet we fight each other. So if I can give information to them through Unkie, my mission works better and he has a reason to keep me alive.”

Ms. Chapman explained the crux of the issue.
“Issue being that our boss would question where he’s getting this information. He can’t easily say that his niece who he helped break out of jail is feeding it to him.”

“It’s a stupid idea. I wouldn’t trust the information anyway. She’s a spy! She lies for a living. Starlight may tell you that she’s your friend, but she’s using you for information. That’s all she’ll ever do. Why should I trust a thing she says?”

Becky was taken aback. It’s not like her impression of Mr. Briar had started off well—he got drunk off his ass at Anya’s birthday party years ago—but she hadn’t expected him to be this unpleasant on a personal level.
“You do know that Anya is an absolutely horrible liar, right? Have you considered trusting her because she’s your family? I trust her, why can't her own uncle?”

“I’ll be six feet under before I call Loidy ‘family’. The same extends to his shitty spying spawn,” Mr. Briar replied coldly.

What’s he have against Loid?

Anya rolled her eyes.
“That’s what I meant about mistrust. What I want to do is have Unkie give a letter to Gas-Coin, and pretend it was from me. Tell him that I want to be able to pass information back and forth about our common goal, but in order to do that, he needs to not have me arrested. I’d blackmail him to force him to accept. Say something like how I’ll mail my info to Unkie. I can say that I use Unkie because his address is easy to find, but I’m not sure how to get Gas-Coin’s info back to me without it being obvious that Unkie knows who I am…”

Becky thought for a second, before the solution struck her.
“Be bold, Anya!”

“What?”

“Be bold. Confident that Gascoigne will fold to your demands? Then who cares if he knows that Mr. Briar knows who you are. As long as you blackmail your uncle too, you’re safe.”

Mr. Briar was pissed.
“As long as you what?”

“Gascoigne knows what Anya looks like, and we’re counting on the blackmail to keep him silent. You also know what ‘Starlight’ looks like. So if Gascoigne thinks you are also under blackmail, he wouldn’t question that Anya delivered information to you in person, right? He wouldn’t question that you’re staying silent too.”

Ms. Chapman looked contemplative, her head in her hands. “It’s a risky gamble…”

Anya dropped a line that sounded straight out of Spy Wars (it probably was).
“It’s spycraft. Everything’s a risky gamble; and I’m nothing if not lucky.”

Becky began applying her well oiled blackmail muscles to the cause of her best friend’s freedom.
“First and foremost, when you propose this collaboration, acknowledge the sketchiness. Acknowledge that there is a lack of trust. Acknowledge that it’s uneasy. Acknowledge that you don’t trust him just as he doesn’t trust you.”

Mr. Briar laughed. “You can say that again. While you’re at it, acknowledge that you’re doing this because you’re a selfish shit!”

Becky stared at him, then she nodded.
“Yes, actually. You say Gascoigne thinks about himself above all else, so he will assume others think of themselves first too. Show him why you’re asking. What are the deal’s positives to you, rather than negatives to him?”

“Uh, keeps me out of jail?”

“Precisely!”

“You don’t trust Gascoigne. Would he trust you? More accurately, would he trust your information?”

Anya sat in silence and thought for several seconds.
“No. He wouldn’t.”

Her uncle’s scathing words followed
“Glad you finally noticed.”

“What if I offer more than just information? My services too!”

“Your… services?”

“Becky, I’m an intelligence operative. I don’t just deal in intel. I operate. I go on missions just the same. Stopping terrorists from blowing someone up is a normal Tuesday for me. I… I could take missions from the SSS too, if they’d just give them to me! It’s not like they have anyone at Eden they can easily act through.”

Ms. Chapman cleared her throat, but didn’t say anything.

“You don’t count, Auntie. You’re a teacher. Kids don’t listen to teachers, you should know that,” Anya snarked, rolling her eyes as she did.

A faint smile appeared on Ms. Chapman’s face. “I hate that you’re right. All I am is a pair of eyes, I can’t do much. Gascoigne might just take your offer.”

Anya’s eyes drew wide. “Would Wilker?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“You’re no fun, Unkie.”

Who’d have thought Anya could still bicker with the cops—her biggest enemy?
Just about everyone, actually. Anya bickers for a living.

“Appeal to authority. Is there some famous spy like Bondman who can back up your threats?”

“They’d be scared of Twilight, but he’s dead… You know, I think you would’ve liked Twilight. He was absolutely your type.”

Anya knows me so well… but there’s no way he could be as hot as Loid.
“Could you quote him?”

Anya spoke in a voice vaguely mimicking a man’s.
“I don’t understand women.”

Becky just stared at her.

“Fine, fine, fine. Ignorance isn’t bliss. It’s a weakness. More than that, it’s a sin.”

“That one’s much better.”
I can already imagine a hot spy guy saying that.

Mr. Briar oh so helpfully pointed out a flaw.
“Gascoigne might just arrest you anyway, the reputation from dragging in Starlight after what she supposedly did might just outweigh the blackmail for him. He gave me enough shit after you almost died on my watch, so try that; because if you die on his watch, any reputation he might get from bringing you in is lost. See if your agency can hook you up with a cyanide tooth, and make sure Gascoigne knows about it.”

Huh?
“The hell is a cyanide tooth?” Becky inquired.

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. A fake tooth filled with cyanide. So if I do get arrested I can just… end it…… before they……… torture me…………”
Anya’s voice trailed away.

“That’s awful!”
But she looks acceptant of that, as if it really would be better to die rather than be tortured!

“Yeah, but if he knows that capturing you means you die without giving any intel, that’s less of a positive for Gascoigne. More reason to keep you free,” Mr. Briar explained.

Is that really it? Or does he have any ulterior motive for suggesting Anya kill herself?

“If Gas-Coin does arrest me, how am I supposed to go through with the blackmail?”

“Got a living spy that they would fear?”

“Nightfall would rip them to shreds if I asked.”

“Then point that out in the letter.”

“Is Gascoigne a dad?”

Anya nodded. “His son’s in our year, actually. Gregor Gascoigne, in Specter Hall”

Ooh, juicy gossip. “Then appeal to children.”

Chloe pointed out the issue.
“He doesn’t really like his kid. Like, at all.”

“…then appeal to children being annoying?”

“You’re going to want to start and end your letter in an easygoing way. You ultimately want to work with them, yes? Be cheery. Light. Say something like, ‘It’s ya girl Starlight!’”

“Becky, that’s way too cringy.”

“Finish it with some cool title too. Sincerely, Enter, Agent Starlight. Enter. Protector of Peace.”

Anya was doubtful.
“That’s…”

Ms. Chapman backed Becky up.
“Honestly Anya, I think she’s got a point. That sounds overtly confident, which is exactly what a cunning spy does not sound like. It helps you seem harmless, which is what we want.”

“Exactly! Listen to Ms. Cha-err, to Chloe. You’ll be cringe, but you’ll be free. While you’re at it, showcase your easygoing attitude by addressing him as Gas Coin in the letter. It’d be funny. He’ll be mad enough anyways, I doubt it’ll make a difference.”

“The cheeriness is good, but you’re also going to want to be strict and stern. Don’t try to balance the mild cheer with mild seriousness, go all-out on both. Be bold and graphic in your threats.”

“Becky, the SSS is under the impression that I killed seventy-four people last night. They’re blaming the assassin’s rampage on me.”

Oh no.
“Then be respectful of grief. Gascoigne likely lost people he cares about, right? He will know you didn’t do it, right? How could you? You couldn’t hurt a fly with your hands in that state!”

“We all know Chihuahua Girl herself didn’t do it," Mr. Briar remarked. "Gascoigne assumes it to be the work of someone else at WISE, under her orders.”

“WISE?”

“Westalis Intelligence Services, Eastern. My employer," Anya provided. "Even if Gas-Coin thinks it to be WISE, I don’t think he cares particularly much. He’s a heartless bitch.”

Chloe started laughing.
“You can say that again. I swear the only use he sees in me is honeytrapping.”

Mr. Briar looked like he was going to punch the man—eyebrows scrunched, fist tightened—but allowed his words to go elsewhere.
“Still, Chad’s grieving. We may not be trying to use this letter on him, but it still needs to look like it's aimed at him. Be respectful. Condemn the attack, and maybe finish off the letter with a ‘with all due respect, Agent Starlight’.”
Who knew he could be so… formal?

“Might’ve gone a bit too far with the threats, actually…”

“Is that a problem?”

“You still want to be on his good side enough to work with him in the future, so a little bit, yeah. Try emphasizing that you don’t want to threaten him. It’s just there as insurance.”

Becky chuckled to herself, having crafted a truly devious plan.
“Anya, there’s an issue with this letter. You throw your threats out to force Gascoigne to abide by your rules, but you make no real promise that you’ll hold your word. I trust you, but does he?”

“I could make a pinky promise?”

Becky sighed.
“No one who’s older than eight is going to listen to a pinky promise. Plus, your pinkies are broken.”
They might trust it, considering it’s coming from a kid, but…
That’s not as good as this.
“You offer counterblackmail as tribute.”

“I offer what now?”

“Provide dirt of your own as a show of good will. Tell him that he’s free to reveal your secret should you break your word.”
It’s not like anyone actually blackmails themselves to establish trust, but I need Anya to think that for my plan to work.

“My biggest secret? That I’m a spy?”

“No, he already knows that one. Your other biggest secret.”
You know what it is, Anya. All you need to do is say it.

Anya looked at her knees and whimpered.
“I… can’t. It’s far too personal. I’ve only ever told one person… and a second figured it out themselves, but that’s it. If it gets out… It's over for me. I can’t trust Gas-Coin with it. He’d want to use that secret for his own gain.”

Anya, I didn’t realize you were so in denial… It’s really not that big of a deal. I mean, at least she’s admitted it to herself and someone else! I’ve worked it out of course, but who’s the person she told? No way it’s Desmond. Regardless, it’s a start—but she needs to put it in writing for it to really count.

“You need to blackmail everyone involved, regardless of if they’re on your side or not. It would look suspicious if Chloe wasn’t being blackmailed despite knowing what you look like.”

Anya nibbled on her lip in contemplation.
“Gas-Coin is easy, he’s a scumbag who cares too much about his outward appearance. Scarface cares about his relationship with his family first. If I threaten to reveal his job to Freddy, it should be enough for him.”

“Freddy? Freddy Curtis?”

“Scarface–er, Chad, sorry Unkie—is his grandpa.”

Woah. The things Anya must know but can’t tell anyone…
“You’re counting on Mr. Curtis to not rat you out, correct? I think you need something stronger. Threaten to break Freddy’s fingers! Like yours were.”

“I don’t want to hurt Freddy!”

“You won’t. I will.”

“Becky!” Anya gasped.

Becky ignored her. “As for Chloe… Any idea what we can blackmail you with?”

“Tell everyone at Eden that I work for the secret police,” Ms. Chapman said with a lighthearted shrug.

“Oh, yeah. Finally, Unkie.”

The man laughed.
“That’s easy. Threaten to tell Sis about my job.”

Chloe didn’t look surprised that he said that, nor did she look convinced that it would work.
“Yuri, you’re going to have the weight of this operation behind you. You’re going to admit to Gascoigne that you are withholding a spy’s identity.” 

Becky nodded.
“There had better be some damn strong blackmail weight behind that. The threat of an identity reveal isn’t enough.”

Anya looked at her uncle with a cold stare. She spoke with a tone that Becky had never heard from her best friend. A distant, frosty tone. A tone of no emotion, and of no remorse. The tone that must belong to Agent Starlight. Cold, hard, pragmaticism.
“Then I’ll threaten to kill her.”

Chloe looked at Anya in shock. Becky looked at Anya in horror. Mr. Briar looked at Anya with a stare of pure, raw, hatred. He spoke in a low, dangerous tone.
“You’ll do what?”

Dear Gas-Coin, Curtis, Briar, and Chapman

It’s me, Your favorite spy!
The one, the only, Agent Starlight.

As you can see, I’m no longer in your care. Curtis, Gas-Coin, you two have kids. You know what they’re like. Let them out of sight for just a moment, and they slip away. 

WISE heard about what happened last night.
I would like to express my deepest condolences for your colleagues.
I may resent what was done to me, but that was uncalled for.
I don’t want war. I want peace.
Peace between East and West.
Peace between the SSS and WISE.
Peace between you guys and myself.
That’s why I’m sending this letter.
You work for peace. I work for peace. Why not work together? It’s a fundamental issue with our organizations. We can’t pass intel back and forth, because we doubt each other too much.

So how about an uneasy alliance?
I gave this letter to Briar. He knows my true identity now.
Of course, if he tells anyone, his sister will pay the price.
But regardless, I can now pass information to Briar that could prevent a war. He can pass the same back to me.

I know it’s suspicious that I would offer intel so freely. After all, this is a cold war. Information is the name of the game. As Twilight himself once told me: Ignorance isn’t bliss. It’s a weakness. More than that, it’s a sin. Information can turn the tide of this war; turn it to peace.

So why offer it?
To save my own skin, of course. If I give you information, you have a reason to keep me alive and out of a cell. 

After yesterday, I learned just how miserable torture is. It may be hard to believe, but that was my first and only time experiencing that. It’s not going to happen again, I have a cyanide tooth at the ready now. What are you going to do, lock me up? Do that and I’ll be dead before you can get a word from my mouth.

I understand that it would be difficult for you to trust any intel I provide, so allow me to sweeten the deal: I’ll be a double agent.

My loyalty is to neither East nor West. Granted, I have no interest in petty intelligence disputes—I simply care for peace—so I won’t be helping you hurt WISE. However, my position at Eden College is very helpful for WISE. Would it not also be helpful for the SSS? My mission is to protect my friends, the children of the most powerful people in the country. Would you not also have an interest in their protection? I would happily allow myself to function as your agent within the school. Hear of a danger to Eden’s students? Pass it on to me. Tell me what you need me to do. I’m the person who’s in the best position to handle it, am I not?

Unfortunately, trust goes both ways. You don’t particularly trust me.
The same goes for me, I don’t particularly trust you.
I’m not about to offer up my identity freely.

Therefore:

Allow me to present an interesting fact: You four are the only ones currently alive who know what my face looks like.

You’re going to keep it that way.
As far as Wilker is concerned, there is nothing notable about my appearance in any way. You remember nothing.
You will tell Wilker nothing of me or this deal, besides what he already knows.
The same goes for all of your coworkers.
You will not pursue me, even though Briar knows my identity.
Briar will not tell anyone, not even you guys, of my identity.

If any of you four do otherwise, expect the following.

To Giacomo Gascoigne: I will tell Ruth about Vanessa. About Adriana. About Christine. About Ilse. Not only will I tell Ruth, but the whole world. Everyone will know who you really are. You can say goodbye to your reputation.

To Chadwick Curtis: I will tell Freddy what you really do for work, and then I will break his fingers as mine were.

To Chloe Chapman: I will tell everyone at Eden College that Ms. Chapman is an agent placed by the government to spy on us.

To Yuri Briar: I will tell your sister that you are in the SSS, and then I will kill her.

I don’t intend for these threats to be… threatening. They are merely the weight behind my words, to guarantee my freedom. If anything, they are a show of good will. I could ruin every one of your lives, but I haven’t. I won’t, if I don’t have to. I’d get nothing from it. I have no malice. I do not wish to go through with my threats. Keep your mouths shut, and I never will. Open them, and even if you should capture me before I can act on them, trust that my aunt Nightfall will finish the job—she would take great joy in it.

You have my word.

If I break it and say anything, you can tell Damian Desmond my most mortifying secret:

I think I’m in love.

With all due respect;
Agent Starlight
Protector of Peace

P.S.
I would make a pinky promise if my pinkies weren’t broken. If that doesn’t show you how serious I am, I don’t know what would.

P.P.S.
Using a typewriter with your nose is hard.

Chapter Text

MONDAY 1962-11-05

Becky breathed a sigh of relief as she sat down on the foot of Anya’s bed. Her uncle had left to “clock back in for work” (read: deliver the letter) as soon as Mrs. Forger got home, and Ms. Chapman left with him. Thus, the two girls retreated to Anya’s bedroom so they could continue their clandestine discussions until Martha returned to pick her up.

“Becky?”

“Yeah?”

“I… don’t know what to do.”

“You could tell me more funny stories of your missions.”

“No, I meant like…” The girl sighed. “My mission yesterday, it was really rough. Operation Scarlet Salmon. I was to be arrested, feed the SSS a bunch of bogus information, then break out.”

She intentionally got arrested? Intentionally subjected herself to torture?
“Why? Why you?”

“They picked me because I have family in the SSS that we could count on to help me get out. Plus, kids have a tendency to be trusted. The operation was to free Handler. She’s my boss. She’s been getting stalked by the SSS for ages. She can barely operate, her surveillance is so strict. I was to throw the SSS off her tail. Convince them that someone else was the boss, that Handler has nothing to do with WISE. It worked, but I had to give up so much information first for them to trust me… true information, Becky. They… they know my mission is at Eden. They know I’m in Sy-on’s grade. And they know I have ten broken fingers. How many people does that narrow down to?”

Becky felt her heart stop.
“But… we blackmailed them, right? They won’t come after you, even though they could. Right?”

Anya looked at the floor.

“Anya?”

She turned to Becky.
“We’ve blackmailed the people who saw my face. But Wilhelm Wilker? The director of the SSS? He’s not one to be blackmailed. He may not know what I look like, but I'm positive he read the interrogation transcript. He knows what grade at Eden I’m in. He knows I have ten broken fingers. How many people are in our grade with ten broken fingers? We may have silenced the people who would be able to pick me out of a suspect lineup, but that’s not going to help when the lineup is… just me.”

“Anya…”

A single tear appeared in Anya's eye. “Becky, it’s only a matter of time until they comb the school for broken fingers, find me, and have me executed.”

Becky’s mind was running on all cylinders.
“How many people are in our grade with ten broken fingers?”
“That’s not going to help when the lineup is just me.”
“A matter of time until they comb the school for broken fingers.”
Oh, I have just the idea.

“Becky, that’s a horrible idea!”

“No, it’s geniu–hold on, I didn’t even say my idea! Give me a chance!”

“It’s written all over your face. You want to add to the list of suspects, by creating incidents of broken fingers. You forget, I’m a spy. I’m trained to know exactly what people are thinking.”

Now that I think about it, I didn’t even say I had an idea in the first place! Trained to know exactly what people are thinking… Yeah, no kidding. It’s almost as if she could literally read my mind!

Anya snickered to herself. “Took you long enough.”

Becky jumped out of the bed. “What th–”

“Yes, I can read people’s minds,” Anya said with a smile.

A second passed.
Memories flew through Becky’s mind.
2 seconds.
Anya giving the right answer when called on, despite having clearly just been asleep.
3.
Anya having incredible “luck” when playing cards.
4.
Anya with an empty gaze in her eyes, spacing out, lost in thought.
5.
Anya always two steps ahead of her opponent in any sports game, from tennis to dodgeball.
6.
Anya jumping in surprise when no sound was made.
7.
Anya asking to hang out at specific times, that just happened to work for everyone.
8.
Anya's fluency in every possible language.
9.
Anya translating what Meg was signing… in the dark.
10.
Anya never missing an “up high, down low, too slow”.
11.
Anya telling her that Evelyn was definitely into her, with utmost certainty.
12.
Anya showing no fear in front of the busjackers, as if she knew they were bluffing.
13.
Anya pinpointing the bus’s destination as Papier Palace Park.
14.
Becky finally formed a cohesive thought.
15.
Crowley was right?!

“How is that your first thought? Well, thirteenth. But still–”

“What else would it be?”

“Something like, ‘get out of my head you freak, and never talk to me again’?”

What? People say that?

“Damian did. At first, at least.”

“You told Desmond before me?” Becky grumbled incredulously.

“Yeah? He asked. End of term gala, first year. After I won that competition to dance with him. ‘How’d you know about my dog and the pond? Can you read minds or something?’ and so I told him. ‘Yes. I can read people’s minds.’”

Becky let out a big squee.
“You told him your deepest darkest secret, while you were dancing, just because he asked? Oh my gosh Anya, that’s so romantic!”

“Keep your voice down, Mama doesn’t know.”

“She doesn’t?”

“No. Neither does Papa. Not even Twilight knew. Sy-on Boy knows, and my boss knows, and Curtis worked it out in the interrogation. That’s it.”

That's it?
“What about Crowley?”

“He’s just making a wild shot in the dark that happened to hit true," Anya laughed. "He’s right, but for all the wrong reasons. That doesn’t count. He doesn’t even believe it himself these days, he’s just committed to the bit.”

“Aren’t you worried about people taking him seriously?”

Anya shook her head.
“Who would take him seriously?”

Connie maybe, but even she would draw the line before believing in telepathy…
Wait, she said Mr. Curtis knows. Wouldn’t he just… tell the SSS?

“He promised in his head that he wouldn’t.”

Becky jumped again. I’m never going to get used to that. “Couldn’t he just lie?”

“You can’t lie in your own mind. Unless you’re Twilight. His mind always lied. ‘I’m not in love with her. These feelings aren’t real. It’s all for the mission.’ Spoiler alert: It wasn’t for the mission.”

“…her?”

“The Thorn Princess. A legendary assassin. She’s the one who killed all those people last night. My guardian angel. And… she’s Twilight’s wife. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her, and yet he did. I told the SSS that Twilight died seven years ago. That’s not fully the truth. The man is still alive… but he’s no longer Twilight.”

“Did he fake his death to stay with her after the mission? That’s so romantic, oh my God…”

Anya smiled wistfully.
“What do you think?

Becky sat in contemplation over this massive revelation.
Anya can read minds. Just like being a spy, this sounds like something out of one of her mangas! And yet, she’s telling the truth, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Hell, it’s probably why she of all people became a spy as a child. It must be so damn useful…

“Yeah. It’s actually how I was recruited. Twilight was thinking about how he was supposed to find a kid who went to Eden to be a spy, and I thought that was so cool so I–”

“Goddamnit Anya, stop reading my thoughts! It’s creepy!”
Becky regretted her words as soon as they left her mouth. Moreso when she saw the dismay on her best friend’s face. Before she could take them back, Anya spoke.

“Sorry, but I… can’t control it. I get everyone’s thoughts, all the time. I don’t get a moment of peace in my own head. I hear so many things I don’t want to hear. I know what war flashbacks Papa is having. I hear what Mama is thinking about Papa. I know what everyone who thinks I’m weird is thinking, word for word. I know that Henderson is thinking I’m stupid. I can barely hear my own thoughts during class… but crowds? A hundred people? A thousand people? The thoughts are so overpowering they pour out of my nose. That’s why I have nosebleeds. Telepathic meltdown, not hemophilia. Don’t even get me started on reading the minds of hormonal teenagers all day…”

Oh. Becky shuddered. She did not envy her friend.
“I’m sorry for calling you creepy, I just…”
She weighed the options of what to say in her mind, ignoring that it was very much an open book to the girl sitting next to her. “I guess I’m just hurt. Hurt that it took you seven years to tell me.”
Was that the wrong thing to say? I’m sor–

“You’re right. I really should’ve told you ages ago. I’m just… scared. Telling Damian was a very… spur of the moment decision. He didn’t even believe me, but put the pieces together a year later. I regretted it as soon as I told him. It took me ages to trust that he wouldn’t tell anyone. He was so freaked out at first. Now, he’s super casual about letting me into his mind.”

“Letting you into his mind? That sounds…” Really sexual!

“Becky, stop. It’s not what it sounds like. It’s not like I can turn it off, but having someone’s thoughts to focus on? A brain to hang out in when everything’s getting too much? It helps a lot. When I say he lets me into his mind, I mean that like… he tries to avoid thinking too hard when I give him the signal, to give me a calm space to exist. Sometimes we’ll just, have a conversation. He’s remarkably chatty when it’s just his thoughts and me reading them.”

Holy shit. That’s so romantic.
“The signal?”

Anya blushed.
“We have a whole system. I extend specific sets of fingers and that corresponds to a letter, so like an index and middle finger is an E, a thumb an–”

“Anya, don’t tell me. The fact that you and Desmond have a way to talk to each other and no one else could possibly know it’s happening? It’s so cute!”

Anya shot her a killer glare.
“Becky, he doesn’t like me back.”

Pfft. Has she even seen his face whenever she walks into the room?

“I’m serious! I know better than anyone what other people are thinking. Sy-on doesn’t feel a thing for me. I’m just a friend to him, and that’s okay.”

Anya’s voice cracked on the final word, suggesting that it was most certainly not okay.

“Anya?”

A tear fell down her cheek.

“Anya, I know I always tease you about him, but you really don’t need him. You can do so much better than that jerk.”

“You’d be hard pressed not to feel something when you’ve been protecting him for as long as you can remember.”

Becky didn’t have a response, so she gave Anya a hug. Anya whimpered in pain.
Fuck. I forgot she’s hurt.

“How does it work?”

“Uh, well, I pick up on thoughts around me. I’m not hearing words, or seeing images, it’s–” Anya bit her lip in contemplation, as she tried to describe vision to the blind.
“It’s a separate sixth sense. It’s not hard, it’s like… instinctive. Effortless? You’ve learned throughout your life what a pattern of light “looks” like, just as I’ve learned what a pattern of thoughts… thinks like? Is that the right word?”

Becky suppressed a sigh. For being a spy, Anya could be remarkably dumb. “That’s very interesting and all, but I meant like… why can you do it?”

“Oh. It’s… genetic?” Anya said with unreadable apprehension. “Mommy could. She never told Papa. That’s why I’ve never told him. I… don’t want him to think differently of her now that she’s dead.”

Anya never talks about her birth mother…

“She was murdered.”

Oh. That’s–

“Because of what she could do.”

Oh.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you for so long.”

That’s perfectly understandable…

“Honestly, I can barely remember her. All I remember is a lot of headaches.”

Headaches?

“Well, I would read her mind, where I would pick up on my own thoughts that she was reading, which in turn were her own thoughts being read by my mind, which uh… yeah. Telepathic feedback loop. You ever called a phone right next to you, and put the two together? High screechy sound? That, but in your head, constantly.”

Becky couldn’t help but laugh. That sounds miserable.

“It was. Probably. I don’t really remember, I was like three.”

“If you don’t want me to teach you our so-called ‘Damianya Hand Code’, can I at least teach you Morse?”

“That’s the beepy thing, right?”

“Yes, the beepy thing. Combinations of short and long beeps—or in this case, taps on my desk—mean different letters.”

Becky nodded.
“Does Damian know it?”

“No, but Meggie and Can of Worms do.”

Anya and Connie had a running joke where Anya pretended to not know the girl’s name, calling her anything that started with C.
Meg makes sense, but why would Connie know Morse? Just to talk with Meg?

“Ok, so a short beep followed by a long one is an A…”

“Anya, Anya, Anya. I have the best idea.”

“I’ve heard a lot of ideas in my life, so I highly doubt that.”

“You can tell who people are into, right?”

Anya nodded.

“You could be such a great matchmaker! Put people together with no risk of them not liking each other!”

“Becky, I’m not Eden’s Cupid. You are. I don’t know a thing about romance.”

“Then we combine our talents! Tell me what people are thinking about each other, and I can handle the rest!”

Anya shook her head. “People are entitled to the privacy of their own thoughts. I feel bad enough intruding on that myself, but letting the biggest gossip I know in on that? It doesn’t feel right.”

“I can keep secrets!”

Anya looked at Becky with a sharp glare.
“You better. You can’t tell a soul that Anya Forger is a telepath or a spy.”

“I’d– I'd never dream of it.”
Becky meant every word, and Anya knew that.

“Oh my God! I can finally tell you about Daybreak!”

"Huh?”

"Ok so, sometimes my agency has to send people to break into the school and change my test answers so I don't rack up bolts…”

Becky gasped for air between her laughs.
Of course they have to. 

" …and one time we ran into another spy who was also trying to change someone's answers! He was so bad, he tried to leave an autograph on the test, it was hilarious.”

“A spy left an autograph? Even I know that’s stupid."

“We dealt with him before he could. Turns out, Gloomy hired him to make Sy-on fail his tests." 

Becky's laughter only increased from there, until it stopped in her confusion.
“Hold on. Anya? You can read minds… and your agency still needs to break into the school to fix your test answers? You can literally just cheat, how are you still getting bolts?”

“You try concentrating on a test with the thoughts of thirty people in your head! How am I supposed to know who’s thinking the correct answers?”

“Ok, yeah, that sounds miserable.” A pause. “If you could choose, would you be… normal?”

“Never. I don’t think I would know how to navigate social interactions without telepathy, I’m so used to it. I wouldn’t have my job, which I love, and we would have a war, which I’d hate. There’s been quite a few really close calls that couldn’t’ve been saved without me. We wouldn’t have found the bombs on the cruise if I hadn’t read the bad guy’s mind.”
Anya shuddered.

“So much pressure…”

“You can say that again.”

So much pressure…

“That works too.”

Both girls laughed.

“I’m telling you Anya, the true enemy of romance is miscommunication! Misunderstandings always cause the biggest problems!”

“The same is true for politics. Your point?”

“I’m saying it would be a huge help for every lover at our school if you could just tell me who is into who! You have my oath, I won’t tell a soul, I’ll just try to get them together.”

Anya sighed.
“I’ll think about it.”

That’s basically a yes!

A glare.

Shit. She heard that.

Becky jumped up as she was hit with a sudden realization.
“You cheat at tennis!”

Anya frowned.
“Cheating? Where in the rules for tennis does it say I’m not allowed to read people’s minds?”

Becky opened her mouth to try to retort.
“I–”
Hmm.
“Still, it’s not fair. Even if you can’t help but know what your opponent is thinking, you have an advantage.”

“I’m naturally gifted. Some people are more naturally flexible than others. They have an advantage at gymnastics. Tall people have an advantage at basketball. Is that fair? Are they cheating?”

Becky didn’t have a response to that.

“Pro sports players are rarely the best because of hard work alone, they’re often very genetically suited for what they do. Plus, it’s actually really difficult to not lose myself in everyone’s thoughts. Especially when Allie can’t make up her damn mind on what she’s going to do!”

Becky laughed.

“Although I will admit that I cheat at poker. Good income.”

“Hey! You can just ask me for money, you know?”

“What do you see in that hunk? He’s always calling you stupid!”

“Sy-on’s different on the inside! It’s like he’s always putting on an act, so no one sees the real him. Well, no one except me,” Anya whispered with a blush. “He’s really sweet in his head… He says I’m a stupid dummy uggo, but he thinks of me as a friend! His best friend, besides the henchlings. I know he acts like a jerk, but he’s nice when no one’s looking, like in his mind. He thinks answers to me during tests, and if I get woken up by getting called on he’ll send me the answer telepathically!”

Oh my god? Damian “academic integrity” Desmond helps Anya cheat?!

Anya kept talking as if she hadn’t heard Becky’s thoughts. “He carries a bunch of handkerchiefs all the time to help my nosebleeds when I get carried away reading minds. He worries about that all the time, it’s actually kind of tiring, but it’s touching that he cares. He covers for me so I can slip away at assemblies because crowds have too many thoughts. Oh, and sometimes he’ll hum in his head for me. The soundtrack from Bondman, usually. It’s like he’s my own personal radio.”
Anya had a soft smile on her face as she spoke.

Oh, lord. She’s absolutely smitten.

“You’re taking this a lot better than I expected,” Anya admitted.

“What were you expecting?”

“At least embarrassment, that I know all your deepest secrets…”

“Yeah, but don’t you know everyone’s deepest secrets? It’s hardly special to me. I highly doubt that what’s in my mind is the most embarrassing thing you’ve heard.”

“True. I may have to deal with you thirsting over my dad, but at least you’re not… Billie.”

“Wait, who’s he into–”

“Henderson.”

Oh my God. That's–

"Inelegant?"

“Hold on, how does telepathy even make you good at chess? Elman is on the chess team, and you beat him without ever playing!”

“I tricked him into thinking I was super good, then I just did whatever move he was hoping I wouldn’t make. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.”

You're scary.

“You know, Crowley’s tried all these weird ways to conceal his thoughts from me and it's really funny because none of them work.”

“Like what? Is he hiding a tin foil hat under his hair? It’s got the right shape.”

Anya snorted.
“Well, let’s see. He tried to think about nothing. That works, but you can’t do anything without thinking. Instead he’d think very loudly about something over the top of his real thoughts, but that’s mostly just annoying. Imagine looking at a black and white drawing, with a flash of neon green. It catches your eye, but that doesn’t mean you can’t see the rest.”

So you see everything going on in everyone’s head? No way to stop it?

“Well, you can wait. Crowley’s right about my telepathy, it’s based on the moon. But he has it totally wrong, which is why he can never confirm it. He thinks I can only read minds on the night of a new moon, but it's the opposite. I can’t read minds during a new moon, and I don’t have the slightest clue why. When exams fall on the new moon, that’s when we have to break into the school. Honestly though, the break from the constant barrage of thoughts is nice. There’s a new moon the day after tomorrow and I can’t wait.”

“This is lunar now? What are you, a werewolf?”

“Not a werewolf, just psychic." Anya shrugged. "Y’know, Crowley’s also tried thinking in Francian, Ruskian, and Italarian before. When I read minds I get the concepts as well as the words themselves so it doesn’t really matter.”

“So that’s why you’re so good at classical?”

“Kind of. It’s actually my first language.”

Wait, what?

“I kind of mentioned it earlier by accident, but Mommy was a prisoner of war in an Ostanian camp from when she was six until she was like… seventeen? I think?”

“What the hell?”

“Yeah. Since Mommy already knew classical, so she taught it to the other POW’s. They only ever spoke in classical to keep what little privacy they had, because the guards didn’t know it like they knew Ostanian or Westalian. But that was eleven years, so her Westalian got super rough. Papa actually learned classical for her, so it’s the language I grew up with, alongside some rough Westalian, even though I lived in Ostania. It’s… actually why I used to talk with such bad grammar. I didn’t learn Ostanian until I was like four.”

Becky sat in silence, contemplating the fact that Ostanian was actually her best friend’s third language. That her mom had such a horrible life.
I’m at least glad that Anya didn’t have to experience that.

“How many languages do you know?”

Anya inhaled.
“I’d say I’m fluent in Classical, Westalian, Ostanian, Albarian, Septevian, Nordican, Italiarian, Francian, and Ruskian. I’m pretty good with Yaponese, Spainian, Arabanian, Czheckian, Polsian, Vetnese, Dotch, and Portugan. And I’m at least conversational in Eastonian, Hindese, Ukrawnian, Creek, Solvakian, Romantican, and Finalian.”

That’s too many. You basically know every language.

“Yeah, pretty much. There’s no language barrier in the mind. If someone knows a language and thinks in it near me, I pick it up like a sponge. It’s honestly pretty rough. I can’t tell you how many times I pick up a word from someone’s thoughts, think I picked up the correct meaning with it, and then it turns out that they weren't using it correctly. I said ‘fuck’ thinking it was merely an expression of frustration, because that’s how Unkie uses it in his head. Turns out it means a lot more than that…”

Becky couldn’t stop herself from snorting.
“What did your parents think of that?”

“They wanted to know where I learned it from. I threw you under the bus, because I can’t exactly say I heard ‘fuck’ in someone’s thoughts, can I?”

“Hey!”

“At least when it came to getting a bolt from that, they in turn threw my Uncle Scruffy under the bus.”

“Better him than me.”

“I know that because you’re rich and all, you get to have a mansion big enough where your bedroom is nowhere near your parents’, but uh…”

Becky knew where this was going, and she didn’t like it.

“You think hearing your parents getting on with it at night is bad? Try getting their thoughts too.” Anya wretched.

“Anyaaaaaaaaaaa,” Becky groaned. “Pleaseee. I need to set people up! Who likes who?”

She sighed.
“It’s complicated.”

Becky was ecstatic.
The drama will be so good!

Anya lowered her eyes in an unimpressed glare.
“From least drama inducing to most. Swoops is into you.”

Egeburg likes me? Hell yes! I’m asking her out tomorrow, then.

Anya ignored her thoughts. “Gloomy has no thoughts of romance in his mind at all. At least none with any hope. It’s all just, ‘no one could ever love a lost soul like myself, woe is me’, so he never thinks about being into anyone.”

He’s like that in his mind too?

“Yes. He’s miserable to be around, the thoughts infect my own mood. In other news, Billie is into Snacks, who’s definitely gay but he hasn’t realized it yet.”

Alright. Give Elman his gay awakening. I can do that, can’t be hard. As for Bill… get him away from Henderson.

Anya stared at her best friend, then continued
“Jessica is into Grace. Grace is into Jessica. They’re both waiting for the other to make the first move.”

Cowards. Romance requires a good confession. You got to put your heart on the table and risk it all!

“No, it’s not that. They both know how the other feels. They just think that saying it would make them weak. It would be shameful. That they’d lose some unspoken battle. Surely the other will crack and admit it first, right?”

Now that’s more like it. This sounds like some third-rate rom-com! 

“Becky, I’m talking about people. Not characters in a TV show. Real people. With lives. Not your dolls to make kiss or whatnot.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know.
“Real people, with lives, that could be made better if I could just tell them that their crush is into them!”

“It’s not always that simple, Becks. Take Tertius. He’s… really into Meggie. Daydreams about ruling Septevia with her by his side. Meggie thinks Tertius is into me, so she wouldn’t dare shoot a shot with him even if she wanted to—which she doesn’t. She’s crushing on Freddy, because he actually bothered to learn sign language.”

A love triangle. But her attraction towards Freddy sounds superficial. As long as Freddy’s not interested, it could be resolved simply–

“And Freddy’s thoughts are all ‘step on me, Mommy’, about Allie.”

Well, that’s simple. Just need to get Meg with Tertius, and Freddy with Alic–

“High class society is so ingrained in Allie that she only sees relationships for their status and connections. She’d never date without the intention to marry, and no way in hell would she marry a ‘commoner’ like Freddy. Only someone like Sy-on is ‘good enough’ for her. But she, like everyone else, is under the delusion that he’s too engrossed in me to pay attention to her. I think she needs to just shoot her shot, but she gave up.”

That would never work. Desmond is absolutely smitten.

Anya glared at her.
“She’s gunning for Tertius now. Figures that if her dad beats Desmond in the primaries next year, she could unite Ostania with Septevia.”

How ambitious. In that case, Alice and Tertius, Meg and Fredd–

“Tertius would sooner ask Freddy to be his queen than accept a marriage proposal from Allie. Thinks she’s too snobby.”

Becky muttered under her breath.
“Takes one to know one. They’d be a perfect match.”

“I guess so. Now Corn on the Cob is…” Anya laughed nervously. “Gay. Very gay.”

Becky laughed. “Connie's a lesbian! What else is new?”

“She thinks I’m hot.”

“You are!”

“No, like, she finds me attractive. In a gay way. Honestly, it’s quite the confidence boost whenever Sy-on calls me an uggo…”

Now that’s juicy!
“Then ask her out!”

Anya flushed in embarrassment.
“No! I don’t like her! Not like that.”

Becky snickered.
“Your loss. Connie would be quite the catch.”

"Then you ask her out!"

"Depends on what Evelyn says tomorrow, I guess."

“Are there any other telepaths? Or is it just you and your mom?”

Anya nervously hummed. “Maaaybe?”

What’s that supposed to mean?

“I’ve read Sy-on’s Mom’s thoughts and they’re a huge mess. Because she’s absolutely crazy. And in her head I saw that… she’s convinced her husband is a mind reading alien.”

There’s no way Donovan Desmond is an alien.

“No, but something has to have given her that idea. A look in Super Sy-on’s head agrees. He’s always pushing his thoughts down, trying to keep a clear head. As if he’s scared someone’s going to come looking. Of course, it doesn’t stop me, but if Donovan’s telepathy is weaker than mine? It might work.”

If it’s genetic, why can’t Damian read minds?

Anya chuckled.
“That’s just it. I don’t think Sy-on’s dad is actually his dad. I think his butler, Jeeves, is his dad.”

Now that’s drama.

“I suppose so. Anyway, I stay away from Sy-on’s dad at all costs to make sure I don’t get hurt by the feedback. And y’know, don’t reveal my entire agency’s plans to the enemy. So uh. Becky? You’re going to need to stay away from him too now that you know too much.”

Works with me. He’s creepy as hell!

“What are different people’s minds like?”

“Well, Mama’s either overthinking everything or not thinking at all. There’s no in-between. Papa’s head can’t shut up. He never stops thinking about work. There’s actually multiple Papas up in there, and they argue with each other all the time.”

Multiple Loids?!

“Not Loid. They have their own name. But they’re all my Papa. It’s hard to explain. Anyway, Unkie’s head is violent, and Hendy’s mind is very elegant: if his internal monologue accidentally cusses, he’ll follow it up with something like ‘oh dear, I cannot think in such vulgarities,’” Anya spoke in an impeccable impersonation of their housemaster.

“Of course he would. What do you find in the boys’ minds?”

“Get your head out of the gutter, Becky! Freddy’s mind is super normal. There’s like, nothing to comment on. Gloomy is always thinking depressing stuff. Makes me depressed too. I try to stay away from Crowley’s head as best as I can. Don’t want to react to something and give him more evidence. Tertius is always narrating his life in his head like he’s the main character of an overly dramatic play.”

Becky cracked up.
Of course he would do that.
“What about our group?”

“Your brain is on crack. There’s no other way to describe it. You have like ten different lines of thought running at once and I can’t keep up. Billie’s head is… stressful. I mean it’s fine, but he’s so competitive. Even with himself. Allie is super indecisive. I try to keep up as she’s trying to choose between a handful of different courses of action, and then she’ll just randomly do something completely different that she hadn’t even thought about. Keeps me on my toes.” 

I suppose that slightly balances the telepathic tennis advantage…

“Meggie’s mind is peaceful. Her thoughts are very poetic, it’s odd just how often they rhyme. Great place to hang out if you’re okay with being subtly bombarded with her reciting her chemistry notes. Although she does swear a lot in her head.”

That’s… very un-Meg.

“As for Cuticle, her head is… How do I describe it? Her brain contains the screaming souls of the damned. Murder is the first solution she jumps to in regards to any minor inconvenience.”

Becky’s eyes widened.
“Has she… ever…”

“That depends on what point does a death become a murder.”

“If you have to ask that, then the answer is yes, it’s murder!”
Wait…
“Have you ever killed someone?”
Besides that time you supposedly killed a guy to get your eighth Stella. I always doubted that story, even though Desmond backed it up, but now… yeah, it’s probably true.

“That one’s real. Read a bad guy's mind and killed him before he could hurt Sy-on. As for other kills…” Anya hesitated before speaking. “I rarely do them directly?”

Becky was suddenly very nervous.
“…how?”

“Peanuts!”

Silence.

“Ok so, one time I had this mission. I was supposed to tail this lady to a restaurant, but I found out one of the waiters was going to assassinate her while she was eating! He was gonna make a bomb out of kitchen supplies, bring it to her table, and set it off. Fortunately for me, he thought how he would make the bomb in graphic step by step detail. So I beat him to it.”

“Anya… don’t tell me you…”

“Don’t worry, I toned it down. It just gave him serious burns and a serious lesson, to not try that. Ever since that day, I’ve known how to make a bomb with nothing but peanuts, powdered sugar, and potassium nitrate! And some other ingredients depending on how deadly I wanna make it. When I need someone gone, a good ole peanut bomb usually does the trick.”

“Anya, you’re fucking crazy, your job is fucking crazy–”

“I love my job!”

“–your whole life is fucking crazy. I should write a biography.”

“But Becky, it’s all classified!”

“What if I change names and stuff and call it fiction? The ‘fictional’ adventures of a telepathic child spy?”

Anya raised an eyebrow, but smiled.
“That’s… not a bad premise. But you could make it better. Give her a precognitant dog.”

Becky looked at her friend incredulously.

“I’m being serious! Bond can see the future!”

What the fuck.

“He gets random visions where he’ll see the future! And then I read his mind and then I know the future.”

Telepathy was one thing, but this…

“Usually he just has visions about what’ll be for dinner. Although he saw you coming over this afternoon, finding out about my job, and taking it pretty well. So that was a pleasant surprise.”

Becky had no idea what to believe at this point.

“What really sucks is when he has visions of death. Don’t get me wrong, it’s really helpful to know how I’ll die on a mission so I can, like… not die, but…”
Anya shuddered, and Becky shuddered with her.

Oh my god. She’s telling the truth. It can’t be fun to watch your own death.

The two sat in silence for several minutes. Becky looked over as a tear fell from Anya’s eye. Anya was silent. Becky was silent. Her thoughts were too.

Anya sighed.
“I saw Damian get murdered.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

The silence stretched on for an eternity before Becky spoke.
“Anya? I know this whole ‘you being a spy’ thing is top secret, but... If you ever need anything for a mission? Just let me know. An intervention, a distraction, an accomplice, funding, manpower, whatever it is? I’m your girl. You don’t have to shoulder the burden of world peace on your own shoulders.”

Anya enveloped her in a hug, injuries be damned.
“Thank you, Becky.”

Becky was taken off guard.
“Uh… anytime!”
But she meant it.

Operation Scarlet Salmon: Mission Notes

From Anya Forger (Alias: Test Subject 007)

Becky knows. Becky knows I can read minds, and she doesn’t hate me for it. She listened, she accepted it, and I’m safe. Oh, who am I kidding. It’s Becky. Of course she would be okay with it. But now she’s another person who believes that I’m a spy! Why did I let that happen… I’m not a fucking spy! It was hard to spin a fake story about my past and Twilight’s past that didn’t reveal that Papa is Twilight or that I’m just a lab rat. I just need to hope that the blackmail works, and that Becky doesn’t try anything ridiculous…

From Rebecca Blackbell (Alias: Becky)

Oh my God. I don’t know which is more exciting, that Anya is a spy, or that she can read minds. Actually, scratch that. Spies are real. Telepaths aren’t (or at least I thought). That makes Anya’s telepathy infinitely cooler than her job, although both are super cool. Crazy that both her aunt (our teacher!) and her uncle (Yor’s brother!) are secret police officers.

From Sylvia Sherwood (Alias: Handler)

Project Apple. Midnight said Anya was a Project Apple test subject. WISE has had no information suggesting that there were human subjects in Project Apple. I’ll need to dig into this.

From Chloe Chapman (Alias: Midnight)

It worked! Starlight is safe. I’d report it to Handler, but it’s better to avoid any communication that’s not absolutely necessary. I’m sure Starlight will tell her.

From Yuri Briar

I delivered the blackmail to Gascoigne and Chad. By some miracle, it worked. They accepted the possibility of getting intel from Starlight. Chad seemed like he might have even believed her when she said WISE didn’t do the massacre. Gascoigne was utterly unconvinced, but he didn’t seem to care. They both know that I know who Starlight is, and they aren’t pressing me for more. I just need to hope Wilker doesn’t find out; he would throw me in a cell right away.

From Chadwick Curtis (Alias: Scarface)

WISE didn’t kill all those people? I highly doubt that. Although the letter says I can’t tell State Security about her… she never said I couldn’t tell Garden, did she?

From Giacomo Gascoigne (Alias: Gas-Coin)

That little… how did Starlight know? WISE’s informant web is scarily thorough. If I don’t want to lose my influence as a respectable member of the secret police, I’ll need to let her go—the exact opposite of what a respectable secret policeman would do. How ironic.

From Martha Marriott (Alias: Daffodil)

My job is to protect Becky, and I fear I may have failed by allowing her to get entangled with this spy. This spy… Anya is a spy? That doesn’t sound right. She must’ve been roleplaying. And yet, I know in my heart that she wasn’t joking. She is a spy. She knows my Garden moniker even though I’m retired. Even her mother, a Garden member herself, doesn’t know my identity as Daffodil. Yes, it’s clear that Anya Forger—Agent Starlight, rather—knows far more than she lets on.

From Yor Forger (Aliases: Thorn Princess, Nightshade)

I’m so glad that Anya has a friend as good as Becky. I don’t know what they’ve been talking about since I got home, but I’ve heard so much laughter from her room. Not even torture can keep Anya down.

From Fiona Frost (Alias: Nightfall)

Handler had Sundown tailing Yuri Briar to verify he doesn’t know Loid Forger is Twilight. He’s been narrating his every action onto a bug for me to transcribe. It’s quite odd. Why were Yuri Briar, Chloe Chapman, Anya Forger, and Becky Blackbell writing a letter? Who to? Why? What for? It’s a strange group of people to be working together. Didn’t Yuri Briar think Anya was a spy?

From Loid Forger (Alias: Twilight)

One side mission after another after another. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Handler is trying to keep me too busy to look into whatever is happening. Because I know something is happening. When I got home I saw Yuri and Chloe leaving, but I noticed Sundown had been spying into my apartment. Why was he watching my family? When I confronted him, all he said was “Handler’s orders”, then left to tail Yuri. Something is definitely going on.

Chapter Text

MONDAY 1962-11-05

“Yor? You seem… distracted today. Like, more than usual.”

Hemlock wanted to smash Camilla’s head open with a rock. Did this woman seriously have nothing better to do than gossip?

Yor sighed.
“I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. Anya was in the hospital. She’s home today, and Yuri’s watching her, but I just…”
Her voice trailed away as her grip on Chief Barnes’ coffee tightened.

Sharon finished her sentence.
“Feel bad that you aren’t there for her?”

“Yes, but I also feel bad for Yuri. He and Anya don’t really… get along. But this is the second day in a row that I’ve asked him to spend his day off with her. Plus, Loid doesn’t really trust Yuri, so Yuri needed to ask his girlfriend to join him, so she had to take the day off too. I’d stay with Anya, but I don’t have any more vacation days! I know Anya is old enough to be left by herself, but she’s just had surgery! What if she needs something? Yuri has to go back to work tomorrow, and I don’t know who to ask!”
The mug in her hand shattered.

We get it, Princess. You have a picture perfect family life and your precious daughter who means the world to you is hurt. Now shut up.
“I can watch your daughter tomorrow if it would help.”
Hemlock immediately regretted speaking.
Wait, what did I just say? There’s no peace nor solitude to be found around her daughter. I’ve only met her a few times, but she’s got the energy of a hyperactive chihuahua. Can I take back my offer? What if I were to–

“You’d do that, Julian? That would be…”
Yor looked contemplative, as if she really wanted to accept the offer, but didn’t trust her coworker—who had threatened her family time and time again in the past—around her daughter.
Please decline. Please decline. Please decline.

Millie looked between Hemlock and Yor, realizing Yor’s discomfort with allowing the assassin around her family—not realizing that Yor, too, was an assassin.
“I can babysit Anya too! Would that work?”
You just want an excuse to be around me all day, don’t you?

“Really? That would be great! I can’t thank you two enough!”

Millie, why couldn’t you have just kept your mouth shut?
…not that I could keep mine shut either.

TUESDAY 1962-11-06

Of course, filing papers at city hall and babysitting pink haired brats was not all the man did. Hemlock was at the Shopkeeper’s mansion early the next morning, to report on his “pruning”; that is, his disposal of an arms dealer the previous day.

“Ah, look what the cat dragged in! How’s my favorite buzzkill doing?”

Unfortunately for him, as he walked into the courtyard, he was not met with Shopkeeper.

A woman. Her build was unremarkable; she had piercing red eyes that made her look like the spawn of Satan. Her hair, dyed a dark green, was slightly below her shoulders and nothing short of a mess. A different style from day to day, the tips often found themselves fused together in a melted mess (because of her tendency to accidentally light it on fire). 

Sundew. Hemlock never saw her outside of assassination work, so he had no idea how she managed to maintain a high profile job with such a miserably disheveled look. Seriously? Secretary to the CEO of Elman Real Estate? She was so pathetic at keeping her identity a secret that her boss knew full well why any morally questionable businessmen he “struck deals with” ended up dead. Not that Elliot Elman cared; it meant less competition.

Hemlock hated Sundew; even more than he disliked the Thorn Princess. He may be a sadistic sociopathic murderer, but he wasn’t like her.

Garden policy was that their targets were human beings who at least deserved a painless death. As Shopkeeper always said, “Prune not out of malice, not out of revenge, but out of a desire to make the world more beautiful.”

When someone’s death would improve the world, they were killed. Instantly. Painlessly. Kill them to better society, not because they deserve death or punishment.

Hemlock kills in an instant, severing heads before they even realized what was happening. It was how Shopkeeper ended lives with little more than a billhook and a dream, and Hemlock admired him for it.

The Thorn Princess pushed her stilettos through peoples’ brains so they would be out before they knew what was happening.

Gympie’s poisons were painless, and if a target was immune? She anesthetized them before she killed them.

Wolfsbane simply delivered blunt force trauma to his victims. A hit and they’re out like a light. Pain? Only if they wake up. That’s unlikely.

Lily hand-forged all her weapons, but no matter what she was using—from axe, to spear, to scythe, to greatsword, to… whatever unholy amalgamation of steel she had strung together for the day—she always kept them sharp. She cared for her weapons more than her own body, ensuring they would end lives without pain.

While Thistle took pleasure in a “fair fight”, using weapons that were most certainly not practical (who in their right mind uses reverse grip? Seriously? Just to give your targets the illusion that they have a chance?), he at least had the sense to carry a misericord to finish the job in an instant once his target had accepted defeat.

Ivy’s rifle was strong enough to shred a car. At what point does something stop being a gun and start being a cannon? Completely unnecessary to kill, but it ensured that once she shot someone, their remains needed to be scraped off what remained of the wall. No time to suffer. The pain Ivy experienced from the recoil of a single shot was likely more than the combined pain all her targets—past and future—would ever feel by her hand.

Oleander was as straightforward as the director—probably in line to take his place once the elderly man was finally killed. A bullet through the skull ended things plenty fast.

Foxglove targeted necks with the hidden blades in his sleeves. Lily made it for him based on his daughter’s designs for what would be “coolest”, but he took great care of them. If he allowed the slightest hint of dullness to taint them, it would be an insult to Lily’s craft. Thus, he cut through sinew like butter—which too minimized suffering.

Mancinella had her two jobs mixed up in her head, often cutting clothes with swords and killing people with scissors, but no matter the blade, no matter the purpose, they cut true. She may be strange, practicing her bladework on the bodies of her victims, but she always verified their death before doing so.

Mistletoe always set his bombs to explode at the head, not the chest. Sure, a chest guaranteed death—by bursting the lungs and allowing them to fill with fluid—but drowning in your own blood was not pleasant. Head it was.

Daffodil had little more than a taser—it was all she could get away with carrying into the places she frequented—and yet she used it to incapacitate her victims so that she might snap their necks without resistance.

But Sundew?
That fucking bitch subdued her targets, and instead of ending their lives painlessly while they were down, she drowned them. Or strangled them with a garrote. Or simply lit them on fire—Hemlock was convinced that she even went so far as to eat their flesh afterwards.
Afterall, why does she never call Thistle for a clean-up? Never trust Sundew’s contributions to Garden picnics.

Sure, Hemlock enjoys killing. But Sundew enjoys causing suffering.

She was a scourge against the assassination profession. Their fellow assassins took no issue with her, because they either didn’t know or didn't care about the depth of the torture in her killing methods.

“She gets the job done. Why would you call her out for sadism when you’re no different? Takes one to know one, doesn’t it?”

It takes one to know one indeed. Nonetheless, Hemlock… tolerated her presence. Begrudgingly.
“Your favorite buzzkill is currently deciding how best to behead you.”

“Fiesty.”

“How flirtatious. Thistle not enough for you?”

“He’s busy helping Shopkeeper entertain Director Wilker.”

“Less talking, more fighting! I’ve got a hundred dalc on you, Hemlock!”
Hemlock noticed out of the corner of his eye that two women were seated in Shopkeeper’s gazebo, drinking wine.

The first woman was Ramona Ryann, known to Hemlock as Mancinella.
A woman in her fifties, with hazel eyes that bordered on yellow. Her dirty blonde hair was held back with a black headband.. She owned a tailor shop, “Muna & Monacca”, which was often referred to as the “Intelligence Boutique” in the underworld, as the shop overheard plenty of gossip, which the woman used to propose hits to Garden. Hemlock himself visited her frequently, as she was the only seamstress that never questioned the strange cuts in his clothes, nor questioned why he wanted small pockets everywhere (for holding knives). 

The second woman: Lily Lockridge.
A bartender already named after a plant, and thus she chose not to take on an alternate codename at Garden. Although she, alongside her girlfriend Ivy, were former members of the Red Circus, she now took great joy in their extermination, forever vengeful for the fact that the Ringmaster at the time had thrown her under the bus to lessen his sentence. Her light blonde hair was in a bob, her hands heavily calloused, and the vision of her cloudy brown eyes dulled from years of unprotected welding. A hobbyist bladesmith, Lily forged the majority of Garden’s weapons, happily taking requests while unhappily yelling at those who destroyed their weapons carelessly. Hemlock’s sword was her work. Her vision may have been poor, but she affirmed that she needed little more than “vibes” to land her hits, wielding as many as four weapons at once. Hemlock respected her. She made fantastic throwing knives. The woman was skilled in every way—except when it came to self protection.

Of course those two are taking bets.
Hemlock sighed to himself, and drew his sword.

Sundew’s eyes lit up—as her matches so often did. Her weapon of choice? A knife, tied to ten meters of wire. The other end of the wire? A steel ball, wrapped in kevlar, soaked in kerosene. It was crude. It was flashy. And by god, was it horribly impractical. And yet, the woman wielded this cursed knife and fireball on a rope with a dexterity that not even Hemlock could find fault in. It was his worst possible matchup.

Force her to stay on defense. She’ll fuck up; sooner light her own hair on fire than Shopkeeper’s garden.

Hemlock's plan had to quickly change course as she began a wrap around her back without ever lighting a fire—it seems even she wasn't dumb enough to risk a fire here. She looped the rope around her foot before giving it a tug to sling at Hemlock.

Hemlock jerked back at the last second as the weight swung by his chest—his tie would have caught fire had Sundew lit her weapon. He threw his sword out, allowed the rope to wrap around it several times, before snagging the hook upon his cane’s end. With a tug, Hemlock tried to force the weapon out of his opponent's hand—only to be met with equal force from her.
Sundew smirked, silent. 

She fights like my sister.
“Weak. Cowardly.”
With that, he reversed his pull into a push, causing the sword to slip from his cane and fall to the ground. He was disarmed.
Sundew swung the rope around her shoulder, bringing the sword with it.

Make her think she has the upper hand. She may have my weapon, but can she use it? I doubt it.
Hemlock blocked with his cane as he rushed forward. He was met with the knife on the tail end of her rope swinging towards his face, but she was slower than usual, with the extra weight of Hemlock’s sword dragging her usually agile fighting style down.
With one hand he ensnared the rope, its knife end wrapping around his forearm. Hemlock ignored the blood, continuing to parry his own sword that was under Sundew’s control.

“You’ve got this, Sundew!”

Both assassins ignored Lily’s cheer as they grappled with each other, both in control of the other’s weapon. He taunted her.
“Can’t win with your own weapon, need to rely on mine?”

She responded by spitting on his face.

Hemlock squealed as he planted his foot on her knee and pushed away, grabbing the handle of his sword as he did so.
“That was gross! What the fuck?!”

She didn't respond. Conversations during a duel were Hemlock's bread and butter, and Sundew preferred not to indulge him—not unless she was particularly confident. 

With a summersault, Hemlock increased the distance between them and threw a knife towards his foe. A mistake.

The knife was knocked away with a swing of Sundew’s weapon. Hemlock linked his sword with his cane to strike, but was parried by her knife. 

The two were even in every way—if you ignore the fact that based purely off fighting style, it was a horrible matchup for Hemlock. The fact that he could stand on his own against a weapon so perfectly aligned to defeat his own swordsmanship was a testament to his skill. Hemlock was used to having the range advantage in every melee confrontation, but not here. 

Try as he might, he couldn't land a blow thanks to Sundew’s rapidly swinging “pet rock". Eventually, it slammed into his knee and he crumpled.

Dammit. Same one she stabbed all those years ago. My Achilles’ heel. Knee. Whatever. 

Sundew offered a hand to help him up, which Hemlock ignored, limping into the gazebo as he saw a hundred dalc change hands from Mancinella to Lily. The seamstress shot him a glare, as if he lost on purpose so she would lose money. 

He shrugged. “Your fault for betting." 

They were interrupted.
"Gambling without me, are we?"
Shopkeeper’s kind voice echoed through the courtyard as he joined them. His tone may have been cheery, but one look at his face showed the elderly man's stress. 

“What did Wilky want?" Lily spat the name with venom.

Shopkeeper sighed, preparing to explain, before he was interrupted. Thistle entered the gazebo with another man at his tail. He bowed.
“Here you are, sir." 

The man nodded. He was tall, with a blond undercut. His cold blue eyes made most shudder, an effect that was amplified by the pair of scars over his left eye—his most distinctive feature. 

Chadwick Curtis.
Age 43.
A first lieutenant of the SSS, sometimes known as “Scarface” among his colleagues.
His other identity? A Garden assassin.
Codename: Oleander.
His loyalty lay with neither organization over the other. He kept Garden members out of the eyes of the SSS, while also using Garden resources to help the SSS pursue spies.

Shopkeeper nodded back.
"Thank you. Everyone is here.”

Shopkeeper sat on Sundew’s right at the circular table of six. Oleander took the free seat next to him. Lily sat across from the shopkeeper, Mancinella to her right, as Hemlock had sat on Lily’s left. Thistle left the six assassins to their discussion.

“Wilker wants us to assassinate a spy." 

Mancinella gave Shopkeeper a look. An “are you serious” look.
"You told him that we don’t care about espionage?" 

"He said this spy killed seventy-four of his men in cold revenge.”

Oleander tensed.

“She goes by the name of Agent Starlight. Works for Western Intelligence. She's…”
Shopkeeper sighed, as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say.
"A student at Eden College. Twelve to fourteen years old." 

"What the fuck?”

“Language, Lily." 

Mancinella—brazen as usual—returned Shopkeeper's rebuke to his face.
“No, she’s right. Seriously. What the fuck? A kid? I'm not going to kill a kid.”

Suit yourselves. Hemlock laughed. “Then don't. He's not asking you to do it, so long as one of us does." 

Sundew tried to break the tension.
"What do we know about her? Can't exactly land a kill with just a school and an age." 

"Wilker wanted to rely on our intelligence network… because he has nothing. Starlight broke into their headquarters the night before yesterday and destroyed all footage of her. Yesterday, she sent blackmail to the only four officers who saw her face. These four officers are among his most trusted and capable, so he was unwilling to rock the boat with them to demand information… so he turned to us. Wilker believes that Starlight’s massacre on the SSS HQ is a direct act of war, and that she must be stopped.”

“I'm one of those four," Oleander spoke up. "I was in the interrogation room with Starlight. My boss broke all of her fingers, and…”
He took a breath to steady himself mentally.
“Pulled out her fingernails.”
Hate crossed Lily’s eyes.
“But she escaped. She can be identified with her injuries. Also, she was missing her upper right canine. Given her age, the adult tooth is probably growing in as we speak. She’s ambidextrous. Blonde hair, brown eyes, but there's a possibility that she was disguised.”

Sundew looked at the man suspiciously.
"Why are you telling us, but not Wilker? Aren't you worried about the blackmail?”

Oleander laughed dryly as he shrugged.
"She threatened to reveal my assassin work to my grandson. It's a bluff. I'll just need to ask Freddy who told him, and then I've got Starlight's identity. It was… the blackmail against my second lieutenant that held me back at first. Starlight threatened to kill his sister… who is the Thorn Princess, by the way. There's no way in hell Starlight could kill her. I didn't tell Wilker about Starlight because I didn't want the Thorn Princess to have to reveal herself to her brother, but I can trust you all to be more discreet than Wilker would be.”

Lily seemed to have fixated on the least important part of that. “Yor’s brother is in the SSS?" 

“Yes, and don't tell her. There's one more thing about Starlight that I noticed. There's a tattoo on the back of her neck. A code. TS-007." 

"Shit!”
Horror crossed Mancinella’s face as she realized what she’d said, while a smile crossed Hemlock’s.

Mancinella’s boutique does the uniforms for Eden College. If some rich kid had a signifying tattoo, she would know. She takes their measurements.
“This just got interesting. Know something?”

“Yes. I’m warning you now. Don’t go after this Starlight character. You do not want to mess with her.”

Oleander’s eyes narrowed, as he raised his gun.
“You know her identity. Withholding that is treason, you know.”

“You’re one to talk!”
Mancinella yelled as she pulled her swords and crossed them in front of Oleander’s neck.

He didn’t flinch. “I’d happily arrest you right here. Give the name.”

“Do that, and I’ll tell Wilker you’re with Garden. I won’t let you harm a kid.”

Shopkeeper’s gardening shears swung towards Mancinella’s face, who blocked it with one of her blades at the last second.
“Do not quarrel amongst yourselves. Oleander, She is under no obligation to serve this customer nor help you do so. And Mancinella? Do not interfere.”
His voice was cold. Even Hemlock shuddered. Shopkeeper continued.
“I take no pleasure in helping with petty intelligence disputes, but this Starlight is clearly trying to start a war. I doubt she is acting on behalf of Westalis.”

Oleander shook his head.
“I disagree on that part. WISE has only ever shown hostility, so an attack like this is perfectly in character. I’ll admit that after she escaped, I had no plans to recapture her. I… felt bad for the kid. She’s just a kid. But after this? I can tell that was a mistake. She needs to be dealt with before she sparks a war.”

“I don’t care what she’s done," Mancinella said as she stood up. "I’m not killing a kid, Shopkeeper. Let me know when you have someone who actually deserves to die. Good luck with Starlight. You’ll need it.” She spat the words out with sarcasm, then left.

Mancinella has guts if nothing else.

Sundew looked mildly concerned.
“Think she’s going to stop us?”

Hemlock shrugged.
“I have enough to find this Starlight, so it hardly matters what she says. She just wants plausible deniability for her own morals.”
Morals. I don’t know why she hangs on to those. We are the executioners of our motherland. We do our job and think nothing of it.

“I take it this means you’ll be handling our customer, Hemlock?” Shopkeeper asked.

“He better, because I have no interest in helping the Triple S. Cya!”
Lily left abruptly.

Awkward silence followed, which Hemlock broke.
“Yes. If this Starlight is truly as dangerous as Mancinella says, I believe I am most qualified to handle the job.”

“Starlight is hardly dangerous herself. She can’t wield a weapon, all her fingers are broken. She wasn’t the one to commit the SSS HQ massacre.” Oleander sighed. “That's why I said Starlight wasn’t going rogue. One of her colleagues killed on her behalf.”
He paused.
“A colleague who seems to have a vested interest in sowing discord between Garden and the SSS.” He lowered his voice, despite the lack of eavesdroppers. “The deed was done with a pair of stilettos, but it’s not the Thorn Princess’s handiwork. Too messy. She’s being framed.”

Shopkeeper’s wide eyes narrowed. “Now that is an interesting development indeed.”
He didn’t elaborate. “Well, off you go, Hemlock. You’ve got a spy to kill.”

The abruptness shocked the assassin.
“Uh, I’m not going to be able to do it right away, I have cover identity obligations–”

“Yes, yes, you think that’s stupid. I know. There’s no rush. Serve Starlight whenever it pleases your fancy.”

Hemlock and Millie were in the elevator of 128 Park Avenue.
“Hey Hemmie, any new jobs?”

So nosy.
“Yes. There’s a Western spy who’s killing dozens of secret policemen, and I’m supposed to kill her.”

“Oh! That’s…”

“We don’t know anything about what she looks like. Just her rough age, current injuries, school, a–”

“Wait, school? She’s… that young?”

A nod. "Young teenager."

“Do you have any idea how you’re going to find her?”

Hemlock sighed. “Besides searching everyone with broken fingers at Eden College? No.”

Millie gasped, giving him a look of shock.
“Eden College? This spy goes to school with Yor and Sharon’s kids? They wouldn’t be happy to know that…”

An idea struck Hemlock as he widened his eyes.
I can just ask the Thorn Princess’s child if she knows anyone who might be a spy!

Millie looked at him, unimpressed.
“Wouldn’t Anya question why you’re asking? It’s not like she knows about your other job.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“Intuition. I know you too well, Hemmie.”

That nickname makes me want to rip my ears off.
Hemlock was spared from doing so by the elevator doors opening, so he just walked to his coworker’s door.

It opened before he could knock. The two city hall workers were met with Loid Forger, who invited them in with a whisper.
“Millie. Julian. Yor told me you two would be watching over Anya today. Thank you.”
He turned to his daughter, sleeping on the couch.
“She’s been having trouble sleeping with the pain… She finally fell asleep, so try not to disturb her. Just… let her rest. She needs it.”
Loid pulled a wad of cash from his pocket.
“Order takeout when she’s hungry.”
With that, he left.

Millie immediately tiptoed over to the sleeping teenager. Both her hands were in casts, but she otherwise looked content. Peaceful. Completely conked out, her face facing into the back of the couch.
“Did Yor mention how this happened?”

Hemlock shook his head as he sat down on the chair nearby.
“She didn’t even say what the injuries were. The damage to her hands looks… bad.”

Millie sat on his lap.
“Poor Anya. I hope she gets better soon. She’s kinda like a little sister to me…”

I suppose this is close enough to solitude if she’s asleep.

The girl rolled over in her sleep, nearly falling off the couch.
Millie got up and gently nudged her back, to which Anya responded by lazily rubbing at her face with her cast. She was out like a light, her slightly opened mouth leaving drool on the pillow. Hemlock’s sharp eyes spotted something behind her lips.

Is that–
A missing tooth?

“Starlight’s missing her upper right canine.”
“We broke all her fingers.”
“A student at Eden College.”
“She’s twelve to fourteen years old.”

There’s no. fucking. way.

Anya Forger jolted awake, eyes wide, sitting up straight.
“Wha–”

Hemlock leapt up and grabbed her by the hair.

“Hemmie, what do you think you’re doing?!”

The assassin ignored Millie’s cry and pulled away the pink locks covering the teenager’s neck. He read six characters in dark black ink on her nape.

TS-007.

Hemlock took a step back, unsheathing his sword as a sinister grin spread across his face. Millie looked at him in horror.
“Do you have a death wish??? Yor will kill us if her daughter is hurt on our watch.”

You don’t even know half of it.
“She’s the spy I was talking about. Agent Starlight! I’m supposed to kill her!”

Starlight suddenly realized the gravity of the situation and got up.

“Agent Starlight of Westalis. May you grant me the pleasure of liberating your head from your shoulders?"
Oh, how Hemlock missed seeing the pure, raw, fear in peoples’ eyes. He swung his sword for Starlight’s neck, but found it blocked by her cast. She whimpered as it hit.
It’s like she blocked before I’d even swung. She’s good. 

Millie might have been yelling at him, but he wasn’t paying attention. He took a jab towards her heart, but the spy jumped out of the way long before he made contact. A swing towards her head. She ducked. A slice to her stomach. She leapt back. A knife thrown at her chest. Knocked away with a cast—she winced once more. Hemlock lunged forward, making swing after swing after swing, without a single hit. The girl moved perfectly out of the way every time.

It’s like she’s reading my mind… She’s fast, especially considering she only just woke up. I’d expect no less from the daughter of the Thorn Princess.
“How long do you plan to keep this up? I can play all day, Starlight.”

She didn’t respond. Starlight seemed to have lost her voice in fear, moving purely on instinct. She ran towards one of the bedrooms, before pulling at the doorknob uselessly.
Heh. Good luck opening that with your hands in casts. Now, you’re cornered.

His sword aimed for her left shoulder, a slash that would have cleft from her heart towards her appendix, if she hadn’t parried it with her right arm, leaving a mark in the surprisingly sturdy fiberglass of the cast.

She wove around his sword with surgical precision, dodging by getting closer rather than further. Despite being so close, he couldn’t strike her. His sword followed her neck by mere milliseconds at all times, but she was always ahead of him. Before long, she had gotten out from the hallway and Hemlock was the one backed in the corner. However, she did not attack. Rather, she ran behind a dining table chair as Hemlock threw a knife which embedded itself in the wood.

“Pathetic. Don’t know how to fight back?”

From that point forward, Hemlock forced Starlight back with each attack. She scrambled into the kitchen, taking cover behind the counter.
“Really, Starlight? You think that’ll save you? I could leap over there in an instant.”

Hemlock heard fumbling with a drawer.
“Oh, you Western spies are dumber than I thought. To think you could stop me with a kitchen knife.”

Starlight’s head appeared over the marble countertop, a weapon pressed between her useless hands. Not a knife, no.

A gun. Pointed not at him, but at Millie.
“Try me, Hemlock.”
Her voice was firm, but her shaking hands betrayed her unsteady resolve.

Millie froze.
“…Anya?”

The spy breathed heavily and voicelessly.

How do you plan to pull the trigger, brat?
Hemlock sighed, striking the gun out of her hand with his cane. It clattered into the sink. Eyes wide, Starlight took a step back, tripping backwards. She caught herself just before hitting her head on the stove, but still fell onto the floor.

Hemlock just laughed.
She’s good, but she’s still a kid. What was I expecting?

The assassin vaulted over the counter and stabbed his sword into her neck. To little surprise, she had moved her right arm to cover her most vital area. The tip of his sword stabbed through the prior groove he’d left, reaching into the soft flesh underneath.

Starlight cried out in pain as scarlet liquid from her arm seeped through the fuller on his sword. With his carefully honed strength, he kept pressing, forcing her arm up against her neck. Her head turned sideways under the force, perfectly aligning the sword to her jugular. 

Hemlock felt the blade slip deeper and deeper, awaiting the moment it would come out the other end of the cast and start to stab the girl’s neck. Luckily for the assassin—and for the spy’s suffering—her forearm was twisted in such a way that his blade snuck between her radius and ulna. It wouldn’t be long now. Hemlock knelt down to look her in the eyes.

“Any last words, Agent Starlight?”

Between the tears, she babbled out a string of incoherent sentences.

“Not a spy! I was lying! Told Unkie to save Papa! Not actually a spy! I swear!”

The hell is she talking about?

Hemlock was careful not to twist his blade as he pressed. He had to minimize her suffering.

“Unkie Yuri works for the secret police! He was trying to find evidence of Papa being a spy! So I told him that I was a spy, to distract him!”

Why would she be afraid of there being evidence in the first place? She would have nothing to fear if she had nothing to hide.

Hemlock felt increased resistance against his arm. His blade began to work its way through the layers of fiberglass on the back end of her cast. The crying child in front of him panicked.

“That’s because Papa’s a spy, n–not me! Unkie’s suspicious of him and wants to arrest him and I can’t let that happen, world peace is at stake! I didn’t think Unkie would actually arrest me instead!”

And you just happened to get your mother to kill a hundred men afterwards?

Starlight whimpered in fear as she felt the tip of the sword press against her neck. It couldn’t go deeper; the wider portions still had to cut through the cast.

“I didn’t ask her to! I promise! She wanted revenge for my injuries, I didn’t ask her to do it!”

She bawled. In pain or in fear, he did not know.

You say you’re not a spy, and yet you know your mother’s true job. You know my codename.

Starlight’s painful cries intensified as the sword began to pierce her neck.
“That’s…”
The girl gasped for air amidst her sobs—attempting to remain still—while she searched for the right words.
“Because I’m a telepath! I can read minds!”

That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
Hemlock paused, ceasing the force with his sword.
Hold on, I haven’t said a word outloud. 57.

“F… fifty-seven!”

389,281.

The telepath fearfully parroted the number as if her life depended on it—which it did.
“Three hundred eighty nine thousand, two hundred eighty one!”

The derivative of y equals the square root of 11x to the power of the natural log of 2.

“I can’t do calculus!”

Hemlock laughed as he put his foot on her arm to yank his sword out. He ignored the yell of pain.

The Thorn Princess married a spy and adopted a telepath. This is the start of some bad joke. An assassin, a spy, and a telepath walk into a bar.

He sheathed his sword and offered the girl a hand. She just stared at him in horror. As the adrenaline left him, Hemlock once again became aware of the other occupant in the room. Millie stood between the phone and the door, fury on her face.

Oh. She saw all of that.

Hemlock flinched as she took three steps forward and slapped him across the face. It actually hurt this time.
“Stop and think before you kill someone, oh my God!”

Starlight—Anya, actually, because she’s not really a spy—stood up, breathing heavily. Tears streaked down her face as blood streaked down her arm, not to mention the beginnings of a cut on the left side of her neck.
“Mama… Mama’s gonna be pissed.”

Hemlock remembered what Mancinella said.
“Good luck with Starlight. You’ll need it. You do not want to mess with her.”
So that’s what she meant. Not because of her own strength, but because the Thorn Princess would kill me if I laid a finger on her…
“Don’t tell her a thing, and neither will I.”

“That’s… that’s fine by me.”
Anya panted, trying desperately to ignore the searing pain through her arm.

Millie already had a first aid kit in her hand, gauze wraps ready to staunch the bleeding. She set it on the counter before hoisting Anya up with surprising strength, setting her by the sink.
“So let me get this straight. Your father, Loid Forger, is a spy. Your uncle works for the secret police, and suspects him. You… tried to distract him by claiming to be a spy yourself?”

Anya nodded, her eyes glazed over, as if she was numb to the pain.
“His mind was going on and on, thinking about all the evidence he could find if he broke into Papa’s office. And… he’s not wrong. I mean, Papa’s not dumb enough to leave evidence lying around, but Unkie was determined. He was getting ready to frame him. I wasn’t gonna risk it.”

Millie began to wrap gauze around Anya’s arm tightly.
“Hemlock, you said this ‘Starlight’ has been killing dozens of secret policemen? What? She’s just a lying kid, how did that happen?”

Anya’s pants continued.
“The Thorn Princess. Found out what happened to me. Didn’t know why I was arrested. Got mad. Took revenge.”

You conveniently left out the fact that she’s your own mother.
Anya shot Hemlock a pained glare at his thought.

Millie looked horrified.
“I’m not even going to question how you’ve got a terrifying assassin guardian angel who’s also Hemmie’s coworker.”
She looked at him with fury, and yelled.
“That’s even worse. Why the hell did you try to kill her? Not only would Yor have our heads, but so would Nightshade! Do you want to get hunted down by the Thorn Princess?!”
She finished off the roll of gauze.

Oh, the irony.
“Yeah, well, I’m not one to question Shopkeeper’s orders. You know, I think we’ve kind of glossed over the fact that you read my mind? How? Why?”

Anya’s face went white. Was it from shock or from blood loss?
“I don’t mean to! I promise! I can’t control it… I just… it was the mean scientists.”
Her voice started to fade to a mere whisper.
“The Whitecoats. They forced this on me. They cut my brain open and injected me and shocked me until I heard their thoughts. I…”
Her glare turned cold.
“You can’t tell anyone. If Mama or Papa found out what I can do, they’d never be comfortable around me again. They’d…”
She started crying again.
“They’d send me away. Just like all the other so-called ‘families’ who adopted me before. They all got rid of me once they figured it out. Said I was creepy. A freak. A witch.”

Wow, this kid’s got trauma. Not my problem. But, mean scientists? Whitecoats…
That sounds like my problem.

Millie—empathetic as ever—teared up for the girl as she wiped away the blood on her neck.
“Anya… you’re not a freak. You’re just a child. Who’s seen too much, probably.”
A look of horror.
“Oh no. You haven’t…”

Anya grimaced.
“You don’t want to know.”

Huh? What’s she thinkin–

“Mama and Papa are sickeningly in love. Don’t make me give details.”
She wretched with a shudder.

How utterly inappropriate!
“I didn’t ask.”

Millie pondered the implications of Anya’s words as she put gently dabbed ointment on the cut along her neck.
“You said the other families? You’re adopted?”

Anya’s face portrayed an expression of ‘no shit’.
“You think a spy would have a biological kid? He needed a family to get close to ole’ Donny Des, and I’m happy to help. Afterall, I have that bastard to thank for my powers.”

Huh?
Hold on.
What?

“As I said, I got them in experiments. Ethically questionable ones. Funded by the NUP. I think, at least.”

You think?

“I have reasons to believe so.”

I suppose your family is buddy-buddy with the Desmonds, so you probably get plenty of chances to read the PM’s mind…
“You know, if you told your dad about your ability, you could probably help with his mission more.”

Millie gasped, bandage in her hand.
“Hemmie, you were just trying to kill her for being a spy! Now you want to help a real one?”

Hemlock shrugged.
“I’m just being realistic here. Spies would love a telepath!”

Anya was deadpan.
“They’d have me killed because I know too much.”

Oh.
“I guess that makes sense. And to clarify, I don’t have anything against spies. Not inherently. I'd be a hypocrite—espionage and assassination are two sides of the same coin." Hemlock shrugged. "Sounds like Forger’s got good intentions. A bad person would have a real hard time fooling a telepath into thinking they’re good. Garden’s only going after ‘Starlight’ because they think she’s gone rogue, killing the SSS to start a war.”

Anya leaned her head back, lightly smacking it into the cabinet behind her.
“Why. Does. No. One. Understand. That. I. Want. Peace.”
She looked at the adults.
“I sent a letter to keep the SSS off my back, and I literally told them I want to work with them! Why is this so hard?”

“Maybe because you threatened them with blackmail?”

“How else am I supposed to stop them from going after me? Oleander knows what I look like!”

“Yeah, well, he told me how to find you. Wilker’s expecting your head.”

More frustrated bangs of a head against the cabinet followed.

“Could you… tell the truth? Starlight isn’t real?” Millie awkwardly suggested.

“Then they’ll arrest Papa! I won’t let that happen!” Anya hissed.

“Fine. I’ll just tell Shopkeeper the truth. Let him work out what to tell Wilker.”

Starlight’s panic returned once more, overtaking her pain.
“But what if he tells them about Papa! And… and the Thorn Princess will get in trouble!”

“She’s got it coming. Killing seventy-four people in reckless revenge? Unbefitting of a Garden member. Millie? Take her to the hospital, will you?”
Hemlock walked out of the apartment, slamming the door with finality. 

“Wait, huh? How am I supposed to explain this? Hemmie?!”

“Shopkeeper. I’ve come to report on Agent Starlight’s pruning.”

The elderly man sat at a table, drinking tea. Although his emotions were often an enigma, he almost seemed surprised.
“That was fast.”

“Anya Forger.”

He spat out his tea.
“What?”

“Anya Forger lied about being a spy. She was trying to distract the SSS from Loid Forger, who is a spy. The Thorn Princess doesn’t know—and she wasn’t framed, she took revenge upon finding out about her daughter’s torture.”

Shopkeeper looked at his pruner with suspicion.
“But if Loid Forger is a spy, he wouldn’t have let his daughter know.”

“Correct, he didn’t. I’ve gotten a new lead for our hunt on Project Apple.”

Operation Scarlet Salmon: Mission Notes

From Anya Forger (Alias: Test Subject 007)

Why is it that whenever I get majorly injured, it’s my right arm? Back in second grade I got shot, and now I’ve been stabbed. How? Mama’s coworker, Hemlock, got hired to kill me. I talked him out of it by spilling all the details of Operation Strix and my telepathy to him and his girlfriend. I caved at the threat of death. I know I’m not actually a spy, but this just shows that I’m not fit to be one. A good spy like Papa would’ve kept their mouth shut.

From Julian Jones (Alias: Hemlock)

Let me get this straight. Yor Forger, the Thorn Princess, Nightshade, whatever you want to call her. Her husband is a spy. Her brother is in the secret police. And her daughter is an escaped lab experiment who can read minds. Her brother suspected her husband for being a spy, so her daughter stepped up to distract him by claiming to be a spy herself. Now I’ve been sent to kill this “Agent Starlight”, who doesn’t even exist, because the Thorn Princess threw a tantrum over her daughter’s torture.

From Mildred Myers (Alias: Millie)

How is it that Yor married a spy and adopted a telepath? It’s really admirable just how, in spite of all of that, the Forgers love each other. I’ve never seen a husband and wife as in love as Yor and Loid, and it’s obvious just how much Anya loves her family—she got tortured to save her father. For some reason, Hemmie’s assassin rival cared enough about Anya’s torture to take revenge? I’m not sure why.

From Sylvia Sherwood (Alias: Handler)

Nothing I’ve been able to find has mentioned human subjects in Project Apple. I know there are, Anya is living proof of that. If only the Zacharis Dossier had been what it was rumored to be… I’ll have to have Eventide look into this, he’s the one with the best informant web. I just hope he doesn’t get suspicious about why I’m looking into it.

From Chloe Chapman (Alias: Midnight)

When I really think about it, it’s confusing. Why was Starlight allowed to know my identity as Midnight? I thought that was Handler and no one else? What about her mission requires her to know that? Was it so she'd accept my help in escaping without suspicion? Regardless, at least she’s a very skilled operative. She made no indication around Yuri that she had any clue I was a double agent.

From Chadwick Curtis (Aliases: Scarface, Oleander)

Agent Starlight is TS-007. The files I’ve been able to find on Project Apple show that they ID their subjects with tattoos. And I gave that information to Hemlock. Not that I told him she was an Apple subject or anything, but he knows her most identifying feature. I’m just doing what I need to do, to stop WISE from trying to start a war. Her blood will be on my hands, but I don’t regret it. I don’t. …Do I?

From Yuri Briar

 Wilker announced to all of us that Starlight’s capture is our number one priority. We’re not to engage if she is spotted—too dangerous—but simply report her location to him. Apparently he’s hired some third party to ‘deal’ with her. Just what have I done? Starlight’s going to be killed and it’s all my fault.

From Giacomo Gascoigne (Alias: Gas-Coin)

Briar’s keeping Starlight’s identity a secret, but that kid’s a shitty liar. I fear for his soul once Wilker sees through him.

From Wilhelm Wilker

The hunt for Starlight is out of our hands. I don’t like that Shopkeeper fellow one bit, but I know he’ll get the job done. He’s never failed us before. Starlight’s reckoning has come.

From Martha Marriott (Alias: Daffodil)

I got a call from Ramona (Mancinella). From what she says, there’s a spy called Starlight (who I already know is Anya) and she attacked the SSS HQ, so Garden has been sent after her. They don’t know much about their target; she has ten broken fingers and a tattoo on the back of her neck (according to Oleander) that labels her as TS-007. Ramona says she’s seen that tattoo on Anya Forger while measuring her for uniforms, so she believes Anya Forger to be Starlight (which is true). She told me that Starlight didn’t actually do what she’s being accused of. Based on the injuries to the victims, the massacre of the SSS HQ was Yor Forger’s doing, which makes perfect sense; the motive is right there. Ramona’s going behind Shopkeeper’s back to ask me to be Starlight’s bodyguard in addition to my current assignment as Becky’s, but I fear that if Garden has already been sent after her, there’s not much protection I can provide.

From Rebecca Blackbell (Alias: Becky)

Anya’s in danger. She said it herself. They know where she goes to school and they know her injuries. I’ll need to widen the pool. More people at Eden who’ve broken all their fingers will keep Anya safe. How hard can it be?

From Fiona Frost (Alias: Nightfall)

I’m remembering what the Garden assassins said about me. Because I work at Berlint General Hospital, they were interested in my potential information about corrupt doctors who may have had a hand in Project Apple. Corrupt doctors? I can name a few of those. Gerald Gorey… how did you get your influence?

From Yor Forger (Aliases: Thorn Princess, Nightshade)

I hope Anya’s going to be okay with Hemlock. Millie’s with her. Millie is reasonable. She knows how dangerous Hemlock is, so she knows how to keep him in line. Right? But he’s so unpredictable I still feel uneasy… It’s probably nothing. Anya will be safe.

From Loid Forger (Alias: Twilight)

Director Gorey asked me for dating tips to woo Nightfall, convinced she’s “finally paying attention to him”. He is aware that ‘Fiona Frost’ is in a committed relationship, right? Ugh. I am not paid enough to deal with this.

Chapter Text

TUESDAY 1962-11-06

Fuck.
Fucking fucking fuck.
What the fuck.
Hell.
Hemlock, you fucking fucker.

“You’re not supposed to swear around kids,” Anya said with a roll of her eyes.

It’s not my fault you’re in my head!

“It’s not mine either!”

Yeah, well, you’re fourteen! That’s old enough to swear. 

“I’m not! Papa needed someone the right age for his mission, so I lied. If I had to guess, I’m twelve? Thirteen? I don’t know. There’s this guy at my school—Arnold—who told me I’m lying about my birthday. That I’m clearly a Leo even if I say my birthday’s in October. I don’t know how he can tell my birthday, but if he’s right then I guess it’s sometime in July?”

“Sounds like a weird guy.”
Millie had her fair share of astrology experience, but even she thought it was a stretch to accuse someone of lying about their birthday based on their personality.
Regardless of your age, why can’t I swear in my own head? With all the people you’re around, you probably already know every swear ever.

“Sure do! Fuck, ass, bitch, mix them all together, bitchass motherfucker, can’t forget about shit, and of course why limit myself to Ostanian? Putain, merde, scheiße, arschloch, govno, yebat, forbandet, helvede, vaffancul–”

“I get the idea!”

“Right. Sorry.”

Millie was going to give her boyfriend the talk of his life once she got back. To think that he was stupid enough to–

“Previously on Spy Family; Take Your Niece to Work Day, my stupid fucking babysitter, Hemlock—who’s an assassin—was hired to kill my spy alter ego that doesn’t actually exist. He was able to find me thanks to the damn ID code the whitecoats put on their experiments; double-oh seven my ass. I, Anya Forger, the hero of this story, survived by the teeth of my skin, thanks to a last-minute reveal of my papa’s spy mission and my own telepathic powers—as well as no small amount of luck. Having spontaneously—and stupidly—left to go report on this development to his boss, Hemlock has left me with his girlfriend, Millie Myers. Our current mission: deal with the big stab wound through my arm that hurts like hell. Ow, ow. Ow. Oh, hey Bond.”

Lazy as always, the great dog slept through the earlier skirmish, having only awoken with mild concern as the smell of blood reached his nose. Millie stared at Anya, who sat by her on the Forgers’ kitchen floor, half-buried by the dog on her lap.
“Do you always compartmentalize your trauma by pretending your life is a spy show? That’s actually really interesting from a psychological standpoint, your father would probably–”

Anya interrupted her, speaking as she held her arm away from her body to avoid staining Bond’s fur.
“Papa’s not really a psychiatrist, remember? Just a… spy-chiatrist. And I do not have trauma, thank you very much–” Bond borfed his disagreement, “–it’s called character development. But yes, I do pretend my life is a cool spy show. Once the Cold War is over and we have world peace, I wanna maybe try and write a story. About my life. But my spy story’s been going on for like seven years now. So it would be a really really long story. It might rival Two Pieces.”

“You wanna write when you grow up?”
Not what I expected, but–

“Just as a side thing. It would be dumb of me to choose a profession that doesn’t make use of telepathy. Probably going to be a diplomat or something. Maybe a psychiatrist like Papa claims to be.”

Millie took Anya’s arm in her hands and gently lifted it over her head, allowing gravity to fight the blood loss.
“You don’t have to, you know. Don’t take a job just because you can do it better than most people. You should do what you want to do, Anya.”

The teen sighed dramatically.
“I don’t really know what I want to do with my life. Even back in the lab, the whitecoats always told me I needed to use my power for ‘world peace’. They were liars, of course; I pretended their anti-telepathy tech actually worked—it didn’t. Their minds said it all. They wanted to use my power for profit, not peace. But it stuck. World peace! If they were going to claim it’s what I was made for, then fuck it. I’ll serve world peace. That’s my whole life. It’s just been Operation Strix for as long as I’ve known it. Everything I do is for the mission. Get Stellas for the mission. Befriend Damian for the mission. Study for the mission. Get close with powerful kids for the mission. Stop terrorists for the mission. For the mission, for the mission, for the mission.”

That’s too much pressure for a kid!
Millie applied firm pressure to the wound and Anya groaned.
“It’s your dad’s mission, not yours! I’d assume he’s a pretty good spy to get put in deep cover like that–”

“He’s the best spy in the world. He can do literally anything,” Anya spoke before adding under her breath, “except realize he loves Mama. He denied that one for years.”

Millie chuckled. “Then let him do it. Fuck the mission. You should just… live your life, like a kid should. Forget about the damn mission.”

“No.”

Huh?

“Did you know that Papa was almost blown up on a job when I was six? He would’ve died if I hadn’t written a warning on the wall in ketchup. Our cruise would’ve sunk if I hadn’t been caught up on a mission and read the bomber’s mind. A bad guy almost murdered Mama, and he would’ve if I hadn’t gotten in the way. And just recently… Unkie would’ve caught Papa if I hadn’t interfered! I have to worry about him. He has no idea how many times I’ve saved him…”
Anya clenched her fists in frustration, immediately regretting it. Bond whimpered in sympathy.

“Are you sure you can’t tell him? You should be able to tell him anything. He’s your father! He loves you. Parental love should be unconditional!” Millie exclaimed, ignoring the fact that she had little experience in receiving paternal love.

Anya stared at the floor somberly, running her (relatively) uninjured arm through her dog’s fur.
“I know, deep down, that I can’t keep a secret like this forever. Just a week ago, only Damian knew. Now so do you, Becky, Hemlock, Oleander, Shopkeeper probably, I think Grammy Sylvie’s figured it out too–”
Bond’s ears perked up, and Anya went silent for several seconds.
“Oh. Nice timing, Bond. Seems Uncle Scruffy’s gonna know too.” She sighed. “It feels like my secrets are slipping through my fingers like water.”

How does she know he’ll find out?

“Bond’s from the same project as me. He can see the future, but I’m the only one who knows that. Telepathy and all. He’s shown me Papa’s death far too many times, and I keep having to change the future without Papa knowing. Y’know, he showed me Becky finding out I’m a spy—not that I am—and reacting surprisingly well, so…I let it happen. Now she thinks I’m really, fully, truly a spy, and I can’t go back on that without exposing so many other lies.” Anya laughed dryly. “I’m always digging myself a deeper hole any time I try to cover for Papa. How poetic. I could use that in a story. The dirt to bury his lies comes from under my own feet.”

She lightly hit her head in frustration against the cabinet door beside her. This spooked Bond, who scampered away, running into a wall.
“According to Bond’s vision, Scruffy’s gonna sneak me into a casino and use my telepathy to cheat at poker. But I don’t really know the specifics at all. I don’t know how he knows, so I don’t know how I can stop him from finding out. It feels out of my control. I could probably stop it if I tried, but why bother? Everyone’s finding out about everything these days. But if that’s gonna happen… then a future where Scruffy knows about my telepathy isn’t going to be the end of the world; it's not gonna get me kicked out of my family. In that case I can probably just let it happen. Knowing him, he’ll keep it from Papa just because it’s funny.” 

Anya laughed to herself, turning it into a cry midway through.
“Papa probably would accept it. Everyone else has so far. But what if he doesn’t? Bond hasn’t shown me any reaction at all from him, so I don’t know what to expect. He’s always so analytical, thinking about the mission before anything else, so I really don’t know if he would be okay with the fact that I know about it. I’m just so, so scared. I’ve already lost so many families, I… don’t want to lose another. I’ll put off the inevitable as long as I can. Spend as much time as I can with the Forgers before I have to put my status as their daughter in jeopardy.”

Did I just become this girl’s therapist?

“Yeah. It’s nice to talk to someone who won’t report me to anyone, try to kill me, or is part of a clandestine organization.”

I kind of am, though. Honorary Garden member. Leaves. That’s what they call the people who know, but are sworn to secrecy. Close friends and family of assassins. We’re still invited to the company picnics! Like Gympie’s fiancé, Foxglove’s family. Yor too, she knows about Hemmie’s work. Maybe you now, because you know about Hemmie.

Anya looked at her, unimpressed. “As I said. Someone who’s not trying to kill me.” She continued, otherwise ignoring Millie’s thoughts. “Is it okay to just… dump everything on you?”

Millie nodded. “It’s fine. Did you know I always wanted to be a psychiatrist? Didn’t have the money thanks to the war, though. So I’m stuck as a civil servant. Not the worst life, sure, but it could be better. Maybe that’s why I was jealous of Dr. Perfect when I met him.”

“Papa’s anything but perfect.”

“I suppose you would know that better than anyone.”

Silence.

“Anya?”
Millie looked over to her honorary little sister and panicked as she saw she was unconscious. Bond ran up to her, a bag of peanuts in his mouth. He set them by her head, gently nudging her to try and awaken the girl.

Oh. Oh no. Fuck. Too much time contemplating the nature of telepathy and the psychological impact of knowing too much, not enough time focusing on the fact that she’s bleeding out. Get your priorities straight, Millie! Ok. Ok. No panic. What do I need to do? Get her to the hospital, of course. Definitely not the one Loid works at. Can’t let him know what happened to Anya under my watch. I can’t really go to any hospital, actually. They’d ask why she was stabbed, and I’m not her legal guardian. I’d take her to Mistletoe; he would be fine with that, but apparently Nightshade cares for her, so I can’t risk her being at Garden HQ. Of course, it’s not like she’s ever been there at the same time as me—I don’t even know what she looks like—but I really really really don’t want to get killed! That really only leaves one option, I guess.

Picking up the phone, Millie dialed a string of numbers.
“Gympie! I need your help–”

“She’s busy.”

That wasn’t the voice Millie had been expecting to answer.
“Wait, what?”

The elder Desmond son’s monotone drawl continued. “The Connell brat called in a favor this morning. Gympie didn’t give me the details but said she needed to commit assault or something? Hell if I know what’s going on.”

Words spilled from Millie’s mouth. “Hemlock and I were babysitting a friend’s kid, and he tried to kill her and then ran off! She’s bleeding a lot and I–”

“Sounds rough. Sorry, Ms. Myers, but I wouldn’t even know where to look for her. You should probably just take the kid to a hospital. Hey! Gary! Off the counter!”

He hung up, and Millie groaned aggravatedly.
No, no, no. No, Millie. You can’t just give up. Anya’s counting on you. Who the fuck do I call? I just need someone. Literally anyone. But the neighbors would ask what happened. Camilla would freak out at the blood. Dominic would pass the phone to Camilla right away, and I can’t make an excuse to talk to Dominic himself. Sharon would tell Yor. I’d call Sharon’s boyfriend, but I don’t know his number! What am I supposed to do?
“Bond! What do I do?”

“Borf.”

Matthew McMahon. Age 74. Director of Policy at Berlint City Hall.

Although he didn’t mention it often, he was exceedingly wealthy. He could’ve lived without ever working a day in his life, because the McMahons were old money. Matthew worked at City Hall for the service he could do for society, rather than the paycheck.

The average person who knew Matthew didn’t realize his wealth. Most didn’t even know that he was a father. All three of his daughters were well known in their own right, having used the status of the McMahon name to marry into powerful families. Melinda, Michelle, and Mabel. Yes, indeed. Matthew McMahon was the father of the First Lady, and yet few who knew him knew that. That was fine. It wasn’t like he was close with Melinda—or Mabel, for that matter. Even Michelle was more distant than he would have preferred.

That was just how things went for the women of Ostania’s upper echelon. As soon as one graduated from Eden College, they would marry a prominent man.

When the second war started, Melinda was twenty-nine. Michelle was twenty-four. Mabel was nineteen.
When the second war started, the only McMahon child who still lived at home was Mildred, aged five.
When the second war started, Westalis carried out a retaliatory bombing on Ostania. A bombing that destroyed Mildred’s kindergarten.
When the second war started, Matthew’s living daughters were too busy helping their husbands guide the war effort.
When the second war started, Matthew was broken, alone, and grieving.
When the second war started, Matthew was forty-nine. Too old to rejoin the military.
When the second war started, Matthew found another way to put his body on the line for his country.
When the second war started, Matthew joined Garden.

Ten years later, the war was winding down. An intern started at City Hall. A teenager trying to make the money to help her mother pay the bills, after her father had died in the war. Millie Myers. She was fifteen.
Matthew saw Mildred in Millie. They had the same name. The same personality. They would’ve been the same age.
Matthew may not have been close with his biological daughters, but he was to Millie.
In the absence of her father, Matthew became her parental figure. She didn’t know about his assassination work, but she still trusted him greatly.

Thus, another fifteen years later, when Millie’s boyfriend nearly killed Anya Forger, it was him that she chose to tell, so she could save the girl’s life.
“Matthew?”

“Millie? Did something happen with you and Julian? I recall Mrs. Forger saying you two are watching her daughter.”

“Yeah, so, uh… Julian might have stabbed her. And then ran off. And now she’s uh. Bleeding a lot. And I don’t know what to do.”

An angry grumble came through the other side of the line. “That fool! I’m on my way.”
He hung up before she could respond.

Millie looked at the unconscious girl beside her, the red seeping through the gauze around her arm, the dog anxiously pacing back and forth—as lost as Millie felt.
Matthew doesn’t know about Julian’s assassin work. I’ll have to tell him.
I hope I know what I’m doing.

I hope Millie knows what she’s doing.
I didn’t realize Hemlock had told her of my work at Garden, but I’m hardly surprised.
Matthew McMahon parked his car outside 128 Park Avenue. Halfway up the stairs he could already smell the blood and dread filled his heart. He pushed the apartment door open without a knock and saw exactly what he had expected—and dreaded.

Millie Myers, anxiously wrapping more and more gauze around the right arm of an unconscious Anya Forger. A great white dog repeatedly licked the girl’s face, as if that would help the situation.
“Matthew! I, uh–”

“We’ll take her to HQ.”

Millie looked at him in utter confusion. “HQ?”

“Shopkeeper’s estate?”

Millie blinked several times. Did Matthew just–
“Huh?”

Matthew ignored her, lifting Anya with one arm and zero effort.
“Leave a note for Yor, but I hope we’ll be back before she can find it. I wouldn’t like to know what she’ll do when she finds out what Hemlock has done.”

Millie followed behind him, confused beyond belief.
“Wait, H–Hemlock?!”

“Julian’s Garden name?”

“I know that, but I didn’t think you did!”

“Then why did you call me?”

“Because I didn’t know who else to call!”

Matthew’s stern gaze made Millie shiver. “You idiot. If I weren’t in Garden, Hemlock would’ve been compromised.”

Millie barely managed to stammer out, “Y–you’re in Garden.”

“Obviously,” he spat. “Director of Finance. Never do something that could reveal a Garden operative’s identity unless you absolutely must!”

Matthew’s been Shopkeeper’s right-hand man this whole time, and I never knew… I guess that explains why I’ve never been able to meet the Director.
Millie stared at her father figure in stunned disbelief. “I…I had to! Gympie was busy! I can’t let Anya die! I wasn’t going to take her to HQ because Hemmie said that Nightshade is very protective of her, and we’ll need to hide this from her.”

Of course Nightshade’s protective of her own daughter.
Turns out that Hemlock didn’t tell Millie about me or Yor being in Garden. Thanks to my assumption, I blew it for myself. Well done, Matthew.
Matthew grumbled, “You should’ve called Mistletoe here!” 

Millie’s sudden and loud response shocked him.
“N–no! Never! He used to work on human experiments. And, uh. Anya told me that… she’s an escaped subject of what I’m pretty sure are those very same experiments. I’m not going to trust him with her, not… not without Anya’s approval. The risk is too high. I won’t let her get sent back there on my watch.”

Matthew looked at the unconscious teenager in his arms, stunned.
She’s from Apple? Loid Forger’s daughter is from Apple? Did he give his own daughter to them? I know he supports the NUP, but that’s… ridiculous. No way in hell. Nightshade would kill him. He must have adopted her.
“But you’d let her die?”

No, no, no. Matthew’s got the wrong idea… Oh god… He’s even scarier now that I know he’s the Director!
“No! That’s why I called you! You always seem to know what to do! What the hell do we do?”

“That depends on what’s happened.” He examined her arm. “Her radial and ulnar arteries seem intact. She got lucky. Why did Hemlock attack her?”

“He mistook her for his target. She talked him out of it too late.”

“Does she know about Garden?”

Millie froze. Yes, she does, but that’s because she can read minds. I trusted Matthew with the knowledge that she’s a lab rat, but telling him about the telepathy would be a step too far. No way. Absolutely not. I can’t do that. That’s Anya’s secret to tell. Not mine. Sorry, Hemmie. Your fault for being a dumbass jerkface, stupid idiothead.
“Hemmie revealed it. You know how he is, so talkative while fighting,” she said evenly.

Matthew’s brow furrowed, and it looked as if he used all his self-control not to crush Anya in his grip in anger.
“Call Thistle. Have him deliver blood. O minus. Then keep trying to contact Gympie,” he replied sternly.

Millie did just that. She needed a distraction from the revelation that Matthew has been the Director she’s heard so much about this whole time.

Matthew laid Anya on the Forgers’ dining table and started to unravel the gauze around the wound. He swore to himself, seeing the damage. 

“You really shouldn’t swear around a kid…” Anya mumbled slightly, making Matthew freeze.

Oh. She’s awake. I was hoping to do this without pain.

“Don’t let me stop you.”

“I– Very well.” Matthew drew a knife and carefully cut her cast open—although it had already been greatly damaged by Hemlock’s blade.

Ignoring the litany of recent wounds around her fingers, there was a clean stab from one side of her forearm through her arm. He warped a tourniquet around her upper arm and began to stitch the wound shut; although Anya was very clearly awake now, she didn’t so much as flinch.
Not even I have a pain tolerance like that. The experiments must have been torture. Just what has she been through?
He shook his head in dismay.

Millie anxiously waited for her caller to pick up the phone.
“Is Gympie back yet? I could still really–”

“No. Stop calling me.”

Millie punched the wall as Demetrius hung up on her again.
“Matthew? Is there a–AAH!”

Millie spun around as she heard the door behind her open. Pleasedontbeyorpleasedontbeyorpleasedontbeyor, she prayed.

“Uh… Millie? You called for me?”
Thistle—awkwardly holding a bag of blood—sidestepped the fist she reflexively threw at him.

“Oh. Yeah. I did. Give it to him,” Millie said as she pointed to Matthew, who was anxiously pacing over Anya. Now that he had tightly wrapped her arm, he contemplated how best to bind her broken fingers so they wouldn’t be damaged further—as the cast that she had received several days ago was beyond repair.

Thistle looked at Anya. Looked at Matthew. Looked at Millie. Looked at the huge dog lapping the puddle of blood on the floor.
“What the hell happened here? Is that the Forger girl?”

Why does he know the Forgers?
“Hemmie was stupid. Mistook her for the target.”

Thistle’s mouth, which was still awkwardly hanging open, closed.
“Alright… not sure why you called me. I’m pretty sure Gympie’s more qualified,” he said hesitantly.

“I can’t get a hold of her. She’s on a job.”

“Did she not bring her radio with her?”

“Her what?”

“Gympie always carries a walkie-talkie, you know that, right?”

“Uhh…”

Thistle set the blood on the table and pulled a small radio from his pocket, speaking into it.
“Gympie? You there?”

A deafening silence of at least ten seconds followed, before a masculine (and very not Gympie) voice responded.
“Who is this?”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Gympie?”

“Are you one of her assassin friends?”

A vein popped in Thistle’s forehead as he shouted into the radio.
“What have you done with her?!”

“I’ve… wait. Hold on. Agent 3PM?”

Thistle froze on the spot.
He whispered fearfully. “Tw–Twilight?”

Millie’s brain rushed. Twilight? Where have I heard that name before? Don’t the SSS bulletins mention Twilight? Call him the nation's greatest enemy? The most elusive spy?
Anya said her father was the best spy in the world. That would be Twilight, wouldn’t it?

“I’m currently interrogating this ‘Gympie’ character. She’s found my identity. I caught her trying to kill students at Eden College.”
Millie’s thoughts were confirmed as she recognized the voice. Loid Forger.

Thistle awkwardly nodded, although it couldn’t be seen.
“I… see. I’m, uh, yeah. Infiltrating Garden. Going to get back to doing that. Don’t let me interrupt you.”
He put away the radio.

That was awkward.

“Gympie can probably slip away. I doubt we need to worry about her. But what’s this about killing Eden kids? Would Gympie do that? Why would Shopkeeper order that?”

“It’s Twilight. Isn’t he like, a great liar? That’s probably not what’s happening. Speaking of…”
Millie stared at Thistle, an eyebrow raised.

Thistle paled as he mouthed awkwardly: “McMahon doesn’t know I’m a spy. The spies don’t know I’m an assassin. It’s complicated. Don’t ask.”

Millie mouthed back: “Better hope Twilight doesn’t find out what Garden did to his daughter.”

“Yeah.” A beat later, “Wait, how do you know Twilight’s identity?”

Thistle may not be the most fearsome of assassins, but Millie still felt raw fear at his sudden glare.
“I… have my sources?” she mouthed back nervously.

He wordlessly placed a knife to her throat.

Oh. Fuck.
“Anya told me,” Millie admitted weakly.

Thistle dropped the knife with a clatter and Bond started licking it.

“She what?” he exclaimed in disbelief.

“Anya told Hemmie so he wouldn’t kill her. She’s not supposed to know, so don’t tell Loid. Or anyone, for that matter. Got it?” Millie hissed—or would have, were she not still mouthing her words.

Thistle nodded firmly, then knelt down to pick up the knife. “I am not paid enough to care about this shit. I’m heading out before I get dragged into this mess any further than I already am. Wish you luck.”

Matthew sighed as he finished the haphazard blood transfusion on the Forgers’ dining table.
Thank God Nightshade is thorough with her first aid kits. I don’t know where else I could’ve gotten an IV.
While he had been working, he had vaguely overheard Thistle and Millie’s radio conversation with… someone. It seemed Gympie had gotten herself into a mess, but given Thistle’s departure, he had probably left to handle that.
Anya Forger was awake, although clearly loopy and still lying down. Although she was remarkably calm considering her injuries.
“Miss Forger. Can we chat?” Matthew asked casually—although his face was as stern as ever.

She returned with a question of her own, staring at the ceiling.
“You wanna know about Project Apple?”

I see. She must not have been fully unconscious when I was talking with Millie.
“Yes. And to verify that you won’t tell anyone about Garden.”

Anya nodded. “I’d rather not be mortally wounded any more than I already have been, so no. I know that you’re in Garden, so is Julian, and that weird guy who was in here earlier.”

I’m glad that she’s upfront about it.
“Thank you, Miss Forger, do–”

“Anya.”

“Hmm?”

“Call me Anya.”

She likely insists on her first name being used whenever possible because Hapoon just referred to her as a number.
“Very well, Anya. Do you remember how you got there?”
I need to verify that Loid Forger is not in on this. If he is, we’ll need to kill him, and that would definitely upset–

Anya blubbered out her words rapidly.
“I was born there! Mom got taken during the war. She was just a kid then. I… don’t remember how I escaped. But Papa adopted me, and I uh… convinced him to lie to everyone that I’ve always been his daughter. Even Mama thinks that. Picked him to adopt me because he doesn’t have any family or friends who could say I haven’t always been there, except Uncle Scruffy. Scruffy’s an underground informant by the way, so he was able to get me a forged birth certificate. Makes it way harder for the whitecoats to find me, since they’re looking for an adopted kid, not a biological one.”

I see that she was only a toddler when she escaped, and she was still able to forge a cover identity. That’s impressive indeed.
“Do you know for sure that they’re looking for you?”

“It doesn’t hurt to be safe. Even if Papa has no idea why he needs to pretend I’m his bio daughter,” Anya answered solemnly.

“I see. Does this Scruffy know of your origins?”

“His name’s Franky. Franky Franklin. And yes. Papa didn’t seem to get the urgency of why I wanted fake documents, but he asked Scruffy anyway. I overheard them, and that’s when I found out that Scruffy’s a shady guy, although Papa doesn’t realize how deep it goes. He thinks Scruffy just, like, tells the cops about criminals. And maybe has some shady friends, who could, say… backdate his marriage certificate with Mama. Anyway, Scruffy wasn’t too keen on getting forged documents for me just because I wanted to look like Papa’s ‘real’ daughter, so I went behind Papa’s back and told him the real reason. So then Scruffy did it without complaint. He’s a good guy.”

When Nightshade announced her intent to marry for cover, I did a deep background check on Mr. Forger. Not one thing about his daughter being adopted came up. This Franklin character was thorough indeed. He could be a valuable ally.
“I see.” Matthew took a deep breath. “Does the name Leonardo Hapoon mean anything to you?”

Anya froze. Then she spoke, cold and detached. “Yeah, I remember Mister Big Bad,” her words were punctuated with a dry laugh, “he was the one who ordered Mom’s death when she outlived her use. If my hands weren’t so broken, I’d draw his face for you. Cold dark eyes, huge glasses, that disgusting, greasy streak of black hair, blocky chin, ears too big for his head.”

“I know what he looks like. I almost killed him last May, but he faked his death.”

“Coward. Always hiding behind a mask of ‘World Peace’. But I’m afraid I uh… don’t know where he could’ve gone. Or where the lab was. And it was so long ago all the other faces are kinda fuzzy…” She averted her eyes before continuing. “I’m sorry I don’t know anything useful. B–but I can remember them talking about money. After the Nationalist Party got control of the government, and cut the funding, and made Apple disband, they started getting money from the NUP. F–from Desmond.”

So it’s Donovan… of course. Killing him without causing a political fiasco will be difficult. It’ll probably be down to me or Nightshade, because of our connections with Melinda.

“I don’t know for sure! That it’s Desmond,” Anya clarified. “They just talked about him a lot. It could’ve been that he was against them. I… don’t know. So don’t just kill him, okay? Not yet, at least. Look into it first.”

“Of course. Decade-old memories are hardly enough evidence to carry out an execution. We’ll look into it. Thank you, An–”
Suddenly, the door burst open, cutting Matthew off abruptly.

For the second time today, Millie let out a scream as an assassin ran into the Forgers’ home unannounced. This time, she did not feel bad when she threw a punch into his face.

“What the hell was that for?!” Hemlock howled, clutching his face.

Millie glared at her boyfriend. He stared back with contempt, so she shoved her knee into his most sensitive area.
“You’re lucky Anya’s still alive!” she yelled.

“Ow?! Why wouldn’t she be?”

Millie and Matthew both stared at him, wordless. Anya stared at him, then sighed. “You’re so bad at peopling, Mister ‘Lock.”

Hemlock gasped indignantly at the nickname. “Mister Lock!?!”

“Your sense of normal is broken. Breaking news: people die when they’re stabbed. I’m alive, thanks to the M&Ms over here. Although it would’ve been nice if they spent less time arguing, more time stitching,” Anya said sarcastically as she threw him a dirty glance.

To Hemlock, her side eye was likely less menacing than she had intended, as it was hard for him to feel threatened by a teenager who couldn’t use her hands—but the message remained.

Millie threw her thoughts at Anya to try and defend herself.
I’m sorry, Anya! I’d like to think I’m pretty desensitized to learning that people around me are assassins, but I’m still trying to cope with this! Matthew’s been an assassin the whole time! What the hell?!

“Anyway. Blah blah, yada yada, I got stabbed, boo hoo, now I’m reasonably patched up, although down one cast. Whatever. Not like I needed that. Misunderstandings are in the past. But Mister Director over here is pissed that you told me about Garden,” Anya continued while mouthing: “He doesn’t know about my telepathy, so you better take the blame and not say a damn thing.”

Despite her calm words, Anya’s face held anger, surprising Matthew. It held emotions behind it that could not easily be comprehended. However, as fast as the expression had appeared on her face, it vanished. She smiled at Hemlock, to his surprise.
She really is remarkably forgiving. No wonder she was uneasy about a potential hit on Desmond thanks to her words.
Matthew walked to the door with a sigh. “I’ll be taking my leave now. And Hemlock? When Mrs. Forger returns, you’re in charge of explaining what the hell happened.”
He shot a look towards his subordinate that clearly said, “This isn’t over.”

“I– wait, what?” Hemlock exclaimed, eyes nearly bulging out of his sockets.

Anya sat in her father’s chair while her babysitters sat on the couch. Anya looked at Hemlock, eyes wide.
“So, what did you tell Shopkeeper?” she asked coolly.

Hemlock muttered awkwardly. “Well. I. Uh.”

Anya nodded. “Uh huh.”

“Then we well, y’know,” Hemlock muttered once more.

“Mhm…” Anya goaded him on, reading his mind for context—context Millie did not have.

“And then yeah. That.”

She gasped as she read his mind. “You did not!”

“Yes, I did. You saw it in my memory clearly, so–”

“That was rhetorical! I–oh. Wait. Hold on, shut up. Mama’s almost home. She's entering the building right now.”

How did she know that?

“I can sense her thoughts. Duh,” Anya answered before Millie could ask.

“Hey! You can’t leave me out of your conversation by keeping it in your head!”

Millie ignored Hemlock’s lament, thinking another question at Anya.
Just how far is your range?

“Far enough. Now shut up so Mama doesn’t learn about the esping.”

Esping? Is that the right word for it?

“It’s my sense, so I get to decide the words.”

“Speak, you fools! I’m being left out here!”

Both ignored Hemlock, but with the belated realization that Yor was almost here, Millie felt dread creep up on her.
I really hope Hemmie has a good excuse, or we're dead, she thought, sweat beginning to form on her forehead.

“Don't worry. Starlight Anya’s got this. Just gonna tell Mama the truth." 

Wait, what? You can’t just–
Not a moment too soon, the door opened. Yor walked in, a wide smile on her face. Anya sprang up, wrapping herself around her mother. “Mama! You're home!” 

Yor’s smile fell away when she saw the loss of a cast and the addition of a wound on Anya’s right arm. For a moment, she was silent. Her lip twitched. Even Millie felt the emotions spilling away from her. Rage, sadness, guilt, fear.

“Mama! You look like you're gonna kill Mister ‘Lock. Don't.”

“…Mister Lock?” Yor mumbled to herself. 

Anya! You can't just tell her what really happened!

“Ok, so, funny story. He works as an assassin! But you already knew that. Anyway, he mistook me for his target. Oopsie.” Anya held up her bloodied arm. "I'd like to think I did surprisingly well in a swordfight against him! All thanks to your training, Mama!" 

Yor looked up from her daughter, staring at Hemlock with fire in her crimson eyes.
“Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right this second," she growled.

"It was a mistake, Mama! Millie’s already mad at him; she'll make him pay. You don't need to. Don't wanna make his assassin boss angry, do you?" 

Yor is strong, but she's no match for a trained assassin. Hemmie could kill her if he wanted, no doubt Shopkeeper could t–

Before Millie knew what was happening, Yor had drawn a long, thin golden knife from… somewhere behind her back, and with one smooth throw embedded it in the wall right beside Hemlock’s cheek—a clear warning. 

She took a deep breath. A long, slow, deep breath. “You have ten seconds to leave, before I make you seriously regret laying a hand on my daughter.” Yor’s words were as sharp as the dagger in the wall.

Hemlock looked at the knife, shrugged, and looked back at Yor. "I was just trying to eliminate my target. Your daughter resembled them,” he mumbled matter-of-factly.

Yor leapt forward with another knife, but Hemlock dodged her jab.

“What target would you have been given that you could mistake for a child! For my child?! Garden only goes after bad people! What child has earned an execution?!” Yor grew more furious by the second.

Her trio of furious slashes were all still blocked by Hemlock's cane; he had yet to draw his sword from within. "I don’t know! All I was told was that there's a tattoo on the back of her neck!” he exclaimed indignantly.

"The tattoo that the secret police put on my Anya after she got arrested?”—klang, klang, klang—“They do that to mark their targets!”—Yor’s blade scratched his cheek—“To mark my daughter! You didn’t mistake her for your target, she was your target!”—Yor drew yet another knife—“I know the secret police thought she was a spy, but did they seriously send you after her?!" 

Millie didn't question why Yor knew the supposed reason behind Anya’s arrest. Hemlock hooked his cane around Yor’s forearm, flinging the blade out of her fingers. Anya nervously stepped back as the knife flew past her ear, and shared a look with Millie as Yor and Hemlock—who had at last drawn his sword—continued to fight in the living room.

"MAMA! It's a misunderstanding. It's all sorted out with the boss assassin man–” the girl tried to explain.

Yor ignored her daughter, weaving around Hemlock’s sword, getting ever closer. He took a step backwards and tripped over Bond as Yor kicked his cane from his grasp. She pointed a knife at his neck on the floor.
"Doesn't matter who your boss tells you deserves to die, Hemlock,”—she spat his name with venom—“don't you dare hurt my daughter again. The only reason you're not dead right now is because she forgives you—which, by the way, Anya, you're too forgiving.”
Yor threw her knife at the floor with rage, narrowly avoiding Hemlock’s fingers. She lifted him by the neck and pushed him against the window.
“Now get out of my home, and never touch my daughter again!”

Millie knew Hemlock to be extraordinarily strong. No one could harm him, except the Director—which she now knew to be Matthew—and the Shopkeeper (and of course his eternal nemesis, the Thorn Princess). But now, watching him cower under Yor’s hateful glare, Millie knew she could add one more to the list of people Hemlock feared.
Yor Forger.
Hemlock opened the window and leapt out of the apartment without a word.

“Hemmie! I can't just– follow you out there?!” Millie called, but she was too late.
Sighing, she noted she was alone in the apartment with Anya and Yor.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
"Oh. I. Uh. I’msosorryYorItriedtostophimbutI–”

"Don't worry about it!” In a complete 180 from her prior emotions, Yor was smiling, although her eye was twitching. She tossed Hemlock’s cane to Millie.
"I know it's not your fault. I'm mad at him, not you. If you tried to stop him, you'd probably end up in the crossfire. Hemlock is a fucking idiot!”

“Mama knows how to cuss?!"
Anya was in awe.

"Uh… Yes. I do. But don't copy what you hear, alright? Your teachers won't be happy if they hear you say things like that.”

“I fuckin’ got it, Mama!" Anya said with a salute, face completely straight.
At the same moment, Loid walked through the door. He was clearly exhausted. Then he heard his daughter cuss. Looking over at her, he saw the wound on her arm.
In the next second, he collapsed on the floor, out like a light.

Operation Scarlet Salmon: Mission Notes

From Anya Forger (Alias: Test Subject 007)

I am the main character. It’s the only explanation. I have plot armor. I didn’t die. Mama didn’t kill Hemlock. Papa’s decided not to process this and I don’t blame him. My family lives to see another day.

From Julian Jones (Alias: Hemlock)

I’ve never failed a hit. It’s not that I wasn’t able to kill Starlight, but I just… didn’t want to. I’ve never felt that before. I’ve never not wanted to kill a target! I know Millie thinks it was the right thing to do but… am I still fit to be an assassin?

From Mildred Myers (Alias: Millie)

Matthew is the Director for Garden! Why didn’t he ever tell me that? Also, Yor is scary! So scary. So, so, so, so scary. I’m lucky to be alive, and I think everyone is lucky that she hasn’t landed a job as an assassin herself—she’d be unstoppable.

From Sylvia Sherwood (Alias: Handler)

According to Eventide, Project Apple’s human experimentation is little more than urban legend. He compared it to Garden. I told him that Garden is real, and he had the guts to tell me I was lying. My stomach hurts.

From Louis Reale (Aliases: Scarface, Oleander)

Something’s not right. According to Wilker, we’re waiting on a third party—Garden—to ‘deal with’ Starlight. According to Shopkeeper, Starlight has already been handled. Did Hemlock already kill her, and Wilker hasn’t been told yet? Usually the turn-around is so much faster. Is Shopkeeper planning something?

From Chloe Chapman (Alias: Midnight)

I really hope Starlight has a trick up her sleeve. Wilker is trying everything he can to find her. I suspect it won’t be much longer until he demands I tell him what she looks like, regardless of the blackmail—out of the people who saw Starlight, I’m the one he respects the least.

From Yuri Briar

I’m so sorry, Chihuahua. I really hope you’re okay. God, what am I even thinking? I’m putting my family above my country. I’m not fit to be in the State Security Service. But… I joined the State Security Service to protect my family. Isn’t that more important than my country?

From Giacomo Gascoigne (Alias: Gas-Coin)

Starlight’s reckoning is coming. I can’t wait to find out what sorts of things she knows. Next time I see her, I’m not holding back.

From Walter Wilker

No word yet from the Shopkeeper. I thought they acted faster than this. If I don’t hear from him tomorrow on this matter, I’ll have to get my men back on Starlight’s ass, despite how much of a danger she’ll be to their lives. I suppose having my own guys on the case isn’t the end of the world—she’ll be more useful alive. She won’t escape a second time.

From Matthew McMahon (Aliases: Director, Bracken)

I don’t know what Hemlock expected, exposing his identity to Anya Forger. He mistook her for his target. How odd. I suppose all’s well that ends well, as long as Yor doesn’t kill him. It is helpful to know that Anya Forger is an escaped test subject of Project Apple. This could aid Garden in our pruning.

From Fiona Frost (Alias: Nightfall)

There’s embezzlement. A paper trail leading back to the end of the war. Each year, about five percent of the hospital’s funding goes missing. How has this not been reported? I know nothing would come of it, but did people really just assume this discrepancy was Gorey pocketing the change? Project Apple doesn’t need money though, they would surely have less conspicuous ways to get their funds. That tells me the missing money likely went to pay the salaries of our own personnel—doctors whose employment needed to be off the books.

From Martha Marriott (Alias: Daffodil)

Now I’ve gotten a call from Matthew. Am I just the keeper of Garden gossip now? I feel like everyone I talk to doesn’t have the full picture. Apparently Hemlock tried to kill Anya, because he “mistook her for his target”. Something tells me Matthew hasn’t realized that Anya is Hemlock’s target. Ramona wasn’t kidding—Starlight really does need protection. Although I think Yor will be more than capable of handling that. I just need to stay out of this mess, and hopefully keep Becky from getting too involved herself.

From Rebecca Blackbell (Alias: Becky)

Anya says Damian doesn’t have feelings for her, but we all know that’s wrong, so I think Anya’s just stupid. She just doesn’t know what she’s looking at when she reads his mind. I will make sure they get together, those dense idiots.

From Kai Keller (Aliases: Thistle, 3PM)

Well this is just great. Millie’s worked out that I’m in WISE. That’s not the end of the world, she knows to keep quiet. But now Twilight thinks I’m trying to infiltrate Garden! If he asks Handler about that, the jig is up. I never should’ve accepted both of these jobs.

From Yor Forger (Aliases: Thorn Princess, Nightshade)

Anya’s been stabbed through the arm and she says it doesn’t even hurt! I know she has a very high pain tolerance, and well… that’s about the only thing keeping Hemlock—and by extension Shopkeeper—alive. He better have a damn good explanation for why Anya’s been targeted. He may have trained me, but I think I could still kill him.

From Loid Forger (Alias: Twilight)

My stomach hurts. Anya has a stab wound, and Millie says it’s because the three of them were trying to cook a stew for lunch and Julian dropped the knife while he was cutting the vegetables. Is being a bad cook a requirement to work at City Hall?