Rule number eight; adios bitchachos.
The morning is still dark out as I walk through the training room doors, my eyes shifting around the room for Agent Eleven but she's missing.
I sigh, glancing to the clock on the wall and narrow my eyes.
Five AM.
I don't bother waiting around, knowing exactly where she is and what she's doing.
She thinks that I'll just let her get away with it, well I have news for her, I don't give up.
Turning, I give the door my back as I walk back up the stairs, towards the room across from mine.
My eyes find her bedroom door instantly and I'm standing in front of it within a few steps, my hand turning the knob and pushing it open.
I snap on the light, my eyes moving straight to Agent Eleven, who still sleeps in her bed.
Grinding my teeth, I move closer and fling her sheets off.
"Get up. Now!" I start, watching her dark eyes flinch open, her hand reaching under her pillow, no doubt to pull out a weapon.
I'm not about to have a repeat of our first encounter.
"Get up, get ready and get to the training room, now."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" She snaps, her voice still husky from sleep, "You don't have to treat me like a child."
I only raise a brow in reply and turn, leaving her to get ready.
"If you're not down in five minutes I'll be back up here dragging your ass down there." I look down at her, her eyes shooting daggers up at me. "Even if you're naked."
She only huffs in reply.
"And bring your weapons with you, all of them." I shut her door behind me.
• • •
I lean against the wall, my hands folded in front of me and let the smirk slip onto my face as I watch the clock tick down.
Five minutes is up.
I push from the wall, shaking my head before I stop as the door is pushed open and the woman of the house slips through.
She raises a challenging brow at me and looks up and down, noticing me in the middle of the room and she looks to the clock.
"Was I a little late?" She murmurs, letting the door shut behind her with a shrug, her eyes falling on me with a wicked gleam before she drops a bag at my feet.
I glance down at it, humming and notice the array or weapons inside before looking back at her.
Does the saucy little minx really expect me to believe she's given me everything. "That's everything?"
She nods, turning away from my eyes. "Just like you asked."
I grunt in reply, letting her think I believe her, flicking my chin to the mat. "Let's begin."
She doesn't reply, just walks to the middle of the mat and then turns to face me.
I step on, the mat sinking under my weight as I stand opposite her, my eyes tracking down her body, analysing the muscles I can see beneath her skin.
"Are you just going to stare or we going to actually train?"
My eyes snap to hers. "We'll begin with a quick spar, just so I can judge your current abilities."
She doesn't seem to like my wording, her muscles tensing and I grin.
"I wouldn't want to wound your ego more than I already have." Her voice is soft, and I can tell she means what she says.
"Maybe you'll surprise me, Elle."
"Elle?" She raises a brow, tilting her head to the side.
"Well, since I don't know your name, Elle will have to do, won't it?" Her body shifts the slightest bit, "Unless you care to enlighten me on your name?"
She doesn't answer me, huffing under her breath.
"Would you prefer a nickname?"
Her eyes snap to me, "Are you going to actually train me or are you just going to talk until I die of boredom?"
"How bout Spitfire?" Is my only reply. She scoffs at the name but says nothing.
"Firefly?"
She glares back but I get a thrill from the annoyance I can see creeping up on her.
"Angel?"
She drops her hip, staring at the clock on the wall in boredom.
"What about Sergeant?"
Her eyes snap to me, narrowing and I know I've got her nickname.
"Sarge it is." I says slowly, "Get into position, Sarge." A mischievous smirk forms on my face, eager to test her limits and see how she would handle the pressure.
Without warning, I lunge forward, launching a series of swift strikes at her guard. Taunting her with each movement, I can see her annoyance rise, fueling her every punch and kick.
I pull back with a laugh, "Are you holding out on me, Sarge?" I shake my head, "Don't hold back on my account."
"Stop calling me that,"
"No." I taunt, my gruff voice laced with amusement. "Come on, show me what you've got!"
Her frustration mounts, and she responds with an intense barrage of attacks, driven by her anger. Her punches come at me with reckless abandon, leaving openings for me to exploit. With calculated precision, I sidestep, evade, and block her strikes, wearing her down methodically.
Her huff of frustration brings a grin to my face, and she starts again.
I don't let her get far into her attack, with a swift maneuver, I seize the opportunity, overpowering her and flipping her onto the mat. She lands with a thud, her breath heavy and her body covered in a sheen of sweat.
Breathing heavily myself, I extend a hand to help her up. "Not bad, Sergeant. But you let your anger control your movements. You need to learn to channel that energy effectively."
Her fiery gaze meets mine, a mix of frustration and determination burning within her eyes. She accept my hand and rises to her feet, her body trembling from exertion.
"Don't patronize me," she spits, her voice filled with defiance. "I'm not here to be your punching bag."
I stare down at her, "Then why are you here? You can leave at any time."
Her glare is hot and tight around my throat, "Just for you and your team to drag me back?"
I grin, unrepentant. "You put up a good fight, Sarge." I grace down her body, "Wouldn't mind doing it again."
She doesn't reply, turning her back on me. "Are we done now?"
I narrow my eyes, "No, punching bag until I say stop."
I can still see the anger in her, the annoyance but she moves to the bags, her back tight with aggression.
I follow behind her, but don't push the conversation, moving on. "Twenty minutes on this and then you're done."
She doesn't say anything just gets into position to begin.
I watch her for a second before turning my back and walking to the wall to lean against it and watch her.
The sound of a palm slapping against a bag resounds in the room and my head snaps to Eleven. Her hair swishing down her back as she twists with the momentum of her punch.
"You'd get a lot more out of this session if your wore hand wraps." I say from across the room.
Her back tenses but she ignores me, her movement becoming more controlled, precise.
I settle in, grinding my teeth at her insolence but let her be her own worst enemy.
I close my eyes when her open fist hits the bag again, and I grunt, pushing off the wall and walking closer.
I swipe up a spare pair of wraps on my way, stopping to the side of her.
"Anger can be a powerful motivator, but you need to learn to channel it into controlled aggression." I start, "and also stop hurting yourself in the process." I shove the wraps into her hand, "Use the fucking wraps."
Her grip tighten on the wraps and she pulls them from my hand, "Fine."
I stay there until she gets the hint and she huffs but starts wrapping her hands and I nod when she's done, flicking my chin back to the bag.
"Continue." I move back to the wall, leaning against it and watching her for the rest of the session.
• • •
"We've been requested to base, immediately." Clay says as soon as he walks through the training room door, his face tight with tension.
I swipe the sweat from my forehead, narrowing my eyes. "Why?"
Clay breathes out, "A body was found."
"What?" I breathe out, walking briskly towards him, "Where?" Vaguely seeing Eleven follow behind.
"I don't know, all I know is my father wants us there immediately so get your ass moving."
• • •
The walk through The Divisions hallway is ominous, the silence eating away between the five of us. There's a large group of Agents hovering around the open door at the end of the hallways, our presence unknown to them as we walk by.
I try to look in to see what is happening but notice nothing, the Agents whispers too low to pick up.
Walking for Directors office, I knock once when the door swings open, a man staring back at me.
Director steps back, letting us in.
"It's chaos around here." He says shutting the door and taking a seat once more, straightening his jacket. He reaches for a pile of photos on his desk, shuffling them.
"Why?" Clay asks curiously, staring back through the door as if he can see the crowd of Agents outside.
"A body was found, I have reason to believe it is Sebastian." Director says and yet it explains nothing.
He hands the pile of photos over and I grab them, blinking in shock at the contents of the photos.
A young man – if you could even recognise him as that, hangs suspended from beams, blood drenched rope twisted around his neck, which is most definitely broken, his face bloody and swollen.
I narrow my eyes on the background of the photo, "This is the headquarters training room." I say aloud, handing the images to Clay.
"His body was found early this morning at first light. No alarms were tripped and there's no proof on the cameras, the feed has been looped."
Clay stares back at the photos, flipping through them. "See no evil." He murmurs and I raise a brow, glancing over his shoulder at the photograph.
The words are etched into his back, pre mortem if the dried blood is anything to go by. Hundreds of tiny cuts litter his back and arms, some looking deep while others seem to have only skimmed the tissue.
"He was tortured." Liam mumbles, looking over Clays shoulder at the photos.
My eyes go back to the words etched into his skin.
See No Evil.
"All the more reason to believe he saw something he wasn't supposed to." I mutter.
"There's no known gang affiliation with the words nor any that connect. The other Agents found didn't have anything of the sort on them, yet they were tortured the same, if not worse. I have an Agency wide alert going out for everyone to check in immediately."
"What do you want us to do?" I ask.
He rubs his nose in frustration, sighing. "What were you doing?"
"We were looking into Sebastian's old missions, seeing if possibly he uncovered something someone didn't want him to." Cleo says.
Director nods, lost in thought. "Yes, that seems likely. I'll have a lot of clean up to do for this one so may be unavailable, but I want to be kept updated. If whoever killed him has access to The Division, then we're in trouble."
I stand, taking the unspoken leave.
"Be careful, there doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason for the kills."
I turn towards Director just to notice his eyes on Clay.
Clay nods, jaw tense in frustration before he turns without a word and walks out.
• • •
Cleo and I sit, staring over the files Sebastian had on him and the photos of all the Agents that have been found dead with the same or similar injuries to the body found, which still hasn't been confirmed as Sebastian.
So far there is seven, more than we knew at the beginning of this mission. Some from almost six months ago, most from more recently.
"It seems the killer has gained a confidence they lacked before, the kills coming more frequently." I mutter quietly.
"Yeah, but something is not adding up," Cleo says, laying out multiple photographs, she points to one. "Here it's almost like the cuts were hesitant, the dagger shaky yet the wounds are in straight lines side by side." She points to the newest photograph, "But here they're deep, close together, skins torn. There's no pattern." She pauses, thinking. "It's weird, they've gained confidence yet the wounds they inflict only seem to become more erratic. That's unusual for a confident killer."
"Unless their anger is growing so rapidly, they can't control it." I murmur quietly, thinking.
"Scarlett was so much better at this puzzle thing then I was." Cleo murmurs quietly, the agony in her voice not lost on me, the sound of our old teammates name causing a similar ache in my own chest. "She'd figure out their motives in no time."
I remain silent, not wanting the pain to encompass me if I think too hard about what happened a year ago.
Cleo eyes snap to my face, her eyes glassy before she pushes the emotion down. "You're right," she murmurs, "It's anger. They're derailing."
I swallow the remorse and guilt on my tongue, focusing back on the task at hand. "And that's never good, an unknown killer with a fractured mind? Unpredictable."
"Richard has made contact and he's on the move." Clay says as he walks into the room the two of us sit. His eyes flicker between Cleo and me before he takes a seat beside her, placing his laptop on the only empty space on the coffee table. "He's meeting them tonight."
He taps against the keyboard briefly before voices begin to sound from the computer.
I listen half-heartedly as the memory assaults me.
Laughter bubbles up my throat as I bring the bottle to my lips, taking a swig of the liquid.
With a shake of my head, I tip the bottle towards Liam.
"Liar," I chuckle, "you've killed way more than that!"
The boy pouts and shakes his head, red-blonde hair falling into blue eyes.
"I have no idea what you are talking about," he crosses his arms, looking away before taking a sip of his own beer.
"What about Rome last year" Cleo counters, folding herself into the side of the lounge.
"It doesn't count. That was another country." He mutters half-heartedly, and I laugh, standing up to go grab another beer, raising a brow at the others.
Cleo shakes her head, still nursing her drink.
Liam scrunches his nose before chugging the rest of his and passing it off to me.
Clay nods his head, pushing himself up. "I'll help."
"Be right back," I say, walking towards the kitchen, brushing the brunette hair out of my face.
Clay walks beside me, his face worried.
I clap a hand on his shoulder, "She'll be fine." I remind him and he smiles stiffly, nodding his head.
"Yeah I know, I just don't know why my father would send her on a mission alone. Why not send all of us, or at least me? She could get hurt."
"You're only saying that because she's your girlfriend, she's capable, she knows just as much as the rest of us."
I pull the fridge open and grab three bottles as a phone rings from the loungeroom.
"Can someone grab that?" Clay yells over his shoulder, helping me remove the lids from the three bottles.
"Got it!" Liam yells.
I hear the murmur of his voice as the ringtone cuts off.
"She'll be home soon." I say, taking a swig of my beer, "Stop worrying."
"Yeah I know, I'll try."
Two pairs of eyes focus on Clay and I as soon as we walk under the archway, Cleo's glassy with unshed tears.
"What's wrong?" Clay asks instantly, rushing towards Cleo.
"It's Scarlett." Cleo chokes out, "She's missing."
"What?" Clays falters where he stands, bottle slipping from his fingers and dropping to the carpeted floor, bouncing slightly before it rolls under the lounge, a puddle of beer forming.
"Let's go," I quickly jog back into the kitchen, grabbing the keys before exiting the house.
• • •
"We've lost communication with Scarlett."
I blink, swallowing and barely grab a hold of Clays shoulder, stopping him from stalking forward.
"What do you mean you've lost communication with her?" Clays voice is sharp with pain, and he shoves me off him, stalking towards his father.
Director stands up from behind his desk, walking around it to stand in front of Clay.
"I need you to calm down."
"Don't tell me to fucking calm down." Clays voice cracks, his green eyes swimming with tears. "Tell me what happened!"
"Her communication dropped out two days ago."
My head snaps to Directors, and my mouth opens, "Two days? And you didn't bother to tell us?"
Director shakes his head at me, "It was need to know information."
"We're her team," I say, voice breaking on the last word. "We needed to know!"
"Where?" Cleo's voice enters my thoughts and I turn to look at her as she walks up beside Clay, her hands shaking. "Where was she when it cut out?"
"That is classified."
"You're fucking joking? Classified?" Clay laughs, the sound full of betrayal and hurt. I see Liam place a hand on his shoulder, holding Clay back from pummelling his father, my own hand resting on his other shoulder. "You sent my girlfriend on a mission alone and now you're telling me she's missing"
"Clay-"
"Don't." He spits, pulling himself from the grip Liam and I have on him and stalking for the door, throwing it open and rushing out.
Cleo follows behind him, her soft sobs lingering in my mind long after she disappears.
I watch them both disappear before looking back at Clay's sorry excuse of a father.
"Tell me what you know?" I hiss through gritted teeth.
"I don't know anything yet, her communication was lost, and I sent people out as soon as a knew."
"You sent her on that mission alone." I repeat, whispering the words. "Whatever happens to her is on you."
"Scarlett knew what the risks were when she joined the Agency." Director says, "So did you."
"You shouldn't have sent her alone, she had a whole team at her back."
"I have people looking for her." He repeats.
"Not good enough! Tell me where her location was cut? We'll leave right now."
"I can't do that." He says smoothly, "I understand how you're feeling." His eyes go to the door, "How you're all feeling, I care for Scarlett too-"
"No, you don't." Liam speaks up, his words quiet. "You don't understand because you do not care for her."
Directors' eyes snap to Liam, narrowing. "I care for all my Agents like they're my children."
Liam scoffs, the sound full of amusement. "We see how you treat your son, so no you don't care." His blue eyes are full of hatred as he stares Director down, "You and I both know the truth."
"Get out." Director says, walking back around his desk. "I will keep you updated with any news. Go find Clay and make sure he doesn't get in any trouble."
I shake my head at the man, scoffing under my breathe. "You're an asshole."
"And you are dismissed."
"You have no idea what you've done. If she is dead, you may as well have killed her yourself."
Directors' eyes flash to mine and he shakes his head.
"You don't know what you're saying, Archer. So, I'll let it slide."
I spin, stalking for the door and to find my best friend, knowing we'll do everything in our power to find Scarlett.
Her body was found three days later in the skeleton of a burnt car, buried in the middle of an abandoned car yard. She burnt to death, the most painful death in the world.
She died alone.
• Question Of The Chapter •
What guilty pleasure makes you feel alive?