THE UNITY

⋊ prologue ⋉

.ONE YEAR EARLIER.

Margaret White walked down the street, sighing. Two years ago, when she had just celebrated her tenth birthday, she received a very special order. She received orders from many people, and she never disappointed them.

The girl continued to plunge into the darkening alley, her eyes narrowing as the forms of the buildings around her were getting more and more vague. The order had come from the Masters. And no one could have refused without giving up their life as a sacrifice. So she had managed by herself to satisfy Them as quickly as possible.

The thing with the Masters was that they weren't the most patient persons. They were threatening, terrifying. And right, They were right. Margaret White understood soon enough, that being right meant being terrifying, because right, in this reality, meant change, and change, to most –and she could even say every one of them– was frightening.

She was what you could call a peculiar person –or child, seeming that would be more fitting. She wasn't very fond of socialising, but as a survivor, she was in her must to observe people. It was necessary to understand how others reacted, or even just acted.

A woman jostled her, and when she let out a gasp of surprise, not having seen Margaret because of her small height; the child just concealed a satisfied smile, losing balance and falling on the hard, cold ground.

"Sorry," the adult apologised, helping her up. The young girl knew how to be discreet in those kind of events, so no one realised it when her hands plunged into strangers' pocket, feeling the leather of a wallet.

"No biggies."

The stranger continued on her way, and Margaret White held on to the wallet she had just stolen. Survival was the most important, the rest didn't matter. She took out the money, put it in her pocket, and threw the rest away behind her.

"Mockingbird? What a pleasure to meet again."

The agent turned around with a jump when she heard her code name. She found herself face to face with Spats, a man in his early forties with a compulsive habit of playing with his white gloves. He was the runner of the Masters. The Masters never interacted with her Themselves, Spats was their fool, and he interacted instead of the king.

"Did you find them?" he asked, as always straight to the point, eyes glistening in the dark night.

Margaret hesitated, but what was their to hesitate on? "Yes. I found the six children."

Spats had a reassured smile. "The Masters will be proud of your work."

The little girl straightened, conscious that her mission could not be ending here. From anyone else, she might have expected it, but this was the Masters: they had a bigger plan than that. "What's next?"

"Collect them, and then wait."

Collect them? "You want them to meet?" She wanted to be sure. "Now? When they're only kids?"

Her interlocutor raised an eyebrow, probably hinting, that with her twelve years she had nothing to say about the age of the targets. "Now," he nodded. "Is it a problem?"

Margaret White bristled. "Of course not," she scoffed. "But I want half of my payment now and the other half when they're together."

Spats sighed. "You'll get what you want as soon as possible. What about Delta?"

She rolled her eyes, giving him a hard look. "I can't be everywhere. His location is still a complete mystery."

"Edda did hide him well," he grunted, brushing away an imaginary spot of dust from shoulder.

"We have some of our members taking care of him. Soon enough, he'll only be a bad memory."

They both turned silence and it felt as though the past was catching them, getting closer and closer. Like the time was trying to remind them that they didn't have a second left to lose.

What an odd time was. People craved for it more than they did for money or power. For life was time.

As though he felt that the conversation was over, Spats turned on his heels and disappeared into the dark night. "Good riddance," the little girl muttered.