Good Night Kitty

The meeting room was cold. Not just the kind of cold that comes from air-conditioning, but the kind of cold that feels like it's there specifically to make you uncomfortable, like the room itself resents your presence. She sat there, hands clasped, eyes darting from Volt, who was leaning against the wall looking like he'd rather fight another dozen pirates, to Ghost, who was spinning in his chair like a bored kid in a classroom. 

PS—whose full name she still didn't know because no one told her anything—was flipping through her tablet, completely unbothered by the tension in the air. She looked like the kind of person who could handle a nuclear meltdown and still be annoyed that it interrupted her lunch break. 

"The mission was successful," PS said without looking up, her voice flat and efficient, like a machine that spits out perfectly portioned bad news. "Cargo secured. Minimal casualties." 

Volt scoffed. She wondered if he practiced that scoff in the mirror. It was impressive, the way he could pack so much disdain into a single sound. 

PS didn't even blink. "There was a change in information mid-operation. Scotch's involvement was necessary." 

Volt let out a low laugh, the kind that wasn't funny at all. "Convenient." 

She thought about asking what the "change in information" was, but PS had a look that suggested questions were not welcome. It was the same look her high school math teacher used to give her when she asked why the letters in algebra couldn't just stay in the alphabet where they belonged. 

So instead, she asked, "Why wasn't Byte involved? I thought he handled tech stuff." 

PS raised an eyebrow, which was apparently her version of an emotional outburst. Volt answered before she could. "Because I was there. Byte's team was in touch with me directly. A-Class agents and above get personal support. It's part of the deal." 

She blinked. "A-Class? Wait—how are agents graded? I don't even know my own." 

Volt smirked, the kind of smirk that suggested he enjoyed withholding information. "If you're here, you're at least B-Class. Congratulations." 

She leaned forward. "At least B-Class? What does that even mean?" 

"It means you're good enough to be here but not good enough for your own team," Ghost said with a grin that was both infuriating and weirdly charming. 

Volt ignored him. "Grading is based on performance. You succeed, you rise. Simple." 

Ghost spun his chair again, making a dramatic show of leaning back like a smug villain in a bad movie. "Or, if you're feeling particularly ambitious, you could take down members of other organizations." 

She frowned. "Other organizations? What other organizations?" 

Ghost's grin widened. "Aw, poor kitty. There's so much you don't know." 

That was one thing about Ghost: he could make a simple statement feel like an insult and a compliment at the same time. It was a talent, really. 

"There are rivals," Volt said, his tone heavier than usual. "Some of them work against us. Some of them work... differently. Let's leave it at that." 

"Right," she muttered. "Because pirates and augmented lunatics weren't enough to deal with." 

Ghost chuckled, low and amused. "Oh, sweetheart, that was just the tutorial level." 

PS cleared her throat, a sound so sharp it could cut glass. "That's enough. Details on external organizations will be shared on a need-to-know basis. And right now, you don't need to know." 

Ghost shot her a wink as they left the room, as if to say, Don't worry, I'll fill you in later. Maybe. 

Volt, on the other hand, muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Idiots." 

She didn't say anything as they walked back to their quarters. Her head was spinning. Rivals? Rankings? Personal support teams? It was like she'd signed up for a job and accidentally joined some underground Hunger Games society. 

"Don't worry," Ghost said after a moment, his voice lighter than the tension in the air. "You'll figure it out eventually. Probably." 

She shot him a glare, but he just grinned. She thought about Volt's smirk earlier and realized this place might actually drive her insane. 

And yet, as she lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, she couldn't help but wonder what it would take to rise through the ranks. 

And what exactly Scotch had done to get where he was. 

——————

Back in her room, she lay on the stiff mattress, staring at the ceiling. The dim, artificial light hummed faintly, doing little to drown out the weight in her chest. She replayed the day in her head—the mission, the fight, Scotch's fiery interruption, and Volt's feedback. She thought of Ghost's constant smirks and Volt's tightly controlled anger, and how none of it made sense when stacked up against what she'd signed up for. 

She had done well today. She had fought hard, moved fast, and stayed alive. That should have been enough, but it didn't feel like it. 

Because underneath the adrenaline and the victory, there was something gnawing at her. Something she had successfully avoided thinking about for weeks. 

Her family. 

Their faces were blurry now, like smudges on a photo she hadn't looked at in a long time. She used to think of them constantly—her mother's worried eyes, her sibling's laughter, her father's disappointed frown. She used to carry them with her like a shield, a reminder of why she had come here in the first place, why she had to live and save them from the death of another of their family.

But now? Now they felt like strangers. 

Her motivation had shifted, though she wasn't sure into what. She wasn't here to avenge them anymore. She wasn't even sure she was here for them anymore. 

So why was she still here? 

Was being alive so important to her that she was willing to go through all this—through pain, blood, and constant battle? Or had she simply gotten used to the fight, to the adrenaline, to the terrifying thrill of survival? 

And then there was him. 

That beast. 

The memory made her stomach tighten. She could still feel his presence, faint and unwelcome, like a shadow in the corner of her mind. She still didn't know how she had managed to shut him out, to silence that voice that had haunted her for so long. But she had, and that was what mattered. 

For now, at least. 

If he were still there, yapping away with his cryptic nonsense, she was sure she would have lost her mind by now. And maybe—just maybe—that silence was the only thing keeping her sane. 

Her eyes grew heavier. The hum of the light blurred into a soft buzz, and her thoughts slowed. She let herself sink into the bed, into the quiet, into the questions she couldn't yet answer. 

Sleep came slowly, dragging her into its embrace like a reluctant friend. And for a few hours, at least, she didn't have to think about missions or monsters or the gnawing emptiness that followed her like a second shadow.