Episode 17-1: New Season, Old Problems

"A few drinks on a tiny table, fruity tasting, no doubt. It'll be just as the sun is setting. You know that time when the sky is a little red because of the sunset? Yeah, that kind of time. Intense, passionate kissing on the beach. A lot of dirty whispers in my ear too so I can stay excited," I blush as I say that last one. I wonder what dirty talk sounds like coming from him. "That's what it will be like someday."

Barry didn't make any sounds or even look at me while I was describing my perfect date. He just sat there piloting the jet like always. That's why I only trust him with conversations like these.

I pull the straps on my wetsuit, still wet from my mission underwater.

Ping!

My phone lights up on the seat next to me. I pick it up and read the text displayed.

"I just heard your ETA. You coming home?"

I couldn't help but let out a girly giggle as I typed back, "Yup! See you when I get back?"

"Of course. We've still got our ice cream thing going on, right?"

"Duh! I need some stress relief after this mission. I got my fur wet! :'("

"What does :'( mean? Is that a signal? Are you alright? Are you under attack?"

"It's a crying face, Clyde. Keep up with the times."

"Whatever. I'll see you when you get home."

I put my phone back down on the seat and stand up, skipping happily towards Barry. "I've got a date today, Barry! You hear that? Troy Hearth is no longer a loveless loser."

"Troy Hearth smells like wet fox and needs to sit back down," he tells me.

I gasp in honest shock when I hear Barry's first words ever. "You choose to break your streak of silence just to insult me? I didn't even get to record it."

*** *** ***

The jet expertly pulls into the runway like it's done a thousand times before as Barry and I dock into Hartford, Connecticut. Barry opens the door to let me out, and I quickly travel through the landing lot and into the front doors of the post office. At the front desk is always a friendly face to greet me, only this time the face was fewer smiles and more surprised.

"Troy, you can't walk in here dressed like that," Amy Quine whispers, "what are people gonna think?"

"Well, what do they think when they see a jet land close to here?"

"International cargo in the post? We have the license to back it up."

"Huh..." I shrug it off. "Anyway, I'm sorry. Just let me down and I'll change quickly before Adams sees me. Please?"

"Okay, but no more of these little stunts, Troy. You got to start taking your covert appearances more seriously." She opens a drawer from her desk to reveal a DNA scanner that she places her hand on. An approving ding was made, and a piece of wall pops out of place.

"Thank you," I say. Pushing the wall in, I step into the elevator and close the wall back in place. There are no buttons, only an indention in the wall with a sink-like apparatus. I spit into the drain and wait for the elevator to process my sample. Another approving ding and down I go to Ispio's headquarters.

The doors open and I make a brisk pace to the locker rooms. The last thing I want is to upset Adams again. Lately, I've been on a bad streak with my job, nothing like losing a whole case, but little things that exploit the stealth integrity of the company. I round the corner, and as my luck would have it, Adams is right behind it. She's walking fast too, probably on her way to her office.

Already rolling her eyes she huffs, "Let me guess: you're going to tell me that you walked into the post office that way?"

I give her my award-winning smile. "It's not that bad, right?"

Her hands go to her hips, and I know that my charm isn't going to help me here. "Wrong. Why can't you understand that the tiniest details need to be covered up or else it'll bite us in the ass?"

"You're right. I'm sorry." Oof, I probably could've sounded more empathetic saying that.

"What is it with you lately? You've been acting like you're not all here, like you're distracted or something. Not just you either, Clyde's doing the same thing."

"Have we? I haven't noticed."

For a moment she drops her hands and switches to a concerned mom. "Is it because of Archer? Are you thinking about him? Do you need to talk to someone who's... a professional?"

Sometimes I wonder if that would help. "Jesus, Carlotta, no. I'm fine, really. Archer is the last thing I wanna talk about."

After a moment of silence, she's back to business. "Where's your report?"

"I haven't written it yet. I wanted to change first."

She raises her hand in frustration. "Just get it on my desk before the end of the day." She walks off in her heels, the clacking sound demanding respect and power from any who hear her coming. It's just like her to change emotions so quickly.

It takes me thirty minutes total to change and write out my report. I deliver it to her at her desk, but she didn't bother to look up at me, her eyes glued to her paperwork, less for intense focus and more for ignoring my presence. I need to start making up for all my mistakes, and the best way is to not make mistakes anymore.

I make it to the parking lot of Ispio and pull out my phone. I text Clyde, "I'm back in town. Where are you?"

"Nowhere near Ispio. You know I can't wait for you."

"Meet up?"

"Ice cream shop."

"It has a name, ya know."

"Yeah, 'Ice Cream Shop'."

I laugh. I wonder if he's intentionally funny or if he really is just that oblivious to the world outside of work. I try to type a reply, but my fingers aren't moving. They stiffen up, stiff as rigor mortis, and as painful as a muscle cramp from a long workout without stretching. The pain was so distracting that I didn't even notice the loud ringing going off until some seconds passed.

"Ow! Ringing! Stupefyer!" I shout, hopefully, loud enough for another agent inside to hear me.

"Uh-huh," a voice says, sounding like it was right in my face. "You remember this gadget?" The air distorts before my eyes, and a familiar, unfriendly mug appears holding onto the Stupefyer P.V. It's a paralyzing device; using it on someone makes them experience loud ringing in their ears accompanied by numbness of the body. There's a version that works like a bomb, but this one works more like a projectile to affect one target. That target is me today.

"Cha-....ouch! Chameleon..." I shout, or at least try to. It comes out more like a calm statement instead of a cry for help. The wave signals the device sends out must be affecting my vocal cords already.

"It's so nice to see you again, Agent Hearth." He snaps his fingers, instantly turning day into night. Oh no wait, a bag just went over my head. I feel strong arms wrapping themselves around my waist, and I feel myself being transferred. A couple of minutes pass before I could no longer feel or say anything, and with the bag on my head, I couldn't see anything either. I'm totally lost.

The bag comes off after a guesstimated hour, the ringing is gone, but I still can't move. Once again I can feel my body, but my limbs are tied to a cross.

"A familiar pose," I say.

Standing before me was a sight I didn't wish to see again. Four naked chameleons gather around me, all staring at my vulnerable situation. My skin tingles as I feel their eyes look me up and down.

"To have you again is an honor," the ring leader says.

"What the hell are you doing in Hartford?" I remember this bunch from Rhode Island. A group of loons pretending to be judgment callers, torturing people in different methods for proof of power. Shamefully, they bested Clyde and me, taking our gear and our dignities with them. It looks like they kept it all too, otherwise, I wouldn't know how they got their hands on a Stupefyer P.V.

"Looking for the ones that got away. Gotcha'," he says, a crooked smile spreading across his lips. His beady eyes darted to and fro, but sometimes they'd both land on me at the same time. It's piercing when it happens. "Firstly, I'd like to show appreciation, Agent Hearth."

I raise a brow. "For what?"

"For broadening our methods. Such high tech could be used in such various and creative ways, and we'd never have passed our standards if it weren't for you and that dog's interference." He sticks his long, stretchy tongue out. "And speaking of the dog, we need him here...with you."

His tongue keeps getting longer. I start to feel squeamish and rapidly shout out, "What do you want with Clyde?"

His tongue goes back into his slobbering mouth. "We need him to complete the set. Both of you showed your presence at the same time, and now you need to be treated simultaneously."

"Sorry, we sold out of limited editions. No set for you. Besides, you wouldn't even know where to find him."

Another chameleon reveals a backpack he was holding behind him, giving it to his leader. He rummages through it, pulling out a tracker we had during that mission. It's standard for squads to carry one tracker in case one agent needs to locate the other.

"That won't be hard. How do you think we followed you to Hartford? It took months to figure out how to work it, but the payoff is worth every second."

"Gosh, was there anything you didn't steal?" I jokingly ask. Inside I'm furious, but I can't afford to let them know they're getting to me. There's no need to let these creeps feel even more powerful.

His tongue comes back out. "The clothes on your back." It stretches, longer and longer, and gets close to my face. I can see the saliva bullets on the tongue, plus the swampy smell of his breath is adding to the gross factor. Inevitably, the tip makes contact with my bare neck and starts caressing me.

I scream loudly as it slides over my entire neck, but close my mouth when it begins its dance over my face. It lasts only briefly, but I'm traumatized nonetheless.

"What is WRONG with you!" I want nothing more than to wipe the spit off of me.

The leader turns to another one of his comrades. "Stay here and watch over our practice," his eyes glance at others, "the rest of us will hunt down the dog."

Oh great, they want to leave a guard behind to watch me. Can't exactly think of an escape route that way.

"Wait," I say, "Clyde's much tougher than I, you're going to need all the help you can get if you plan on bringing him down."

He turns back to me bewildered as if he's debating whether to listen to my advice or not. "How intriguing, but why would you tell us this? Do you not care for your companion?"

I roll my eyes, "Of course, I care. I just know that if all four of you went, then all four of you would get the beating of a lifetime. You can't win."

He laughs. "Strange, that's not how I remember the battle long ago."

"Exactly, long ago. He's only gotten stronger since then. Three versus one; instant death. Four versus one, you might have a few seconds extra to pray."

His smile fades, and he looks down the hallway, then back at me, then at his friends. I think I'm getting to him.

"Everyone goes after the dog. The little fox can't do much from there. Let's go!"

One by one, they all run down the hall and around the corner. The last one leaves my sight, and now I have the whole room to myself. Now to get out of this bind.