"In a land of blind people, a one-eyed woman could be queen."
Number Thirteen
Cecilia stroked her sister's gravestone with one of her pale fingers. Her broken nails were grubby as usual; she had another bouquet of wild flowers on her lap, fresh from the meadow. She was sitting comfortably on the dirty floor, dried petals of the earlier blossoms and dirt surrounding her. Her cheek was pressed on the cold elevated stone, one corner of her lip turned up in a small smile. She was singing a tuneless lullaby, her bright wide eyes staring at the empty space in front of her.
"Ophee, wake up," she cooed pleasantly, mischievously, lovingly. "Wake up, wake up and let's punish your husband, dear sister."
She laughed, another crimson tear falling from her eye. It stained her already filthy clothes. "Did you know? You did, didn't you? Was that the reason why you decided to sleep? He's so selfish, isn't he? He wanted them near. He brought the rain. He broke the glass. What a naughty, stubborn boy."
Her gaze clouded for a moment, seeing another vision of the future. She hugged herself as if her body might crumble; more tears of blood dripped off her chin. Her eyes rolled and her lips twitched. For a moment, she stilled. When the images disappeared, her whole body sagged like a rag doll.
"Wake up, Ophee," she cried softly, her face turning from innocent delight to that of grief. "Wake up, or else he's gonna destroy us all."
**
Faye heard the sirens from afar.
Was there a criminal on the loose, or was it the fire apartment this time? She idly wondered, letting the cool evening breeze caress her heavily-coated face. The fake lashes felt heavy on her eyelids, making them appear droopy. Her cheeks were ice cold, her nose red, but she refused to return to the warmth downstairs. She had a mission to finish.
"Hey, want another round honey?" slurred the drunken man leaning against the veranda overlooking the Statue of Liberty. His white tuxedo was stained with droplets of cognac and champagne and something else, the decorative yellow rose wilting on his breast pocket.
Faye spoke in a husky, Southern accent drawl. "Sure, pretty boy. Whatever makes you happy."
She allowed him to touch her newly dyed blonde hair as he staggered to kiss her, but slapped his other hand away. He was too intoxicated to even notice. She quickly averted her face from him and handed him another glass of expensive wine, the fourth bottle he had since he met her.
"So," she purred in a practiced voice, "you were saying something about your CEO?"
The man choked as he tried to guffaw, squinting to see her face. "Director Tyron? That fat'so? He's nothing but a piece of... you know, barely attended the weekly meetings, always out of the country." He hiccupped as he downed the glass. "Got lotsa lotsa woman pawing 'round him. Bastard."
Faye slid her small hand to the base of his neck, sympathy oozing from her tone. "And he's letting you do all the work? He's so mean."
"That he is." The man grinned, loving the way she touched him. Her hand was so small, so tender; it made him want to have her all the more. "So Karen, sweetheart, why don't we –"
Faye squeezed his neck, aiming for his carotid, and before he knew it, the man in white tuxedo passed out. She quickly searched for his identity cards and took out her hand-carry scanner - something she's been hiding, taped on her right thigh along with her other weaponries. After quickly copying his data and the intricacies of his cards, she called a waiter to take care of the man.
She straightened her red velvet gown and put on her black Venetian mask, making sure she would blend in with the other flirts in the party. With strappy black heels, she sauntered back to the hall filled with mingling dignitaries and representatives of the biggest conglomerates. Hollywood stars were everywhere, not to mention royalties from different nations.
The chatter surrounding her didn't amuse her. In fact, it irritated her.
Back to the Big Apple, back to the trouble bubble, she thought drily as she was escorted by three dashing young aristocrats – at least they were with their masks on.
Being back to New York not only prevented her from snooping around in Creed's head quarters; it also ensured that she would be busy with missions. Although small fries, the number of crimes and black market movements in the giant city was overwhelming. As 00 and in charge of the Manhattan facility – not to mention the entire eastern USA – she had no choice but to make sure to clean as much filth as she could.
And boy, forever is not enough.
From the corners of her eyes, she recognized some of the Bases she assigned to accompany her. They seemed to be doing their jobs well, thanks to her year-worth of guidance – how to act like a normal person, not a bloodthirsty animal or mechanical whacko. She made a mental note to praise them once they're done.
"Would you like to see my unit after the party?" Mr. Green Mask asked in a deep baritone. "I swear you'll love the view."
"Or you could visit my mansion," joined Mr. Violet Mask, "It is open for beautiful ladies like you."
"That's probably your father's. She'll love my place," the third one interrupted, "I own a penthouse here, you know."
Faye giggled like a slut, hiding the snort she reflexively wanted to give. She continued to speak in a slow, seductive drawl. "Oh my, my. You men are so competitive. I'm so impressed."
And so disgusted.
She politely excused herself from the three domineering men and made sure that they would lose her in the crowd. She trotted elsewhere, picking bits of food and glasses of cocktail every now and then from a passing tray.
It's nearly midnight, but the formal party was still in full swing. She's so tired with her strappy heels; she just wanted to sit in a quiet place or better, sleep in her room. As soon as she saw an open couch in the far corner of the room, she was so happy she raced and occupied it, making sure she had a glass on one side and a plate on the other. Dynamic would be the one who would dare to sit beside her when she made it so ridiculously obvious she didn't want company.
She watched the gathering without any real interest, half of her mind returning to the earlier worries she had.
Something was wrong.
From the pits of her stomach, she knew that there was something fishy going on, and Kreuz had been adamant that she knew nothing of this matter. She would probably rot in her facility before their Master would willingly give her the reports she's been asking for – Rael's status and updates on Gneiss' condition. He even destroyed the surveillance camera that Arashi installed for her to monitor Gneiss' recuperation. Kreuz's actions were so obvious that even a five-year-old child would be suspicious. Faye couldn't help but be offended.
Did he think that lowly of her? That she was incapable of seeing through his motives? For goodness' sake, she's not 00 for decoration! She's an Equation, and the highest one at that. Novice, yeah, but dangerous. Her reluctance to embrace Creed's heartless policies didn't mean she's not capable of doing it.
Their Master had wrongly underestimated her, and she wasn't sorry for the man.
She couldn't get a hold of both 02 and 04 – meaning, they're on a highly confidential, no-outside-communication- kind of mission. Then, there was also the issue with the intolerable old spawn of the devil, Agent 13. Why was he still in the HQ and not in his facility?
The Equations were strategically scattered around the world unless working on an assignment, a tactic devised so that every area is under surveillance of one major facility. 02, being Russian, was situated in Kiev. On the other hand, 04 stayed in Tokyo. 00 and 13, both North Americans, were assigned the New York and underground Utah branches respectively. USA is far too big for 00 alone to look after, not to mention that it is where the biggest scandals and operations were situated in.
It's been more than a week since the annual meeting of the Equations occurred. He should immediately resume responsibility in Utah; she heard that there was a commotion brewing in the coasts of California, a region under 13's jurisdiction. So what was keeping 13 in the Pacific islands? What was he plotting with their Master?
Faye sighed, tired of thinking. And worrying. And gnawing her lips. She could taste her blood, but she couldn't get rid of her habit; she's been doing it for years. And did she mention that the noise in the room was already getting on her nerves?
Suddenly, she froze at the sound of an overly familiar voice.
"Are you okay?"
Her head turned to the source of the voice, finding nothing but an aged couple and a group of gossiping women.
Had she drank too much?
"Yes, it looks lovely – the color suits you."
Faye closed her eyes, gently massaging her throbbing temples. Her heart was hammering in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Yes, it had to be the alcohol messing with her senses. There's no way –
"Come on. Let's go outside. You look kind of pale. Fresh air might help you."
Stop, stop it! Not now!
She saw a tall, blond guy in an Armani suit talking to a dark-haired girl less than three yards away from her. He had a golden Egyptian death mask hiding his face. Faye was so sure that the voice came from him, but then, she realized it was impossible.
Oh heavens', she's losing her mind.
She abruptly yanked her mask off and ran to the exit, ignoring the startled people on her way, and drove in her nondescript Toyota from the hotel without a second glance.
Faye knew she was dreaming.
In her dream, it was morning, cool and bright like in spring. It delighted her that at least her mind managed to provide her a safe sanctuary from the terrors of the real world. She felt like a child again – carefree and innocent. She found herself in a place filled with shrubs and trees and flowers and stone benches. It wasn't a park, more like a garden, a private garden. The path was made of multi-colored pebbles.
She loved it.
As she followed the trail, she noticed someone on a wheelchair, just a few feet off the end. Butterflies were flying all over him, as if that person was made of honey. The sun made the mop of messy blond hair shine like gold. Faye left the path and silently approached the dazzling person.
It was him.
Faye was so happy she burst into tears.
This was the first dream she had of Gneiss where he was smiling, where he was at peace, where he was alive and awake and not covered in blood. Despite being in a wheelchair, he looked healthy. His arms were not thin and pale like wax, nothing like the images she had of him inside the glass life support system in Creed's headquarters. He was exactly what he used to be before the incident.
He noticed her standing and greeted her with a breathtaking, stomach-kneading smile.
"Faye, baby, you're back." His voice, calm and patient and sensual and nostalgic, urged her stiff body to move. She tightly wrapped her arms around him, afraid that he was only a mirage that would disappear faster than smoke.
"Gneiss... Gneiss... I - you," she sobbed.
"Hush." He stroked her head, murmuring comfort on her ears. She felt whole again, complete, as if everything that happened in the last year didn't tear her piece by piece. For the first time in so long, she felt like Faye Summers, not Agent 00. "Everything will be all right. I promise."
"I miss you."
She felt him smile wider. "Me too, baby, me too."
This dream was too wonderful that Faye was afraid of waking up. She could even smell his scent; the other dreams weren't like that. "I'm so proud of you Faye. Thank you for staying by my side. I guess I'm still hotter than that Japanese admirer of yours eh?"
Faye smacked him in the arm, laughing despite the tears. She missed this side of him; it's been more than a year since someone made fun of her in a non-demeaning manner. She was thankful her subconscious mind had made good things resurface from her memories.
Because of her recurring nightmares, she thought that she was too damaged to dream good things. She was glad to be proven wrong.
"What's with the butterflies? Are you wearing floral perfume or something?" she joked as she pulled away from him. She held his right hand in both of hers, kneeling by his feet. His eyes – blue as the summer sky when he's in a good mood – stared at her with so much emotion it made her uneasy. Gneiss was normally passive if not mischievous. His eyes were only like these during rare situations – one of them the time he confessed his feelings for her.
"You know that I loved you, right?"
Faye's smile disappeared as she watched his face dimmed. He held out his left hand and a small white butterfly alighted on his index finger.
"Gneiss?"
"Sorry babe," he murmured, a cold smile replacing his frown, "I am no longer Gneiss Underwood."
He crushed the insect in his palms, letting its frail body and gossamer wings be carried by the wind.
"I am 01."
**
Unedited.