Chapter Five

The next night, I woke up to a quiet peacefulness. I groggily looked over to my dresser clock, which read 7:14 p.m.

Perfect. The night is still young.

For some reason, my body always knew the time to wake me up. It was like a timer went off, and suddenly, Snap! I was awake.

Last night's rest was –finally– comfortable. I had dragged myself to bed after Dixter left, and I had actually managed to have comfortable clothes on. Out of nowhere, I remembered my assignment. My eyes shot wide open. Dix and I had another night together.

I was excited, but also a little nervous. The memory of searing pain burned across my mind. The danger would always be there, no matter the mission.

Which reminds me.. I pulled up my legging to reveal the bandage. It felt old on my skin, and the blood was way past dry. Probably time to change it.

I jumped off my bed, then turned around to fix the sheets. With the pillows aligned and the sheets straight, I went to change.

I collected my clothes and headed to the bathroom, where my bandaging was. I walked in and turned on the lights. I glared at the brightness for a second, my eyes still unadjusted. I got some supplies to replace the old bandage, then unwound the stained one.

I took in a little gasp. The wound was already partly healed. A scar had already started forming.

I turned the sink on and washed off the dried blood. Once it was clean, I realized exactly what had happened.

Color Central had healed it. When I had had a feeling that the very air was taking away some of my pain, I was right.

I wonder what's so special about that place.

I shook my head and concentrated. Because of the beginnings of a scar, I felt fine just wrapping my leg with a few bandages. I put some real clothes on and brushed my hair, sweeping the highlights. I brushed my teeth and headed out, making sure my room was in order. I made sure I had my grappling hook latched onto my wrist, and my crossbow folded inside one of my jacket pockets. My knife was subtly strapped to my thigh.

I crept through the living room, making sure I didn't wake Sytra. I assumed that she came back to our dorm after I had crashed into bed, and wouldn't be up at this hour. It was early for those that were nocturnal. If the normal day-strolling citizens of Kistra usually woke up at 8 a.m, then 8 p.m. was normal for us. Our times were the same, just different sides of the day.

I went through the front door, then turned around and closed it softly. The hallway was empty.

I made my way towards the elevator, remembering my partner in crime. I whipped my phone out of my jacket's front pocket and called Dixter.

"Wha..?" His scratchy voice asked from the other side.

I smiled at the sound of his voice. "Rise and shine, Lover Boy. We have work to do."

"Can't the mission wait? It's only–" His voice cut off for a second. "–7:23." He paused, the time sinking in. "Which is late for you. I'm getting out of bed."

I grinned. "Thank you. You ready to blow up another warehouse?"

He laughed a little. Soft sounds of him getting ready peppered the background noise. "Feckter, we don't know what building it'll be in, all we know is that they're making white shortblades." He paused. "You have the address, right?"

I looked at my texts, pressing the elevator's button for up. "Yes. Chief texted it to me this morning."

"Good," He yawned. "Welp. I'll meet you on my floor in a bit."

I stepped into the elevator. "Sure. Love you, Dix."

"See you soon, Grace. Love you."

I hung up. His words meant so much to me. I'd have to tell him later.

I didn't feel like getting all sappy in my thoughts. I always felt this way whenever there was a mission at hand. It was the inner agent in me. Get the work done first. Think about boys later.

I leaned back and thought about Sytra. What happened last night with her and the movie? Did she end up finding someone to go with?

I thought about it for a minute. I'm her closest friend, but there's no reason she can't find new people to hang out with. We have a pretty big agency.

Although B.L.A.D.E. agents usually end up just being with their roommates, we come together for movies, meetings, theater shows, dining, and a bunch of other things. It was normal for agents to socialize and relax at HQ when we got bored.

I just hope she found someone. Sytra deserved a boyfriend. It was just that she hadn't found the one yet.

As if on cue, my phone started vibrating. On silent, the way every agent had it set. It was just stupid to have a loud phone when you were an agent for an organization that only worked at night and messed up illegal happenings in a massive city.

Sytra's name popped up on screen. I picked up immediately. "Hey! Since when were you up?"

"Since you came through the living room." It was natural for agents to be light sleepers, but Sytra had always been on another level.

I sighed, disappointed in myself. "Sorry, Sy. I tried harder tonight. I didn't mean to wake you."

"No! No, really, it's okay. I have got to tell you something."

"Spillllll."

"So last night, I went to see King of the Realms, as you know. And there was a really cute blonde guy walking in at the same time as me!"

"No way!" I smiled at her excitement.

"Yeah! And after I sat down, he followed me and sat down a few seats away!!"

"Aw!"

"I know right! Anyways. So we're watching the movie, and we get to this really sad part –No spoilers!– and I'm tearing up a little and making some noise and he goes 'You okay?' and I'm like 'I am now, thanks for noticing me,'"

I laughed. "'I am now,'"

"I know! So at the very end, the credits are going, and we stand up at the same time. He looks over at me for a minute, and he's lookin' a little nervous, and he straight up asks me out!!!"

"Oh my gosh!" I exclaim. "What's his name?? When's the datteeee?" I draw out the word, making it as dramatic as she made it for Dixter and I.

"Colves. He's really sweet and I like him a lot. The date's in a few hours. He said he knows a restaurant on a rooftop!!"

"No way! Dix and I should go."

"Yess! Bro, we should double date later."

I laughed. "Don't get ahead of yourself. First date with the man and you're already planning the next one."

The elevator chimed for Dixter's floor. "Alright Sy, I gotta go."

"Awww, okay. You got a new mission?"

"Yeah. I'll see you later?"

"Definitely. I'll tell you everything!!"

"Bye! Can't wait!"

"Bye, Feckter!" She exclaimed, the call ending.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I was so glad she hadn't asked for any details. Technically, she'd been partially assigned, but there was no way I was telling her that.

The doors opened to reveal Dixter, back in his uniform. B.L.A.D.E. uniforms could be any texture, brand, etcetera, as long as it was black and your color. Uniform for us meant any variety of clothes that fit those requirements, so we had some flexibility with our clothing.

I often chose different clothes for each assignment, just to keep things interesting.

Tonight was no different. Both Dixter and I were dressed in black, highlighted with our colors, but otherwise completely different from the night before last. We'd both switched our jackets from leather to different textures. He no longer wore ripped black jeans, but instead had pants that looked like they belonged to a ninja. Their sides were double-rimmed with red. I wore black, teal-lined jeggings.

"Hey." He looked at me, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Come on, Dix." I gestured for him to step inside. I decided to ignore his adorable awkwardness. "We got some shortblades to take care of."

"Can I get a pre-mission kiss?"

I laughed a little, pressing the button for ground level. "Why you always asking for love? No. We have to focus until M.A.S.K. is at least slowed down. I bet knocking out another one of their operations would weaken them," I looked at his pouty face. "The blades. I have a feeling that they're made of the same material as the liquid in those guns. Or they're at least dipped in the white chemical."

"So intelligent."

"No, just observant."

He squinted at me. "Do you not remember when you planned out an entire invasion two nights ago?"

I pushed him playfully. "No, Braz. That was just common sense."

"It didn't seem like it to Chief."

"She was tired. I'm sure she would have figured it out without me."

He turned towards me, touching one of my hands. "Don't keep denying it. You're really smart, Grace."

I looked up at him with a small smile and a gentle blush. "Thanks, Dix."

The doors opened, and the bank vault door was back. The two agents were back as well, but, as usual, they'd changed posts.

We walked out and greeted them. Dixter turned to them and spoke. "Agent Welser. Agent Qulir." I nodded to them each in turn.

They nodded to us on our way out. "Agent Dixter. Agent Feckter."

I pushed a button that was connected to the keypad on the other side, and the door that was perfectly hidden in the wall revealed itself, unfolding out towards us. We walked through, the wall closing itself in. All traces of B.L.A.D.E. headquarters disappeared, except for a single red dot of light that was the keypad.

Down the long, dark tunnel we went. On the other side, we emerged into the night. The moon shone above us, highlighting everything in pale blue.

The air was calm and cool, and it set a layer of mist on my face. It was relaxing.

I welcomed the fleeting feeling of peace. It was so opposite of the danger that we were about to enter into.

I took a deep breath, just soaking in the fresh night air. I'd been underground for a while.

"Well, Dix," I looked at him. "You ready to disrupt another M.A.S.K. operation?"

He looked at me, determined. "Nothing can stop us."

I smirked. "Bold words for a man that couldn't stop himself from coming to my dorm for pancakes."

"It wasn't just for pancakes."

"I know."

We headed out, grappling to the same building. It was a ten story office building with cement supports. I pressed the grappling hook's button, the line zipping in. It brought me to the top, where I leaped up onto the building's roof.

I leaned against one of the supports. "I'll get the address," I said, whipping out my phone. He landed next to me and nodded.

"Looks like it's Westbound. Cresthill street. 11203."

"Got it."

I tucked my phone away, and we made our way over. Our grappling hook's lines flashed in the moonlight, our movements nearly silent. We were masters of the darkness.

We arrived at Cresthill, then we started looking for numbers.

We weren't exactly sure what we were looking for. Just because last mission was in an old abandoned warehouse doesn't mean this one would be. For all we knew, the illegal shortblades could have bribed and fought their way past the laws of Kistra and were seen by the authorities as "legal."

It disgusted me, what people could do with a lot of money.

"There!" Dixter nudged me, keeping his voice low. "11203." The numbers were neatly arranged on a large building a few streets away.

I nodded, whispering. "Let's go see what M.A.S.K. is up to."

We walked in the shadows, careful to be as quiet as possible. We took alleyways and backways, working our way towards the building.

As we got closer, I realized why our enemy chose this location. The white building was expansive and seemingly new, but I wasn't going to trust it until we got closer. Street lights collected a few flying bugs all down the street. All was quiet, the lone moon illuminating the scene.

We reached the front. It had a nearly empty parking lot, with a few cars scattered around. Covered boats sat in neat rows, all different colors, sizes, purposes, brands. The logo on the building was for a "company" named M.A.S.T. A sailboat was wrapped around the M.

Dixter snorted, his low voice just above a whisper. "M.A.S.T.? Really? How much closer could they get?"

"I don't know, but they seem pretty stupid." I paused, looking in the wide windows. All I could see were dark shapes. "Are all of the boats out here? Where would they fit an entire weapons production?"

"Hmm. I'm not sure." He looked at me, whispering. "Where do you wanna go in?"

"The roof would be best."

We aimed and shot simultaneously, our jackets lifting. Once on the large flat roof, we looked for air vents or a door.

My blood thudded in the back of my head in anticipation. Here we go.

The entrance. Then we kill some agents. Destroy some machines. Maybe Dix won't blow everything up this time.

"There's a door over there," Dixter pointed to the right. "It looks crackable."

"Let's bring the rain."

We walked over, and he examined it. "Yep. I got it."

He toyed with the keypad until the edges lit up. "There." He swung the door open, revealing a poorly lit, empty hallway.

He stretched his hand out, gesturing towards it like a doorman. His quiet voice echoed. "After you."

"Thanks, Braz."

He smiled at the name and followed in after me, closing the door slowly behind him. It shut with a sharp creak. Then we were enveloped in darkness.

We moved quietly towards the end of the hallway. I gently pushed the next door open, looking around the corner.

After a platform and a set of stairs that led downstairs, the entire building was laid out before us.

The weird thing was, the lights were on. There were rows of them lining the ceiling, illuminating the production of the shortblades.

"Lights?" Dix whispered behind me.

"They probably messed with the windows."

Conveyor belts moved in synchronization all along the production. At one point, the shortblades were picked up by their handles by mechanical arms. Then they were dipped into large containers of the mysterious white liquid. After they were completely covered, the machine let them hang over the containers to drip. Then the machines set them on the conveyor belt.

The white shortblades were glowing from the liquid. Their glow highlighted the steely machinery, lighting up the conveyor belts. They were then moved into a rotating drying rack. At the end of that, a worker in white was carefully setting the glowing blades in shipping crates.

The workers. They must be M.A.S.K. agents.

The agent was wearing heat-protective gloves in case they screwed up. The crates the worker was setting them into seemed filled with heat-protective material that could hold the searing-hot shortblades. If raw human skin touched the blades, it would mean what happened with the shard in my leg. And Dixter's hands.

Burning. Immense pain.

Basically, don't touch anything glowing and white. Ever.

"Plan?" Dix asked me quietly.

"Nope," I glanced back at him, whispering. "Wanna wing it?"

He stared at me, completely dumbfounded.

"Kidding. I always have a plan."

Lies. I had come up with this one in ten seconds.

I started explaining it to him in a low tone, watching the M.A.S.K. agents do their job. They bustled between checking the machines and managing the conveyor belt. They took turns loading them into the crates.

I pointed and gestured, making my point as I explained the plan. At the end, Dixter looked at me and nodded.

"Ready?"

"Naturally."

I smiled, getting up. I was first.

I quietly made my way down the staircase, making sure to not alarm anyone. I glanced around, making sure no one saw me.

Out of nowhere, I struck. I whipped out my knife and slashed at an agent's backside. The worker's white clothes quickly stained, and they dropped dead. I grabbed the body and hid it behind some leftover broken crates. I did this to all of those that I could before the lack of workers alarmed one of the agents. They turned around, their face covered in a white mask. He had another one on top of that one, probably to protect his face from the white chemical. It was hard to distinguish genders because of the agents' masks, but once he turned around, I saw his body type.

He glanced around anxiously, looking like a horrified baby bird looking for a hawk. His neck swiveled left and right. "H.. Hello?" He called out. A gunshot rang out, alerting everyone else in white. The baby bird man fell, a bullet through his head. The workers ran for the knives, scrambling to the closest conveyor belt.

"You chose the wrong weapon production." A brave worker called out, holding out a deadly dagger. "This chemical is actually our president's–"

"Shut it!" Another said sharply, cutting him off. "Are you trying to tell them everything?"

"No?" The first worker said. He mumbled something like "noiwasjusttryingtointimidatethem."

"We're not afraid of you, B.L.A.D.E. agents!" The second one bellowed. "We have these knives, and we're not afraid to use them."

"I'm sure you aren't."

Dixter fell from above, knocking out two agents in one go. He quickly whipped around and struck out, killing three others. He kept hacking away at them.

Our presence known, I slashed away. My blade was flying. The weaponless M.A.S.K. agents fell.

But they were quick. The remaining agents all had blades. Searing hot, white, glowing blades. There were some stupid enough to grab the ones that hadn't been dipped yet. Someone had turned off the conveyor belts.

I guess these agents were at the bottom of their class, to be assigned to this job. Nevertheless, every M.A.S.K. agent seemed highly trained.

They struck out at us with precision and accuracy. Dixter and I blocked their attacks, deflecting blow after blow. Eventually, the stupid ones died out, leaving only the ones with the white shortblades. They crept towards us like venomous snakes, holding their glowing blades out threateningly.

The agents surrounded us on all sides, making a ring around us. Their knives stuck outwards, daring us to move. They took steps forward, and we took steps backward. Eventually we bumped into each other, our backs touching. With the contact, we both gained confidence.

Just knowing that the other was there was enough.

We bravely stepped forward and held our knives out horizontally, acting like we were about to strike.

"I think.. We're being underestimated," Dixter said to me. "Would you agree?"

I glared at every white mask. "Yes. Yes I would."

We launched our grappling hooks at the same time. We shot upwards towards the ceiling, the wind whooshing in our ears. We leaped onto the ceiling's support beams, then turned and grinned at the chaos below us.

At the sudden jerk of movement, every M.A.S.K. agent had sprung out, and accidentally started slicing each other. In the confusion, not knowing who to attack, some went wild. One agent fell to his knees, a nasty white-hot gash slashed across his face. Another had long lines of burning white down his arms.

Eventually, when everyone stopped moving, we could finally see what happened. Every white-slashed wound faded to red, then to dripping blood. Bodies fell.

I did a quick headcount from the support beam, sitting back on my haunches. Only twenty-two agents remained. They were clearly the strongest and the best. A couple of the bigger ones had the shapes of strong muscles under their white uniforms.

Dixter sat next to me, dangling his legs. "Let's get down there. I still have a bone to pick."

I smiled at him and his casualness at this height. "So we'll finish the job."

I hooked my grappler to the beam, and began lowering myself. Dixter did the same.

I smirked on the way down, looking down at those that remained. "Surprised?"

One growled. "Get down here, knives."

"Blades." Dix corrected. "And we're official agents."

"Enough!" One roared, chucking a knife at us. It shot towards us at lightning speed, the white knife flashing in the air.

Straight towards Dixter.

Thankfully, we weren't too far from the ground.

He fell, his line cut. He yelled in surprise. He hit the ground and rolled, like we were taught.

Unfortunately, right below him, some crates were waiting to be used. He fell directly on them, crushing the boxes. It looked like he landed on his legs and tried to protect himself with one of his arms.

He got up shakily, standing on the broken crates. He held his arm, his face twisted in pain. By the look on his face, it seemed broken.

"Dix!" I yelled, my eyes trained on him. I didn't even see the flying shortblade that cut my line.

I plummeted downwards, still worried about Dixter. I turned and landed on my feet, agile as a cat. The second I hit the concrete ground, pain shot upwards through my feet. It shocked my legs, igniting my wound from two nights ago. I rolled sideways, absorbing the rest of the shock.

I stood and clenched my teeth, the pain roaring in my legs. God, this hurts.

Dixter. I rushed over to him, going as fast as my wounded legs allowed. He had made his way out of the mess of broken boxes, and now stood just outside of it. He looked just about ready to drop.

He fell to his knees, clutching his arm. I kneeled in front of him.

I put a hand on his leg. "You gonna be okay?"

He looked at me, pain in his eyes. "I'll be able to stand in a minute. My arm's broken," He winced, then glanced behind me. "Think you can take 'em?"

I flicked my head to the side, seeing them walking towards us in my peripheral vision. "Of course. If it means you can rest for a minute."

Out of view of the M.A.S.K. agents, he grabbed my arm and tucked his gun into a hidden pocket in my jacket.

I turned and stood to meet the enemy. The agents were coming, their masks illuminated by the shortblades. They looked devilish, their masks adding to the image. They held out their burning shortblades.

I glared at them, whipping out my knife. "Just leave him alone."

They lowered their heads, glaring back behind their masks. "Like you could protect him."

I smirked at their lack of knowledge. "You'd be surprised."

I jumped forward, trying to get them away from Dixter. One came at me with a glowing shortblade. The rest of the agents were too distracted by our little flashy show to care about Dix. We sparred, with him hitting my blade and vise versa. White, burning sparks flew, our metals colliding. He managed to get some hits on me, cutting my jacket and making my skin burn.

The pain would have to wait.

I was able to cut him as well, sneaking behind his deadly blade for seconds at a time. He winced and stopped for a second, but quickly straightened and kept blocking my attacks. He seemed to be as strong as I was.

Eventually, our skills equalled out. Our knives held each other, each person giving the same amount of force. Our blades held steady, despite shaking with building tension.

Because his blade was searing hot, the longer we held our positions, the more my knife melted. After a while, my knife melted into two, the burning metal a bright white.

While they were busy watching my knife melt, my other hand crept to my jacket. I pulled out the gun, hiding it behind my back until the last moment.

I let the wasted knife drop, the white hot metal fading to bright red. I whipped out the gun, staring at all of them. The last thing I saw of them was their shocked faces. Then I started shooting.

I got sixteen agents before Dix's gun ran out of ammo. I glanced down at the pistol, and mumbled under my breath. "Shoot." Pun intended.

I threw the gun along the ground, hearing it skid across the concrete floor. Then they came at me, knowing I was weaponless.

But I'm not defenseless.

They charged, two at one time. I high kicked, knocking the blades out of their hands. They fell to the ground, and the agents staggered back with wounded hands. I realized my mistake soon after, as my legs flared with remembered pain. The adrenaline had allowed me to forget my pain and focus. I cursed myself and my quick thinking.

I grabbed the two fallen blades, trying my best to ignore the pain. I stepped forward and slashed the surprised agents' necks. "Anyone else?"

The remaining four looked like they were about to run, their confidence quickly fading. Four left. I got this.

I charged before they could make up their minds. I ran with my wounded legs, leaping up and slicing their necks. The last two were the strongest, but they seemed to forget. They turned and fled, jumping over their fallen coworkers.

They forgot I still had their shortblades. I threw one like a game of darts in a bar, hitting the bullseye. He fell, alarming his fellow agent. I chucked the last blade, the knife hurtling through the air. I followed the white blur until it reached its final destination. The final M.A.S.K. agent collapsed.

I dropped to my knees in utter relief. "We did it, Dix." I said with a ghost of a smile.

He stood back behind the scene. "Yay." He managed weakly with a gravelly voice. I turned and stumbled over to him.

Thankfully, he was standing. Apparently, his legs weren't broken. They seemed to be fine compared to his clearly broken arm.

"You gonna need help walking?" I asked him, and he leaned on me.

"Yeah."

"I don't think we can grapple out of here. We're both wounded."

"Okay," He said, and cringed from the pain. "Your legs? Oh, did you fall on your wound?"

"Don't worry about me," I looked him in the eye. "You're first."

He smiled weakly. "Let's get back to HQ. Chief's probably worried sick."

I smiled through the searing pain, and we started moving. He leaned on me while we walked. We found a back door and pushed through into the night. The cool night air filled our lungs.

I heard a sound behind me, and I stopped in my tracks. I turned around as quickly as I could, scanning the building. I thought I saw a shadow move, and I would have gone in after it, but Dixter dropped to the ground.

He's a thousand times more important.

I reached down and heaved him up, holding him as he tried to stand. Once we were somewhat comfortable, we went around the building and made our way towards the street.

We stepped into the road. I scanned the area, and once I didn't find any movement, we got moving. We stumbled our way down the street, with mostly me supporting him. A line of light poles illuminated the long road ahead of us.

Painfully, we made our way back to B.L.A.D.E. headquarters by street. It took us thrice the time to travel because we couldn't use our grapplers. I was probably almost out of line anyways. I had to refill once I got home.

Out of nowhere, a shadow stepped out of an alleyway in front of us. My heart skipped a beat.

A short, young girl stepped into the light of a street lamp. She looked about nine or ten.

Her pale blue clothes were torn and dirty, soot was smudged on her face and arms. Her light blonde hair was grimy and patchy. Her feet and knees were black from dirt. Her limbs were covered in a lot of little scrapes.

I was this girl in my younger years. Orphaned and alone in Kistra. I would have been just as starving and broken if it wasn't for B.L.A.D.E. I couldn't remember a time before B.L.A.D.E.

I gently put Dixter down on the ground beside me. He grunted and sat, closing his eyes from the pain.

I kneeled and looked at the girl. "Hello. What's your name?"

"Je m'appelle.. I am Alka." Her tiny voice broke my heart.

"French, huh?" The girl nodded. I smiled, glad I was fluent in the language.

I spoke to her in French. "And how old are you, Alka?"

"J'ai neuf ans."

"Nine years old? You're awfully young to look like that."

She just looked down at her bare feet.

"Would you want to come with us, Alka?" I asked her in French.

She looked up, the light of hope shining in her eyes.

"Oui, s'il vous plaît."

I reached out my hand, asking for her trust. I spoke in French to soothe her. "B.L.A.D.E. HQ will keep you safe. We have clean rooms and a lot of big brothers and sisters to protect you."

She smiled at that, and took my hand. I helped Dixter to his feet, and he leaned on my shoulder. I supported him with an arm across him, gripping his shoulder. With my other hand, I held the nine-year-old orphan's hand.

And together, the trio of broken people stumbled their way to B.L.A.D.E. headquarters.

----

"Sir!" The agent in white yelled, running into the room. "They've taken down the shortblade operation!"

The president of M.A.S.K. had his back turned, his white suit making him appear overly important. He scowled, his face twisting with anger. The lines on his face made it clear that he did this a lot.

He whipped around, his arm lashing out. "Give every operation weapons! Clearly, these B.L.A.D.E agents need more to fight. Our special "chemical" isn't doing the job." He made air quotes, his voice growing in boiling anger by the word.

"I will not see M.A.S.K. fall to these–" He flicked his hand. "–pesky little insults."

"Yes s-sir." The quivering agent said, looking like a mouse in a cat's den.

His tone changed, and he roared at the lone agent. "M.A.S.K. WILL NOT BE INSULTED! SEND MORE WEAPONS!" He bellowed, making the poor agent shake, frozen with fear.

"Y-Yes sir." He gave a shaky nod, and ran out of the room, tripping on the way out. The door closed behind him.

The president turned around and ran his hands through his unkempt, greasy hair.

"Chief, you're making this hard on me." He looked up, his exhausted eyes glistening with tears. "Brianna, I used to love you."