Chapter Nine

"I.. uh." I couldn't form a sentence. "Sure."

He only smiled and gestured towards the bar. I looked over the drink menu, intent on getting something other than my usual. One name caught my eye. The Kistrian Lights. The description somewhat alarmed me. This one is sure to spark up your night!

I caught the bartender's attention. "Hey, could I get one of those Kistrian Lights?"

He smiled and put down his cleaning towel. "Ah, that's the new one! It's real special."

I would have been unsettled, but the gleam in his eye told me that it was a good special. I smiled and watched him work.

Navy Boy over here decided it would be a good idea to butt in. "You won't believe this drink, uh.." It was at this moment that he realized that he'd never gotten my name.

I kept my eyes on the bartender's hands. He was pouring sparkling water into a tall glass. I glanced at the boy to my right. "I'm Feckter."

He froze, gaping at me. "The Feckter?"

I smirked at him. "I see that my reputation precedes me." The bartender pulled out a small container of.. glitter?

"You.. You're the one that took out the shortblade operation! And the.. overpowered guns?" His shock left him stuttering.

"That's me." My eyes followed the container of what appeared to be shimmering glitter. The bartender sprinkled in a few shakes, then pulled out a second container of golden liquid. The clear glass allowed me to see everything perfectly. He set my drink down in front of me, seeming to be preparing for something. He tipped the container of liquid, and pulled back to watch. The moment the two shining substances collided, some sort of reaction occurred.

The glitter sparked up like embers, causing mini firework shows inside the liquid. It was like watching a sparkler and a wildfire ignite each other. The carbonated water left bubbles on the walls of the glass, but they didn't stay there for long. With all of the sparkling liquid-fire, they jumped around like the water was overstimulated.

All I could do was stare at the beautiful scene before me. It was like a fight between the water and the fire, a tumble of who was more alarming. I'd never seen anything so skittish.

I was thoroughly unaware of everything else around me. At least, until the boy in navy beside me cleared his throat.

"Sorry, I–" I started.

"No," He held up a hand. "Your reaction was fun to watch."

Didn't I just stare at it for a solid minute? I thought, gently wrapping my fingers around the glass. The sparklers had died down. Surprisingly, the surface wasn't warm.

Ah, the drinks of Kistra. This B.L.A.D.E. bar alone was known to have one of the best selections of the city. Well, at least by its members.

He gestured towards a high-seated table, drink in hand. It appeared to be more similar to my teal sparkling water, but his was more brackish, with twinkling swirls of navy-silver. "Shall we?"

I nodded, all remaining thoughts of Dixter leaving my mind. "Sure."

When we were seated, I took a sip of The Kistrian Lights. It tasted like how I imagined the stars would. Twinkling with a hint of flame. It both burned your tongue and cooled it simultaneously.

"So." I began after swallowing. "How do you know my name?"

"Word travels fast in this agency." He eyed me. "Your heroics didn't fail to meet my ears."

"Oh," I waved my hand. "I'd hardly call them heroics. Simply a job that had to be done."

"She's humble too."

His gaze shifted from my glass to my eyes. I was getting the feeling that all of its flickering lights were reflecting in my eyes, making them stand out. Maybe I even shone.

But I wouldn't know. My theory was confirmed when the boy with silver-navy eyes began to flirt.

"That drink suits you. A shining drink for a shining girl."

I blushed at the compliment, and decided to cover it up with another sip.

Once I regained myself, I brought myself to ask him a question. "What's your name?"

"Silvsley."

"Are you single, Silvsley?"

Instead of a flirty comeback, his face fell. I began to regret my question. He nodded with an air of melancholy, staring into the depths of his midnight-navy drink. He seemed to be watching a silver swirl. "I am."

"You seem like someone just mysterious enough to be lonely."

He laughed a sad, low laugh. "True enough." He lifted his eyes. "And you seem like someone that's good at reading people."

"I'm just observant." I couldn't help but be curious. "And what would your color be, Silvsley?"

"Deep ocean blue. The midnight zone. That kinda thing."

"And the silver?"

He gave a small smile. "So you've noticed that little gleam, have you?"

"Is it your name?" I questioned. There has to be a correlation. It's way too close to silver.

"How is it that you seem to know everything about me before I've even met you?" He chuckled softly and met my gaze.

I glanced away from his awed stare. I didn't know what to say. I was just guessing.

"Because of my name, I wanted my own touch, my own flair. Such a dark blue is so close to black, sometimes I feel invisible." He looked downwards sadly, the truth settling onto him. "Adding a touch of silver makes me just interesting enough. Everyone knows straying too far from your color is a bad thing."

I nodded, recalling what I'd been told. I've heard stories of people that had tried to change colors, or people that tried to change tints. Rubbing your soul the wrong way could make you unsettled, or uneasy. I'd heard that it made people feel unwhole, like they weren't becoming who they were supposed to be. Discouraging your color was like denying yourself as a person.

It could eventually lead on to do worse than unsettle the mind. Anxiousness could set in, or worse, depression. It depended on the person.

"So.. A silver lining?" The corner of my mouth tilted up.

He laughed a real laugh. The pure joy of the sound made my heart leap. Maybe I could cheer him up. "You could say that."

"So, Silvsley," I sipped my glass of Kistrian Lights. "Gone on any missions recently?"

"I mostly hang out at non-B.L.A.D.E. bars and watch for trouble. Some nights I'll ask for a M.A.S.K. mission, but usually the better agents handle those. Agents like you."

I scoffed. "I'm no better than you. We each defeat evil in our own way. Watching for creeps at bars is more morally sound than murdering the men in white." B.L.A.D.E. members would sometimes refer to M.A.S.K. agents as the men in white. A common term for a common enemy.

He laughed, but it was a dark sound. Who knew one guy could hold so many laughs? "Sure, I've saved a few ladies here and there. But you stop evil forces from doing illegal things."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, sure. Being a knight in shining silver is less noble than beating men in masks."

He chuckled. "Really? Knight in shining silver?" His eyes widened as he thought of something. He leaned flirtatiously towards me. "I'd need you to be my damsel in distress."

"I would. Honestly. But.." I sighed. I couldn't put up a single front forever. "I've already found myself a knight."

"Ah," His eyes dimmed as he looked away. "And here I thought we were getting somewhere."

"Ah," I mimicked, tilting my head up. "And here I thought I had just met a most intriguing boy in navy."

He blushed a light pink, despite the fact that he knew that I had a boyfriend. "That's deep ocean blue to you."

"Little specific, are we?" I took another taste of my drink, its glitter still shining in swirls.

"When it comes to colors, you know how B.L.A.D.E. members get."

I nodded, remembering some squabbles I'd heard. Most times, it was about who claimed what color. They usually didn't get past simple arguing. They never lasted long.

Most agents had a mutual attitude. Colors were colors, and you couldn't make new ones. So get over it.

But in reality, each person's color was a little different. Each argument was simply because the hues were close. No one could claim a common color.

Their soul would tell them, anyways. These may be similar, but we're a little more blue. It was usually something like that. I would know, I'd been in an argument myself.

That was why the specifics mattered. Our colors were our identities. You had to be careful to not offend anyone.

Silvsley leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. He folded his hands together and rested his chin on his crossed fingers. "So. Feckter. Tell me something interesting about yourself."

My eyes drifted away from him thoughtfully. "I'm.. hm." I was about to say I was part-Colored, then thought better of it.

"I've never been afraid of heights, and I'm a fan of grappling hooks."

"Ah." He paused and tilted his head up. "You're one of those."

"What do you mean, one of those?" I mimicked his voice, a little offended.

He smirked. "One of the ones that can't keep their feet on the ground."

I laughed quietly. "You could say that."

I looked down at my glittering drink, just watching the sparkles shift in the lights of the bar. "What about you? What's something that makes you unique?"

He gave me a soft smile. "My uncle served on the cool side of the B.L.A.D.E. War of 5034."

My eyes lit up, recalling what I'd remembered of B.L.A.D.E.'s history. "I've heard of that. The warm and cool colors went into a civil war in the 30's."

He nodded. "I never liked the arguing, or the fact that the agency I worked for even had a civil war. But, my uncle fought for his side. Then he became one of the Dusk members."

"The regiment that ended the war." I acknowledged. They were called the Dusk regiment because they consisted of agents thats colors consisted of the setting sun. They had been known to gather information from both sides, then promote peace, eventually bringing B.L.A.D.E. to settle its inner disputes. General Leikfam had led the Dusks to understand the sides, not just take them up like everyone else. He'd been known as a hero, a key figure in B.L.A.D.E. history.

He smiled proudly, his chest sticking out. "My uncle supported Leikfam as he mended the tear in our agency."

"He'd be proud of you."

"Hmm." Silvsley hummed, clearly in disbelief. He slid his forefinger across the rim of his glass, looking disappointed. In himself? "I'd believe that if I'd ever done anything noble in my life."

That's it. I thought, setting my glass down with a thud. Enough with the pity party.

I grabbed his arm. "Fine. If you think you'll never live up to your uncle's bravery, then I'll just have to prove it."

I looked him square in the eye. "You're coming with me on a mission. Day after tomorrow. M.A.S.K. and all. My boyfriend's coming so he doesn't think anything of it."

No, no. This is not a date. I'm literally bringing Dix. If anything, he'd be the third wheel.

His mouth hung open, and he pointed to himself. "Me. On a mission. With the Agent Feckter?"

"Oh, please. All I've done is.." I thought about my week so far. "Yeah, okay. Fair point. But don't idolize me. I'm just doing my job."

He didn't listen. "I cannot believe this." He met my eyes. "A mission. With you."

I nodded, ignoring his shock. "Yeah. You in?"

"Pshh." He made a noise with his mouth, flopping his hand. "Am I in. Of course I'm in. What kind of a question is that?"

He shook his head like he couldn't believe me. His eyes snapped up as he seemed to remember something. "So, Agent Feckter, what would our mission be?"

I looked away from his piercing navy-silvers. "I'll ask the Head of Missions. Chief's.. Uh.. Out of commision. At the moment. Yeah."

"Okay. And how will you reach me?" A smile tugged at his lips. "Would you like my number, Feckter?"

I rolled my eyes. "Silly boy. I'll find you at the meeting. Didn't Chief make an announcement today? 1 a.m. tomorrow night is an agency meeting? Level 5?"

"Ah, yes. I'm sure you'll find me in that big of a crowd. No sweat. Just the entire agency."

"Okay, Silver Boy. Got a better solution?"

"Digits?" He asked, a pleading look in his eyes.

I sighed, faking exasperation. It wasn't hard. I don't want to give him unlimited access to contact me. Dix would have questions.

"My boyfriend would have questions. Could we meet somewhere else?" I watched his face dim as I said the word boyfriend. It was like he was trying to forget I had one.

"Sure. Here. Tomorrow night. 4am?"

"Works for me." By now, my Kistrian Lights was finished. I held the empty glass and hopped off my tall chair.

Silvsley frowned at the beginnings of my leaving. "My time is up, Monsieur Silvsley. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Ah, French. Oui, à demain."

"Oh? Le garçon parle français?"

"Oui, mademoiselle." He took my hand and kissed my gloved knuckles. "Bonne nuit, ma chère."

"Ech." I scoffed, laughing a little. "Well, "my dear" has to leave now."

I took my hand back, giving him a little wave. "Au revoir."

I whipped around and left to return my glass before he could flirt anymore. He may have made me blush earlier, but after continuing to make remarks like that, especially after telling him that I already had someone, I was beginning to find him pushy. If he was trying to win me over, it wasn't working.

I handed my glass to the bartender, who took it with a smile. "Your loyalty to your lover is admirable, miss Feckter."

I gave him a soft smile. "As is your kindness. Thank you, sir."

I turned and left, making my way for the exit. I had a feeling that a certain pair of silver-rimmed navy eyes were watching my back.

Little did I know of the other pair.

"I've got eyes on Feckter, sir." His voice was deep and rumbly, a reflection of his personality.

"Good, agent. I expect a full report on her movements this evening. Recon only. Do not interact with the subject."

"Copy that." He clicked a button on his comm. This was going to be risky.

He watched the eighteen-year-old agent in teal leave the bar, his eyes following her retreating back.

"So," The man mumbled. He narrowed his eyes as she walked out of the guarded back door. He reached for a device hooked up to his earpiece to be able to hear what she said. She nodded, and the guard nodded in return. Though a little scratchy, he could hear what she said: Agent Celtren. It was quickly followed by a reply: Agent Feckter. "You're the little lady that's been causing M.A.S.K. trouble, eh?"

Getting here wasn't easy. He'd almost been discovered four times. In his new B.L.A.D.E. agent clothing, no one would suspect a thing. Blood red was splattered on his dark clothing, and you couldn't tell if it was paint or something more.. gruesome. He thought it was a genius disguise. Besides, as a M.A.S.K. agent, he'd only been able to wear white. It was a nice change. In fact, this change was something he'd been aching to do for years.

So when this mission appeared, he'd excitedly signed up. This was a chance to feel like he was unique, not just another robot in white, someone who could die and never be noticed. Something to make him closer to B.L.A.D.E.

He'd never tell anyone, but being a M.A.S.K. agent isn't what it's cracked up to be.

He'd been told by M.A.S.K. informants of the club's existence, however it had taken the white agency years to properly discover it. It only took one B.L.A.D.E. agent to mess up, and eventually, one did. That is, mess up.. or go to the white side.

He stood, armed with the new, yet vital information: The guard's name. Once he reached the door, he nodded confidently. "Agent Celtren." The guard in casual dress nodded back. "Agent.. ah. You're new?"

He smiled a pearl-white grin. "Yes sir. Uilter, agent of M.–" The man coughed, his identity almost revealed. "B.L.A.D.E."

The guard gave him a quizzical look, but let him pass with no further questions.

Ten minutes later, the disguised M.A.S.K. agent let out a sigh of relief. He hadn't been discovered.

That was Step One: Sneak into the B.L.A.D.E. bar and observe the famous Agent Feckter. All she'd done was talk to some boy in navy, but that alone was important. Because he'd overheard that the girl was planning to sabotage another M.A.S.K. operation. On the day after tomorrow.

Step Two was a little more complicated: Follow her and see what she was up to. And he'd been ordered by the M.A.S.K. commander he was under to not interact with the subject. He was the one that sat at HQ and used a comm to keep tabs on the agents he managed.

Agent Uilter sighed. His job was to follow an eighteen-year-old girl.

Awesome.

The disguised M.A.S.K. agent carefully crept along the edge of the building, warily eying every shadow for the girl in teal. He'd heard what she could do.

Her and her "boyfriend" had supposedly bombed Project Snow #37. And killed every agent but one at Project Snow #40.

And those two agents were the only ones.

Uilter shook his head in grudging amazement. How did they get so skilled? Or how did M.A.S.K. get so weak?

Honestly, he could see how it could be the latter.

Being a M.A.S.K. agent was hard. It took skill, submission, and strength. If you failed to do any of those things, you could be kicked out for being "too weak." Most who were in M.A.S.K. were either born into it, strongly encouraged by their families, or taken from the streets at a young age. There were just so many orphans..

After training the youths, it was quickly decided who you would be. Operation manager, B.L.A.D.E. offense, commander, recruiter, spy, etcetera.

Bottom-classers often took the less violent jobs, like transport of weapons or factory machine operator. If you were smart, you were sent to the trainings of M.A.S.K. scientists. Then you'd spend the rest of your days in a lab.

Personally, Uilter couldn't think of a more dreadful job.

But, nonetheless, every role had an edge. Do your best or you'll lose your head.

Any weakness could get you kicked out, any sign of disloyalty to the president got you killed. There were no second chances. There was only pain.

With that brute attitude, most M.A.S.K. members were usually cold-hearted, iron-willed, buff airheads. Some had impressive scars from operations and training. And the community was as tight-nit as you could get. Each agent was a brother or sister, under the icy, dictatorial father: the president of M.A.S.K.

To say the white agency was cutthroat would be an understatement.

But recently, the M.A.S.K. community was growing tired. Under a supreme rule and constant watch, the weight of a white agent's life became a heavy burden. Being constantly strong without a break to do normal human things wasn't healthy.

The halls of M.A.S.K. HQ were a mere collection of emotionless tiles, the rooms were simply four blank walls. There was no spark, no joy, no life. It was an increasingly tiresome way to live.

And the agents. They've had their happiness taken from them, their souls dimmed from the sheer whiteness of their headquarters. It was a place without color, without soul. And it hurt to be constantly surrounded by it.

These thoughts of his agency ran through his head. How so much emptiness can reside in an agency so large. How little emotion dwelled in his agency's skyscraper.

How hidden-in-plain-view the white agency was. How the daywalkers couldn't see any of it.

Yes, both B.L.A.D.E. and M.A.S.K. were secret to the sunbathers of Kistra. The ones that woke up with the sun and fell asleep when it went down. However, with the number of buildings that those people went into, Uilter would hardly call them "sunbathers." From what he'd heard, they were as pale as snow. All they did was drive to work and return home.

Uilter shook his head to get his head out of their dull lives. At least his job was unpredictable.

The two enemy agencies were the only people that knew of each other, except for the occasional color market-goer. The average day citizens had no idea that that tall, stark white building that no one ever left housed the secret agency. It was surprisingly easy to hide the structure among the many skyscrapers in Kistra. Everyone was usually so focused on their own lives and what meeting they were about to miss to care about the towering, irrelevant building.

B.L.A.D.E. and M.A.S.K. had been rivals ever since each member could remember. Their impressive sizes only grew, and their burning hatred for each other only became worse.

The black agency versus the white, the shadow stalkers versus the night fliers. He'd overheard the girl in teal speak of how she was "a fan of grappling hooks," and he knew she was one of them.

M.A.S.K. agents often heard the zipping lines of their enemy's "grapplers," and quickly prepared for the worst. Those steel hooks often meant trouble.

The small wristgun was hard to master, he'd been told. And yet, the black agency seemed to have it down.

Enough daydreaming. Uilter scolded himself. You have an enemy agent to follow.

It took a while, but he eventually found her silhouette. She stood at the top of a highrise, the moon illuminating her features. He would have found her attractive if she wasn't on the wrong side.

Or the right side? A voice whispered in his mind. They have emotions, a club, a sense of style, personalities, a home. All things M.A.S.K. lacks.

You've seen them. Their color.

You have nothing compared to them.

Shut it. He told the voice. It was getting him nowhere. But he couldn't help but wonder if it was right.

All M.A.S.K. has is strength, numbers, and.. a dictator. And the color white.

Honestly, with what M.A.S.K. has done to it.. it wasn't even a color anymore.

Agent Feckter was on the move again. Uilter wasn't sure what she saw, but he had to keep an eye on her.

He walked over to a nearby building, where he found an old ladder leading upwards. He grabbed its decaying rungs and climbed his way to the top. When he finally reached it, the M.A.S.K. agent was out of breath and discouraged. If this was his way of travel, he'd never catch up, much less find out what she was doing.

He spotted her in the distance, her line flashing as she swung higher.

Well, this ain't gonna work.

He opted for a better mode of transportation: engine. He slid down the ladder, using the outer two poles to glide down easily. Well, almost. His hands felt shredded on the semi-rusted iron, but he only pretended that they didn't.

It's time to get a ride.

He stepped out into the street, once again. He'd emerged out of the shadows next to a car lot. There, glinting in the moonlight, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen:

A brand new electric car.

I needed to get home. The sun would be rising soon, and Dix and Sy would probably be wondering why I was taking so long. I'd told Sytra when I'd left that I'd be at the B.L.A.D.E. club, but I never said for how long.

Maybe a stop at Color Central wouldn't hurt.

I shot my grappler to the top of the massive skyscraper to my right, just needing to be higher. I loved the feeling so much: the wind in my hair, the pull of the steel wire, the breathtaking height, the thrill. It was all just.. amazing.

I leaped onto the roof, where I caught my breath and gazed over the city triumphantly. I could probably live on the roof of a skyscraper. The buildings were just so tall, and so exhilarating.

The Kistrian lights really did sparkle like fireworks. The city shone with its brilliance, its different colors creating an awe-inspiring effect.

Now. Where is that beautiful little oasis?

My eyes scanned over the city, looking for a certain pocket of color. But there were such a variety of lights and an endless expanse of buildings, finding the secret market would be hard.

Where had Braz and I been when we first went there? My head snapped up. Eastbound.

I turned, looking towards the eastern side of the city. Ah. The scorched warehouse. It sat at the edge of the city, like an abandoned broken beast. The thing was huge, but it was bombed, which means it was a good marker. I'd be able to find it easily among Kistra's thousands of buildings.

Truly, Kistra was a booming city, with a lot going on. It stretched for miles and miles in every direction. I couldn't imagine Riedhak without it. The city was the only thing I'd ever known.

So when Chief spoke of rolling hills and beautiful pastures, of crystal rivers and swaying trees, I almost didn't believe her. Sure, I knew such things existed. We were taught these things at a young age. But I've never seen or lived it.

It was sad, that the city life was all I knew. I wish I could live free, with the fresh grass, the blooming flowers, the pure breeze. The way Chief had described it.. I didn't know what to think. But I was beginning to miss a place I'd never been.

This was the most free I'd get. I can't leave Kistra. My home, my people. My mission. My enemy. Everything is here, in the heart of the city.

I can't leave. I'm not even sure I would if I could. Kistra has been the only place I'd ever known.

I don't even know what lies beyond city limits. I'd seen the edge of the city, but it was just too far from home for me to go. Kistra was just that big.

My eyes drifted from the east side to its horizon. Far off in the distance, I saw what appeared to be a thin line of dark green. It was hard to tell, as it was nighttime.

There's no way. My eyes widened, then narrowed as I tried to look closer. Was the land of nature simply past the border of Kistra?

I shook my head. Get your head out of those leafy green fantasies. Aren't you trying to get to Color Central?

I sighed. Yes.

I attached my grappler's hook to an iron bar that was supporting another section of the building. Honestly, I didn't have names for all of the parts of roofs. They looked complicated and boring to describe.

Nonetheless, as a B.L.A.D.E. agent that did this often, I'd memorized the structures of roofs. AC units, electricity boxes, security panels, common things for a roof to have.

Sy and I used to play a game about who could travel for a street and only touch only industrial-grade power boxes. We would race on the rooftops, honing our skills at speed and accuracy. It was fun, a fleeting memory of my past self. The thirteen-year-old girl who didn't know she was half-Colored.

Focus. I scolded myself. This'll be fun.

After checking that the claw of the grappling hook was secure, I backed up. I pressed a button on the grappler's wristband that read FREEFALL.

I smirked. No. This is the real reason I can't leave Kistra.

I took a running leap off of the roof, my arms spread wide over the open air. I fell story after story, the wind roaring past me. I could only hear the whipping air and my blood thumping in the back of my head.

Despite the alarming rate at which I was falling, I loved the rush, the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I descended rapidly.

Time seemed to slow down as I settled into the thundering air, facefirst with my arms spread behind me. My grappler's line whipped in waves behind me as I fell.

This feeling, a taste of flight. It was something I couldn't live without.

So this is what it means to fly.

He sped down the streets of Kistra, the lights of the road reflecting in the new car's paint. Agent Uilter kept his eyes on a certain teal-streaked shadow. She was moving so fast, he could barely keep up.

The thing with electric cars is that they were nearly silent. Perfect for his mission: To spy.

"Agent. How has your assignment progressed?"

"Well, I have eyes on her. She's really fast with her whip thing."

"It's called a grappling hook. B.L.A.D.E.'s a big fan of them. Make sure she never leaves your sight. Her way of travel will only make your mission harder. Think you can handle it?"

"Yes sir."

"Excellent. And, agent? I'm watching your location tracker, you seem to be going faster than walking allows."

"I've stolen an electric car. Just to make things easier."

"I see. Whatever it takes to get the job done." It was a familiar saying at M.A.S.K.

Uilter smirked. "Brings a whole new meaning to silent but deadly."

He could almost see his commander rolling his eyes. "Agent, get the mission completed. Follow her wherever she goes. She's one of our enemy's top agents, from what our sources tell us."

He nodded. "I'll be watching."

"Good. Call me when she returns to B.L.A.D.E. headquarters. We already know of its location, as we've sent multiple spies, but we need to know what she does during the night. Understood?"

"Yes, commander."

"Call me then." The comm went silent.

Uilter sighed. He wasn't particularly happy that B.L.A.D.E.'s location was already known by M.A.S.K. It would make them weaker, and Uilter wasn't excited to see the agency fall.

He knew that the black agency's chances were slim, based on numbers alone. The sheer will and power of M.A.S.K. was a whole other thing. Does B.L.A.D.E. know what they're up against?

The black agency may be fewer in numbers, but it seemed that they made up for it in their relationships.

They just seem so.. happy. They had friends, social nights, and meals together. A tight community of orphans with the same goal. To defeat M.A.S.K.

They were all raised by the same person, it seemed. The chief of B.L.A.D.E. was a mother to her agency. Everyone relied on her.

Even our president.

He'd heard of the couple. That the chief of B.L.A.D.E. and the president of M.A.S.K. were once, in fact, lovebirds.

Nobody knew the story. Only that both lovers were heartbroken, and went on to lead their respective agencies.

But B.L.A.D.E.'s chief had more than a past. It seemed that her agency was more than a mere collection of people. Their clothes defined where they belonged. Who they were.

They had this.. color.

He didn't know exactly what it was. A paint job? An identity? A simple dyed liquid?

It has to be more than just a tool.

It has to be.

Uilter had heard rumors of "color markets," where color could be bought and sold. Where whispers of ancient peoples were murmured, where soulmates supposedly found each other.

But he'd been taught to believe that they were just that: Rumors. That there was nothing special about the black agency, that their emotions and their color were just fantasy. That they lived in a state of ignorance about the world around them, and that they weren't even trained.

That B.L.A.D.E. was just an inexperienced group of low-lifes that had no structure.

Uilter just wasn't sure he wanted to believe his own agency. I can't believe so many M.A.S.K. members will just accept their half-baked lies that easily. Don't you want to know more? Don't you want to see this "untrained" agency yourself? Don't you want to believe that they're better than everyone says?

He just wasn't so sure he wanted to be against B.L.A.D.E.

He glanced up to find that Agent Feckter was hurtling towards a massive skyscraper. At the last second, she fired her grappling hook to go even higher.

Because she was traveling upwards and not forwards, Uilter parked his stolen vehicle and eyed her as she zipped upwards.

Do you even know what you're doing?

He watched as she leaped onto the roof and scanned the city. She turned towards his right, then backed up. She seemed to do something with her grappler's hook, then did the unthinkable:

She jumped off the side of the building.

Uilter's heart rate spiked and his breath hitched as he watched her fall. His hand shot to his phone to call someone, but something made him stop.

Her pose. With her arms spread wide and her feet together, it seemed almost as if.. she did this often. Her grappler's line flashed in the moonlight, and he realized that she was tethered to the roof.

With that thought, he relaxed. She's fine.

A few milliseconds later, she tugged in a specific way. The line caught her gradually, as smooth as it could get. It eased her into an arc, where she pulled on her line again. It launched her back upwards, onto the roof of the next multi-story building over. She landed safely, and paused for a minute to do something to a gleam of silver on her wrist. Her grappling hook's claw became undone from the top of the massive skyscraper, zipping obediently back to her.

Woah.

The only thought Agent Uilter had as he watched the scene unfold. He was rendered speechless.

Before another thought could enter his mind, Agent Feckter turned over her shoulder and locked eyes with him. The moonlight from behind her outlined her silhouette, her teal-streaked hair blowing gently in the wind.

Shoot. He'd been caught in the act. He ran a hand through his hair. You weren't supposed to see me.

He braced himself for an attack, but the B.L.A.D.E. agent only smiled. Her dazzling, perfect smile.

Get a hold of yourself. If the M.A.S.K. agent was supposed to track her, it'd help if he wasn't ogling her the whole time. He needed to focus, not just admire.

But she'd just done that. An impressive act of acrobatics, all from a skyscraper and a grappling hook. She was a part of B.L.A.D.E, the black agency known for its color and soul.

And she was good. Good at taking down M.A.S.K. operations, good at getting a top agent recognition, heck, she was even good at hurtling herself off of skyscrapers.

What couldn't she do?

I noticed him. He stood with his feet apart and his hands out, like he was anxious or concerned. His hair looked windblown, like he'd just been taking a joyride when he just decided to stop and watch me take a leap of faith.

But his face, from what I could see from the scattered city lights, was twisted, caught somewhere between admiration and jealousy. He nervously ran his hands through his hair, which explained its wild look.

It was clear he did this often. The man below me looked like he'd been thinking a lot.

It didn't take much for me to get to this rooftop, but it was exhilarating nonetheless. I was a little out of breath. I'd pressed the FREEFALL button to pull up, and now I was back on solid concrete. That's when I'd noticed the lights of a hastily parked electric car down at street level. I was a good fifteen stories up, but I could clearly see the oddly placed vehicle from this height.

I sighed. From his expression, he was probably not supposed to be seen by me.

So I smiled at him. Ease him up a little bit.

Then, I remembered my destination. I bet Mr. Electric Car would like to see a color market.

I turned back towards the burned warehouse in the distance. I was using it as a marker for me to find easily.

I glanced back at him and winked, then leaped away from the edge.

Let's have a little fun.

I wouldn't have said I was a flirty person, but the more boys I met, the more that proved to be a lie. But still, I had a firm loyalty to my beloved soulmate, Braz Dixtet.

Beloved? I thought as I fired my grappler once again. Are you sure he's your beloved?

Well. I'm his.

A couple city blocks later, more towards Eastbound, I looked back to find that he was still trailing after me. He reminded me of a puppy that had imprinted on me. All he could do was follow.

So, what is this man up to?

Who would follow Grace Feckterhight? Chief wouldn't assign a B.L.A.D.E. agent to follow me, so he wasn't a fellow member, even though he dressed like one.

So he'd used that as a cover at some point? As a disguise?

I landed on a roof that was near the bombed warehouse. I could see the remains a few streets over.

Close enough. Now, where did Dix take me that night? I looked up to find something I recognized. Thankfully, I did. A billboard selling cleaning services for 40 katr an hour. It was blue and white, a flashy and distinguishable landmark.

I was heading in the right direction.

I smiled, proud of myself that I'd found the way. I took a left and sprinted along the wide rooftops of the city I called home.

About fifteen minutes later, I arrived at a certain alleyway. It wasn't the alleyway, because I decided that I wanted to deceive. To be honest, I don't want to lead him anywhere close to my favorite color market.

I stopped to catch my breath, leaning on the brick-walled building to my left. I could see the headlights of my follower's car turn a corner and illuminate the street.

He drove until he saw me. I poked out of the alleyway a little, so he could see where I'd gone. He pulled over and parked, the headlights flashing off. He got out of his car and turned around, and we locked eyes again.

"Ah." He gave me a once-over, slamming the car door. I wasn't sure why he was upset. "So you're the one they've been talking about."

"And who is they?"

"My agency."

"Which is?"

"I can't tell you."

"Agh." I practically rolled my eyes. "What a pity. We could have gotten along so well."

It was basically confirmation that he was a M.A.S.K. agent in disguise. I knew Chief well enough, and I wasn't aware of any other agencies.

"Well, I was going to go somewhere special, but then you showed up." I was a little disappointed. The more I thought about it, the less of a good idea it seemed. For all I knew, he'd run home to M.A.S.K. and they'd destroy Color Central. It'd be gone before I even knew to feel guilty.

I could see it. I lead him there, he'd stand there in awe, I'd buy some things, he'd run home and tell the person at the other end of his comm, word would spread in M.A.S.K, and Color Central would be sabotaged. Glass containers smashed, artwork shredded, clothing burned.

And it'd be my fault. I'd never forgive myself if that became a reality.

I shook my head. "Whoever you are. I'm going to politely ask you to stop following me. If you don't comply, I'll have to take this a step further. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." He mocked.

"Good." I had to ignore the fact that he was barely taking me seriously.

"If you follow me after I leave, I'll know. And you'll regret it." I knew threats weren't going to do much, but I thought I'd try.

I fired my grappler, launching myself onto the brick building's roof. I stepped onto it, then turned to face him. "And.. I'm sure your mission was to spy on me. You've done your job. Let me leave in peace."

It was simple. Every agent has heard the string of words: Spy without being seen. Recon only.

"Alright. Your ask is reasonable. I ask for one thing in return.. An answer to a question."

I sighed. I wasn't sure where this was going, but I thought I'd give him a shot. "Sure."

"Does B.L.A.D.E. accept former M.A.S.K. agents?"