Chapter Eighteen

I opened Chief's door, uncertain of what I'd see. Two rows of dark leather chairs curved around Chief's desk, and they were slowly filling with agents. So far, there were about 10 of them, with a variety of vibrant colors. Chief sat behind her dark oak desk, calmly speaking to one of the agents.

I found a seat and looked to the girl to the left of me. Her color was very clearly sulfur yellow, with yellow extensions and nails. Her black hoodie had a yellow crystal spray-painted onto it.

I waved a hey. She nodded and popped her yellow bubble gum.

Ten minutes later, everyone was there. There were about 20 of us, just like Chief had said in her note to me.

Chief herself appeared and stood in front of the desk, her eyes sweeping over all the agents before her. "Good evening, agents. I'm sure you all know why you're here."

Nearly everyone nodded.

"Now. Before I begin, I'm going to scan for listening devices." She tapped a device on her wrist. It looked like your average black band, but when her finger touched it, it lit up silently. It held a spinning circle loading screen for a moment, before a check mark appeared. Chief smiled approvingly.

"I trust you all. I was mostly checking the walls and ceiling for bugs."

I let out a sigh of relief. She trusted these agents.

"As you all can probably tell, the plan I'd been announcing to the agency is false. It's all an act, an illusion, to keep M.A.S.K. agents and spies confused and on the wrong schedule. Our goal is to catch them when they're not prepared.

"I've decided to move our actual attack date to two days before the fake plan." She looked around at all the agents she trusted most. "You twenty-two will have to be prepared. I expect you all to train more, train harder, train better. Train like you never have before. After the war, it will be those who survived and those who didn't. Who won and who lost. And only those who survive will carry on B.L.A.D.E.'s name and legacy."

She put her hands on her desk, and leaned forward, looking each of us in the eye. "You all know the story. The black agency was originally just a peaceful collection of Colored descendants, until M.A.S.K. began attacking the city in its numerous ways. Developing technology designed to kill. Then B.L.A.D.E. decided it would become a secret organization devoted to training agents to fight M.A.S.K. We became nocturnal to fight M.A.S.K., to keep cover. We became an organization of defence, rather than a refuge for the Colored."

She looked down and sat back into her chair. "When I learned this, it nearly tore me apart. I've been trying to gain an advantage, something to finally defeat M.A.S.K. once and for all. I refuse to let the white agency take anything else from us, rather it be an agent or a shipment of weapons."

She looked away, a heartbroken expression on her face. "They've taken far too much for far too long."

I exhaled silently and looked down at my feet. She's right.

I'm tired of all of this.

"So, agents. That is why we have to win." She sat up straight. "Now, the question is how. How are we going to win? The answer is simple. Well, as simple as a plan from me could be." There was a chorus of chuckles.

"Because I told the agency of our plan where we use the air vents, we're going to use another method. Plan R, edit B. We'll go during the daytime, when they're least expecting it. We'll have a team of eleven knock out all the security measures that we have on file, using the electric box on the side of the building. Once that box has a BTID on it, two of the security team will go inside and manually switch off the window sensors. Three of those eleven will be on lookout, and will tell the others if any alarms go off, or if anyone spots them. The other half of your team will break into the president's office using the outer wall, and they'll do it disguised as window cleaners. It may look stupid, but its the best way to get our agents up to the president's floor. Of those eleven breaking in, five will be on the window cleaning elevators from the outside, and six will be watching at the bottom. The six will be answering questions if any day-strollers do, or police officers, and be watching out for them.

"Once the agents get high enough to reach the president's office, they'll silently slice the glass with our glass-cutting tools, and will act as though they're just cleaning it. They'll replace the glace and head inside, making it look like an openable window. After a few moments of separation each, the other five "window-cleaners" will follow. Once inside, those five will find the sleeping president and eliminate them in his sleep. If there's any issues, each agent will use a small comm link with an earpiece. I'll be assigning roles now." She clicked her hologram desk, and a floating list of names came up.

"Agents Setsie, Helris, Yenoug, Deopris, Xeine, Wedney, Aeris, Ediw, Poistel, Zestek, Trimeb, and Freese, you're taking out security. Agents Retyue, Sase, Infroal, Wextei, Semlid, and Quitn are ground support for the quote-on-quote "window-cleaners." The window-cleaners will be agents Dewsty, Cenrit, Yevvy, Seinstil, Niethla, and Feckter."

She looked up from her list. "Feckter will be the first to enter the president's office. Is everyone okay with their roles?"

We all gave her a collective nod.

"Good. You twenty-two will leave at 2pm, in four days. Be prepared. I suggest you begin your training tomorrow.

"Also. The executives have given me their reports on our agency's readiness for war. They've evaluated weapons, proposed this new plan and dozens of others to me, given me the number of those who are able to fight. I wish I could tell all those loyal to B.L.A.D.E. what we're actually planning on doing, but unfortunately, there's no way to seperate the spies from the rest of the agents. You twenty-two won't have backup. That's enough people to go accompany you all, I'd hope."

She looked around the room, across both rows. "This also means that all missions that aren't critical will be rescheduled for after the war, once we've won. Only the most important missions, like getting all our agents home, getting as many weapons as possible, restocking food, etc., will be completed. This is to ensure that we're most efficient in our preparations."

She laughed a little. "Everyone got all that?"

More nodding.

"Perfect. Thank you for your patience. Have a good evening, you're all dismissed. Train hard, agents! You have four days!"

Everyone began to rise and head for the door, but my thoughts wouldn't leave me alone.

You're goiNG TO BE LEADING IT. YOU'LL BE THE FIRST ONE INSIDE THE BUILDING!!

Another voice spoke as I entered the elevator with my future mission-mates, and pressed my floor. BUT SO MANY THINGS COULD GO WRONG! What if the president isn't asleep?? What if we find Dix? What happens if–

Please. Enough.

Returning to my dorm was a blur. I had so little energy and my mind was a mess, yet again. Sy watched me drift to my bedroom and close my door. We didn't speak a word.

I collapsed on my bed, feeling as though I lacked emotion.

The next morning, I woke up with my dreams already fading. I had no desire to remember them. The only image I could conjure was a mix of grays. In my haze, the clock read a blurry 6:34pm.

Then everything hit me like a truck.

I had dizzy eyes for a moment before remembering my responsibilities. Train. I have to train. Hard. War is coming.

I mentally sighed and started getting ready for the gym. I got lost in thoughts of him, of not speaking much with Sy ever since I'd decided to not immediately go after Dix, after coming home with bleeding knuckles after giving my all to that punching bag.

How much I'd changed.

I arrived at the gym with everything I needed, and after checking in with the receptionist, I went over to my favorite room. The familiar scent of machinery and sweat greeted me. I gazed over the row of punching bags, the tackling dummies, the speed bags and the boxing gloves. The wrestling mat was being used by two boys I recognized from Chief's meeting.

They stopped to take a breather, and nodded to me. I nodded back. Their colors were sandy tan and neon green.

I set my things down on the floor and took off my light sweater, revealing my shapely arms. I never paid much attention to my muscles, but now I noticed the strength of my legs and arms. I guess all those missions and years of training paid off.

For the past day and a half, I've been ignoring Dix. Just the thought of him. All those blushey moments with him, the inside jokes with Sy, the missions we've done together. Watching him being shoved into that expensive white car. His pleading eyes, his bloodied body.

My anger towards him, my confusion and hurt, it was all still boiling within me. Punching the bags in front of me only worked for a short time, just enough to stop the screaming in my head. Just to stop me from exploding into a million pieces.

But it would only work for so long.

I began taping my hands.

I'd never thought of myself as a violent person. But here I was, once again. Needing to punch things just so I wouldn't tear myself apart.

I took a fighting stance, and threw my first punch. The energy was reflected back onto my fists, and the pain hurt. In a good way.

Sytra was right. I have changed.

I continued fighting, hopping from side to side to get better angles. I punched from the sides, the front. Undercut and direct.

I have to be ready. I have to be strong.

AND DON'T THINK ABOUT DIXTER.

I punched as hard as I could at the thought. The chain it was hanging from rattled violently, echoing in the space. The boys from the mat looked over.

I glanced at them, before realizing I didn't care. I continued beating it.

DON'T THINK. ABOUT HIM.

BUT IF YOU DO, NOW'S A GOOD TIME.

I began losing track of time. I hit harder and harder each time. My hands were beet red, and my head was pounding.

After an hour of on-and-off training, the boys had already left and I was done. I'd gotten all my frustration out.

For the next two hours, I went to the weights, then the treadmill in the other room. I walked home, exhausted. Through the hidden tunnel, past the secret wall, through the guards, down the elevator, down to my floor. Two others were in the elevator with me, and the atmosphere seemed.. tense. The laughing, playful energy of the agency was gone. The relaxing feeling of being home was missing.

When I entered my dorm floor, the few agents in the hallway shared the same attitude. Tense. Everyone that I saw on my way in had grim faces and a determined walk. We all had jobs to do to prepare for our attack.

Despite Chief's enthusiastic attitude, no one knew the outcome of the war.

When I got back to my dorm, I noticed Sy sitting on the couch. She gave me a half-look, and went back to scrolling on her phone. "You've been gone awhile."

I sighed. "Yeah. I've been preparing for the attack."

"Figures." She didn't look up.

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you still mad at me about Dix?"

"Maybe." She looked up with fire in her eyes. "If you actually loved him, it wouldn't have taken you this long to rescue him."

Like a strike of lightning, my world shattered, and everything I'd done to keep my mind from screaming disappeared.

SEE? EVEN SY IS DISAPPOINTED. HOW COULD YOU BEAR THE THOUGHT OF LEAVING HIM BEHIND?!

HE DESERVES TO PERISH IN THE ENEMY AGENCY, NEXT TO HIS FATHER.

"Sy, don't you realize that he WENT BEHIND B.L.A.D.E.'s back and DELIBERATELY accepted shady work that led to him finding out about his father?? Do you THINK I'd rescue a TRAITOR?!" I was shouting now.

Her eyes were angry slits, her words were setting my mind aflame. "Don't YOU realize that he's still our FRIEND? And YOUR soulmate, for crying out loud. What he's done or who he is doesn't change the fact that you two are DESTINED TO BE TOGETHER!"

I angrily stormed past her. "FINE. But when I invite him back into our lives, IF WE BOTH SURVIVE THE WAR, I'll let him call up his DAD to tell him about all the MISSIONS we're going on!" I slammed my door.

"THEY'LL BOTH BE DEAD BY THEN!" Sy shouted, slamming her door from across the living room.

DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU'RE DOING??

YOU HAVE TO RESCUE HIM IN TIME OR HE DIES!

WE DON'T CARE IF HE DIES.

I threw myself onto my bed and grabbed my pillow. Tears slid down my face.

CALL OFF THE MISSION. YOU CAN'T BE THERE IF DIX IS SUPPOSED TO LIVE.

ATTACK. KILL ALL OF M.A.S.K. AND LEAVE NO ONE BEHIND.

SY IS RIGHT. WE JUST ABANDONED HIM BECAUSE HE MADE SOME MISTAKES.

HE IS THE SON OF M.A.S.K.'S PRESIDENT.

Thoughts were storming around my head so fast I couldn't see straight. After some time, they eventually slowed so that I could think for myself. I got into the shower, got ready for bed. As I spit out my toothpaste, I had one thing on my mind.

I didn't know my feelings about Dix. I didn't know what was going to happen to him or any of us. I didn't know who would win the war.

All I knew is that I would train hard enough to save the black agency.

The next two days were a blur of training, of eating, of showering, then sleeping. I lacked any emotions of sympathy or compassion. I pushed Dixter out of my headspace. I had nothing left to dwell on, nothing left to yell at Sy. I had nothing to do but strengthen my body.

There were trainers that Chief had hired, but I ignored their intercom calls for training, wincing at their obnoxious voices. I didn't need anyone telling me how to prepare for the war.

The gym was everyday, I trained with my weapons in my room. I practiced my aim with my crossbow. I reloaded my grappling hook. I reloaded my pistols, sharpened my knives.

When I used my sharpening tools on my knives, the sparks flew inches from my face. In my eyes there was no fear. There was cool frustration, a collected anger, a controlled fury. That kind of emotion was the most dangerous weapon I've ever possessed.

My weapons were sharp and loaded, my mind was pressed and focused, my muscles were lean and prepared.

It was the night before the attack.

Alka slipped quietly from her shared dorm, doing everything in her power to not make a sound. She had to know what was going on.

She rode the elevator, towards an agency meeting she wasn't supposed to go to. It was 10:10am, and she was ready for sleep. But her questions about the war had to be answered.

Je ne suis pas prêt pour l'attaque, mais je peux écouter le Chief. She narrowed her eyes. I'm not ready to fight, but I can at least listen to Chief.

She heard voices, Chief's voice, specifically. No one had noticed her slip into the large room, as the elevators were behind the crowd.

She continued thinking in French. I don't know how I'm supposed to know about the war if only the older agents are supposed to be here.

She couldn't see above the crowd, but Chief's voice over the speaker system was loud and clear.

"–All side operations will be postponed until further notice. What will change with training? It will get more rigorous. I've hired some advanced trainers that will prepare those eligible for war." She paused.

Alka's eyes darted from side to side. Guerre. War.

What would that mean for B.L.A.D.E?

"I know you're all probably wondering how we're going to attack." Alka ducked her head and tried to avoid being seen. Maybe wearing her color, a bright pink, wasn't the best choice.

Chief spoke of a plan involving air vents and rushing a skyscraper, but Alka wasn't listening. She was thinking of a past organization, the one she came from several months ago. Before she was planted in Kistra.

The black agency is going to need some help.

It was time to contact P.I.S.T.O.L.