Search the Community

Here's the start of a story I've been posting on a few different sites. It's a slow burn, but any criticism is very much welcome. I think I've got thirty-something chapters written now, so might take a while to catch up with the other places I've been posting. Any comments and corrections very much welcome. Specifically, I'm never sure if I'm being too heavy-handed with foreshadowing and clues. If you can see what's coming, please let me know; so I have a better idea if it's too obvious or not. ACT I: Briefing 1. Prologues Light on the factory floor was mostly from the faint glow of furnaces, or some complex chemical process. Occasionally, the flicker of welding caused the shadows to shift for a couple of seconds before darkness returned. The machines didn’t need light to work by. The shadows seemed alive, writhing in the corners and clinging to every surface. Narrow metal catwalks lined the perimeter, suspended precariously over a sprawling industrial space. Below the walkways, massive stainless steel vats brewed and distilled mysterious chemical concoctions, bubbly liquids gurgling as gases percolated up through them. Steam rose in wispy tendrils, collecting under the catwalks and obscuring the view across the cavernous hall. A figure walked along down below, a flashlight casting to either side. Maybe a janitor or night guard inspecting the place. The days when a site like this would have required hundreds of workers to keep it going were long gone. Now, the only serious tasks were making sure that none of the machines had warning lights lit, and that there was nobody here who wasn’t supposed to be. The last intruder had been a rat, found nesting in the ductwork a month before. People were still talking about it. On the gantry above, if you looked from just the right angle, you might have noticed a couple of shadows looking a little more organic than the latticework of steel and concrete. A really careful observer, if they waited long enough, might have seen those shadows moving again after a long, cautious pause. Two figures, scurrying across a catwalk while keeping low to the ground so they couldn’t be seen from below. The larger one went first, moving with a quiet confidence, while the frustration of the second was clear in the way that it moved. Their footsteps didn’t make a sound even on the metal gantry, and the distant man on the ground was completely unaware of them as he continued surveying some of the industrious machines. As they came to the middle of the catwalk they moved more nervously; exposed in the open space, with sheer drops on either side down to the chemical basins simmering stories below. Reaching an intersection, the taller figure paused, broad shoulders backlit by the eerie green glow of a monitor as he peered down each possible path. His muscular frame was obvious even through his dark utilitarian clothes. Beside him, the smaller figure froze as someone else’s footsteps started to shake the steel beneath their feet. Their slim build was almost lost in the oversized utility uniform they wore, and they stood with a tension that said flight was an option at any moment. With a few quick hand signals, the partner indicated a patrol emerging from the left passage. Another gesture pointed towards a place where the computer terminal at the side of the walkway – maybe all the buttons to shut down the machines below in case someone were to fall – could conceal them from whoever was generating a more prominent set of footsteps. The smaller figure was moving back already, desperate to hide before they were discovered. But the larger man didn't retreat. His head turned back and forth as if considering multiple options when there was only one sane choice available. With a sudden burst of speed he charged forward into the intersecting catwalk, directly toward the oncoming guards. A dozen panicked shots ricocheted in the darkness, nowhere near their target as they reacted in pure surprise. The brute’s bellow inspired terror before he crashed into them with the force of a freight train. They had guns, but those were no use against a figure within arm’s length, ignoring his own sidearm and swinging a length of steel pipe around his head. A fierce brawl ensued, but the guards had never signed up for this kind of conflict and their reflexes simply weren’t fast enough. As three uniformed figures tumbled to the ground, one of them rolling over the side of the catwalk, the fourth member of the team just about managed to back away far enough to bring his rifle to bear. But he didn’t reckon with the second figure rising up behind him out of nowhere and tightening a cord around his neck. Seconds later he fell to the ground unconscious. The smaller intruder cringed at the reckless frontal attack, but was smart enough to know there was no sense in complaining about what had already happened. There had been so much noise in the fight, and the sound of gunfire was sure to attract even more security. They needed to complete their mission as quickly and quietly as possible. With a shudder, the slight figure pulled a security access card from the pocket of the nearest guard. They just needed to get to the records room, and they might just have time before more reinforcements arrived. Smoke was rising at the side of the vast chamber in any case, and there was an acrid smell in the air. There was more light now, an amber flickering glow, and it didn’t take a genius to guess that one of the vats on the far side of the hall could have been ignited by a stray bullet. “Thanks,” the larger figure grunted, and then kept on walking in the direction they had been moving. He didn’t bother to keep low, focusing on speed now that stealth was off the table. “Subtle as always, Dash,” his partner sighed, stepping over another fallen guard. “We don’t need subtle, Ghost. We get the job done.” He was already at the door of the records room, seemingly oblivious to the growing flames and smoke on the far side of the facility. A few seconds later his partner joined him and swiped the purloined keycard to get the door open. The records room was darker than the factory floor; there was no flicker of industrial processes here, and one computer screen in the corner was showing an endless montage of security footage from different parts of the facility. Right now, it showed a considerable number of running men with weapons, in between shots of more uniformed figures trying without success to stop a roaring blaze. Brock stared at the screen for a moment, and then flicked the lights on. Fluorescent tubes buzzed into life, one of them flickering intermittently. While he stood a little way back from the doorway, expecting more intruders, his partner dashed straight towards one of the server racks and plugged in a ruggedised laptop. A uniformed figure burst into the room, and was efficiently rendered unconscious. Brock barely broke a sweat. “How long's this gonna take?” he asked. “Organised resistance will be here any minute.” “That’s why we were supposed to avoid the guards until we’re here. I bypassed the encryption, just need to finish downloading the files. Guess there’s no point covering out tracks now.” He focused intently on the screen while a progress bar ticked across. "Shouldn't be long. But have you thought how we’re going to get out of here? They’re not going to–” A sound like distant thunder rocked the building, and the floor shuddered beneath their feet. The security monitor showed scenes of utter chaos from the cameras that were still working. The acrid smell of chemicals flooded the hallway. Brock laughed loudly. “That’ll keep 'em occupied! Explosions have a way of grabbing your attention. C’mon, let’s hustle.“ “Right!” The smaller figure sighed, hands flying across the keys. His voice didn’t betray any surprise that their mission had turned out this way; but it was clear that he was longing for a break. Moments later the computer signalled it was ready, and two figures were again running along catwalks as more explosions rocked the building. Dash was right about one thing: The guards had bigger things to worry about than two running figures. * * * Nina leaned against the bars enclosing her, trying to make out signs of anything interesting in the rest of the room. There were other girls out there, she was sure, but she hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to any of them yet. She could hear the sound of crying, which made her a little apprehensive about what might happen to her if she couldn’t find a way out of this strange place. But she didn’t really understand this place; her jailors had only ever told her what they wanted her to do, never going into why. But she could see the shape of it, and she told herself that she wanted no part of it; shutting down any hormonal fantasies that weren’t rooted in the real world. She twisted the ring on her finger, hoping that Victor would come to rescue her soon. They hadn’t taken the ring away; that must mean there was still a chance, mustn’t it? She didn’t understand the chain of events that had brought her here. They were supposed to be spending a couples weekend at a luxury spa. It would have been one of the high points of her time with him; although their whole engagement so far had seemed to be nothing but a string of high points, and the house had been nothing to laugh at either. But… But now she wasn’t at a spa. She was trapped in this weird, creepy space god-knew how many stories below ground, where nobody would ever be able to find her. And she didn’t have the first clue what the people here were planning to do with her. She couldn’t escape; the bars were more than just ornamental. So all she could do was hope that Victor would come to look for her sooner or later. Footsteps approached before two figures in white-and-blue uniforms reached her enclosure. This was a familiar routine as well. She recognised the taller figure, a woman who had introduced herself as Claudine when they first met. She was probably in charge, because she was the only person Nina had seen wearing a name badge in here, and in fact the only person whose name she had known in the last week. The other person was just there to provide muscle; nameless, and interchangeable. They never said Nina’s name either; though she had no idea whether they actually didn’t knew it, or just knew how much dehumanising her added to the emotional impact of this experience. “Time to eat, sweetie,” Claudia said with a sadistic smirk. Nina cowered back, knowing what was coming and also acutely aware that it was her own fault. She had refused to eat on her first day here, wanting to show that there were some things she was still in control of. They had proved her wrong. On the second day she had been given another chance to prove that she was willing to go along with the programme; but she had been too stubborn. They wouldn’t give her the choice again. And the knowledge that she had wasted a tiny sliver of freedom on something so petty only reminded her – every time she thought about it – that she would have more freedom if she did what she was told in future. The man beside Claudine responded to her glare by turning and fiddling with the locks for a moment. Then there were no bars between her and freedom, just two people larger and stronger than her. They picked her up without any apparent effort, and carried her between them. She was going to get breakfast now, and it was clear that she had no choice in the matter. She didn’t bother to fight, she knew that there was no point. And her new compliance earned a smile and a pat on the head, along with a few reassuring words about what a good girl she was. Nina found herself blushing, surprised by how quickly she had gotten used to this treatment. She didn’t say anything as they deposited her on the chair, and set about strapping her in so that she couldn’t escape even if she thought there might be some chance of finding her way up to the surface through this labyrinth. A rubbery bulb was forced between her lips and Nina knew better than to fight it. A moment later there was warm sweet liquid filling her mouth, and she had no choice but to swallow. And despite her fear, she found herself somehow feeling not entirely afraid in this situation. Sure, she was trapped with no suggestion of when she would get out. But they weren’t actually hurting her, and so long as she did everything they wanted, she would be pretty comfortable. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. After Claudine and her assistants had left the room, Nina still never felt like she was alone. She didn’t know that there was a doctor watching her on a video monitor; but there was something about the decor that made it feel like she had no privacy at all. It was the kind of place where there would always be someone watching. She swallowed again, feeling the warm liquid running down her throat. It was actually pretty nice, if she just didn’t think about the situation, or her lack of choice in all of this. And it was easy not to think as she drank more. She found her thoughts getting fuzzier, and everything starting to blur. A minute later she would have been smiling, but for the bulb dispensing medicine into her mouth. And a little after that, she wasn’t thinking anything at all. Nina didn’t hear the conversation between Claudine and Dr Renault, commenting on how well she was progressing, or how soon she would be ready. And even if she had heard, she wouldn’t have been able to comprehend long words like “conditioning”. But that didn’t matter at all; it felt so good to just suck, drink, and smile. 2. Irreplaceable The air was filled with the insistent click-click-click of a dozen keyboards. Everybody in the office focused intently on their work, sure that what they were doing mattered. Even when they couldn’t make any deductions right away, they were chipping away at the rock face of ignorance, and sooner or later they would manage to unearth a nugget of truth. Or at least, that was how it seemed to Isadora as she pushed a stray lock of dark hair away from her face. She knew that her own work, even if it was related to something minor like a dead-drop in the back streets of Tarawa, actually mattered, and she was determined to do it to the best of her ability. Even if her hazel eyes were bloodshot from staring at a monitor all day by the time she got back to her apartment. It would have been worth it, and she was already looking forward to being able to relax and indulge herself later. But there was no time to be thinking about that. She straightened her glasses and smoothed down her sensible blouse as the interdepartmental mail trolley rolled by. Sheila's laughter at the mailroom guy's jokes grated on Isadora's nerves. Didn't they understand how crucial their work was? Isadora would never even consider flirting with a coworker, not one of the office staff. Even having a closer bond with an Operative could be dangerous; and Isadora wasn’t the only one who looked down on the various Monitors who had reputedly hooked up with the agency’s most notorious womaniser, Agent Brock. Isadora found herself sneering without thinking when that image crossed her mind; she knew she would never fall for that kind of flamboyant playboy. She tried to put it out of her mind, and turned back to the list of cryptographic signatures in front of her. She had an iron will, and remained focused on the screen for a whole two seconds until a letter landed on her desk with a quiet flutter. Then her hands froze over the keyboard, and she wondered if this could be it. The answer she had been waiting for. She hesitated, and froze with the letter in her hands. There was just her name and desk number typed on the front, with no indication of which office it had come from. But some instinct told her that her answer was inside. The final results after eighteen months of training. If the letter said yes, she wouldn’t need to keep sitting here decrypting messages to tell Brown and Johnson where they needed to be. She could travel with an Operative and give him support in the field. She could watch dots on her screen indicating where guards might be, and give her Operative advice in real time, telling him when he needed to duck, and when he needed to fight. On paper, there was little difference between the duties of a Monitor and a Field-certified Monitor, but in practice it meant that she could do all the things that required a real time response, and it meant that sometimes she might be less than a mile from the bad guys. It was a prospect that terrified Isadora, but if it meant that she could spend more time close to Brown, and even get him to speak to her for more than a casual ‘hi’ as they passed in the corridors of Millennium House, it would all be worthwhile. Shaking, and aware that she was distracting herself from her all-important codebreaking work, she tucked away an errant lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail and then drew her thumbnail carefully through the top of the envelope. A handful of minutes later, Isadora could hardly contain her excitement as she strode down the familiar wood-panelled corridors. A part of her still couldn’t believe it, but seeing her name on that certificate had put a new spring in her step. She hadn’t told any of her colleagues where she was going, and she doubted that any of them really cared. But she wanted Brown to be the first person she told. Brown was the Operative she wanted to work with more than any other, and it was his strength that had first inspired her to try getting into the field. He wasn’t an egotistical jerk like the legendary operative Brock, whose reputation included all the chauvinism of James Bond without any of the subtlety. Brown was a consummate professional, who made it his goal to learn everything he could possibly do to make the mission go down smoothly. And to Isadora, his caring nature and attention to detail made him much more attractive than toned muscles and dark-bronze skin. She’d respected the man ever since she first heard stories of his dedication and courage, and once she had actually seen him around headquarters she had been totally enthralled. The one time she’d spoken to him on the job, passing over a bunch of schedule data for an arms shipment, she’d seen that he had other impressive qualities as well. Brown would never see a mission as a checklist of goals. He cared about the people; both the ones he was working with and the innocents they were supposed to protect. And she had found herself dreaming of how well they could work together if they could properly synergise their skills. It was Brown who had said that teamwork was an Operative’s greatest strength, after all. She clutched her certificate, heart fluttering. She knew it was a little silly to be so emotional about this. She was just going to visit the man in hospital; to share the good news that they could work together once he was discharged. She’d brought a get well card as well, of course, and a little box of dates and walnuts because she remembered him saying that he didn’t have a sweet tooth. But she wanted him to be the first person she confided in about being approved as a Field Operative. He would give her some moral support, she was sure, and advice about managing her nerves that would seem like common sense as soon as she heard it. He’d be impressed by her qualifications as well, and tell her how well she had done. She could almost see it in her mind’s eye now. Reaching his door, she had to shake away her head to clear away those mental images. Those things were just dreams, they would never happen here and now. They would have to work together, and get to know each other more and more closely, for at least a few months before the calm and careful Brown would make the first move. He was a gentleman, after all. He wasn’t Brock, or one of the agents who idolised that guy and his refusal to work by the book. Brown would take his time, and always take care of her feelings. Because he was the kind of man who would respect her; and the only operative she knew of who had never tried flirting with the girls behind desks at headquarters. After steadying her nerves, Isadora knocked sharply. No matter what, she resolved to show Brown her very best. She would make clear she was ready for the field, and that they would make an unstoppable team. After all this time, her chance was finally here. “Come in!” a voice called from inside. It surprised her a little that he sounded confident and healthy, but that shouldn’t have been a surprise. Brown wasn’t seriously injured, and was only still in here because his doctors had insisted on a period of observation to demonstrate that he was fully recovered. “Hi,” she introduced herself with a nervous wave, before pausing to wonder if she should address him as ‘Brown’, or ‘Mr Brown’, or even ‘Agent Brown’. In a world where almost everyone was known by surnames alone, she wasn’t sure how to be either deferential or charming without sounding a little weird. She’d spoken to him before, of course, but only in a more formal setting within headquarters, when they happened to be assigned to related projects. This was different, because today she was actually making the initiative to see him. “Hey,” Brown answered. He was lying back in a hospital bed, with bandages around his arms. But he seemed happy and relaxed, with no signs of pain. It would take more than a little misfortune to keep Brown off the case. “Isadora, right? How’s the wonderful world of cryptanalysis treating you?” “Great thanks,” she answered, heart beating a hundred times a minute as she realised that he actually recognised her. A cynical part of her mind said that being able to identify a face in a crowd that he’d only glimpsed for a second before was a big part of his job. But it still made her feel special, like he actually cared. That was a magic that the flirts and chauvinists would never care about. “I’ve just been… Well, obviously I can’t say the details of what I’m working on. But I just got…” She did her best to breathe calmly, telling herself how important it was to appear professional. If he thought she was one of the airheaded clerical workers who had a crush on some agent, he would never want to be in the field with her. And she knew that she was better than that. Her interest and admiration was professional and entirely appropriate, even if it sometimes felt like something more. While she didn’t quite trust herself to speak clearly, she held up a hand with two envelopes in. One of them she had so recently opened, while the other had Brown’s name on the front. Of course, he smiled graciously as he took the one that was addressed to him, feigning a complete lack of curiosity about the other letter. But Isadora held it up anyhow. “I got my field certification,” she squawked, already sure that she was saying the wrong thing, but desperate to say what she had planned. She wasn’t going to come right out and ask, but it couldn’t hurt to informally assess his enthusiasm for being placed together. “I’ll be a real Field Monitor, in the field. Undercover, and all that. I’m so nervous still, but I thought… I mean, is there any advice you can give me? You’re probably the most professional Operative on the roster, so if I want to get advice from the best…” “Of course,” he said with a smile. “It’s a different system now, though. When I was paired up with Doc, he was an Operative first, studying the Monitor duties in the background. So I don’t know how different it will be for you. But there’s two pieces of advice I would give you, even if they might be a little… less dry and emotionless than what they teach in Spy School.” “Oh, that’s perfect!” Isadora gasped, and then hesitated and wished she could take the words back. “I mean… learning what matters from someone who’s actually lived it.” “Modesty suits you,” he said. “And as long as you’re willing to learn, I think you’ll make an excellent Field Monitor. Have you been assigned a partner yet?” “No, I…” Isadora hesitated. There was a part of her that just wanted to ask right out if he was willing to work with a new partner while his on-and-off companion Doc was recuperating after their last adventure. But somehow it felt somehow impolite to admit that she’d been paying so much attention to his life. That sounded like something he should volunteer; even if it seemed like he could be asking if she wanted to join him. “I only found out today, but I was wondering…” As much as she knew that she would need to start showing determination, that was as much as she could stay. “Whoever it is, they’re lucky,” he said. “You strike me as a very competent woman. And not at all overconfident.” It was the perfect compliment; and the exact opposite of what she would expect from the growing number of operatives who modelled themselves after a dinosaur like Brock. His kindness made her even more determined to say what she needed to say. “Thank you. How about you? I mean… I know you were injured. Will you be waiting for your Monitor to recover before you continue?” She knew that wouldn’t be the case. Brown couldn’t bear to stop working; the next mission was the only thing that mattered to him. But she could ask, and it would sound like something a concerned friend would say. She could hope that he would open up to her then. “We both got hurt a little,” he said. “And that’s… ugh, I haven’t talked to anybody about this yet.” “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–” “No, no. It’s fine. But I’ve got two tips for you, right? Things they never teach you in training. And I think this is a perfect example of the one I should have learned years ago. I wasn’t badly hurt this time, you see. But the circumstances made me think about what would have happened if I didn’t make it back. I always told myself before that one man is a small sacrifice; that the mission is more important than just me.” “That must be the hardest part of it,” Isadora mumbled, as soon as Brown paused. He seemed so intense now, and that only made her more eager to share this life with him. “Putting yourself in second place.” “Not really. A lot of people can sacrifice themselves. The hard part is realising that it isn’t all about me. Thinking about how my family would feel if nobody could tell them what happened to me. And when I think about all of it, I know I can’t do that. Sacrificing myself for the job is a small price to pay if the job gets done, but hurting all the people I care about… I can’t do that. I can’t take that risk with a clear conscience.” He hesitated then, opening the get well soon card she had brought and standing it up beside his bed. Isadora knew enough basic psychology to recognise displacement activity; a man doing some simple task as a way to put off thinking about his next words. She felt like she should say something, or reassure him. But she was just standing there with her mouth open, barely taking in what he was saying. After a long pause, he continued: “I thought about it a lot,” he said. “I’ve spent three days now, drafting and redrafting my resignation letter. I haven’t mentioned it to Forstadter yet, and I was kind of dreading it. So thank you, Isadora. Telling someone at work, someone I can trust… I think you’re already helping me over the largest mental hurdle.” “You’re quitting?” It seemed obvious, but she asked for confirmation before her brain had even processed what she had heard. It was almost unthinkable. Did that mean she would never get a chance to work with Brown? Did it mean she wouldn’t be able to see him outside work either? “Yeah. I’m sorry, I feel like I’m letting you all down. But when I imagine Dave sitting alone, never really knowing what happened to me… that’s not something I could ever do to him. I’m sure there are plenty of Operatives who can do what I do, especially with talented people like you to support them. But Dave, well… He’s only got one husband. That’s where I’m irreplaceable, and to me that’s more important than any genius with delusions of world domination.” He didn’t say any more, and for a few minutes Isadora just didn’t know how she could possibly respond. 3. Two Rules “You’re resigning?” Isadora managed to get the words out at last. A part of her was screaming inside, wanting to ask more questions, but just about everything she could have thought of to say would have been highly inappropriate. Brown had a husband? She’d had no idea. She thought that she knew him, but that revelation shattered the image in her mind. It was like there had been a part of himself that he always kept locked away; and once she started thinking about that, she was also realising that his professional demeanour had completely hidden any hint of a life outside work. She didn’t know what music he liked, or what sports he followed; let alone his family. She knew that he could talk confidently about just about any topic, but that was pretty much a job requirement for an Operative. He needed to be at home around the water cooler when infiltrating any stratum of society; and there was no hint there about which topics were of interest to him personally. “What happened?” “Davy called in for me,” he said, looking down at his hands as he spoke. “Said he had a bad feeling, was worried about me. The Monitors decided to put him through; he’d had enough background checks, and they can trust me not to say anything he’s not cleared for. But…” “Did he overhear something?” Isadora guessed. She knew so little about Brown’s latest mission that any guess she made would just be a stab in the dark. But she felt like she had to say something. She could feel that this decision was really hard, even for the man who was never scared of anything. And she needed to help him. A part of her still hoped that she could help him to make a different decision; but she wouldn’t even know whether that was possible until she knew the truth. “Kind of,” he said, and flashed the kind of smile that is only ever used to hide pain. “We were ambushed. We were preparing for the start of the mission, and Doc thought it would be okay to put him through to me, to wish me luck. But the shooting started before we were ready. I was hit, a flesh wound really. But it was chaos, and everything went to hell. Doc called back to SO3 that I was hit, and Davy heard that. I heard his response, in that moment. For weeks afterwards, I kept playing it over and over in my head. And I knew I never wanted to scare him like that again. He’s given up so much for me, and he deserves to know that I’ll be coming home from work. So…” “I’m sorry,” Isadora said, eventually. “I never even thought… I guess I’ve never really been that close to someone. And I can see where you’re coming from. But is there anyone who can do what you do? I mean… everybody knows you’re one of the best. I’m worried that important jobs might start going to the wannabe James Bond types. There seems to be more and more of them, and… I guess I was hoping you’d be a positive role model for the newer Operatives, showing them what they’re supposed to be.” She started blushing again after that flood of words, and resisted the urge to pull her bendant out from beneath the collar of her shirt. It was special to her, a single piece of jewellery with a secret meaning, and holding it always helped to relieve stress. But it was also pretty childish, so she usually did her best to keep it out of sight when she was around anyone whose opinion she valued. “I think I know the type you mean,” Brown answered with a wry smile. “And I can think of one or two who still need ideas from the movies removing from their minds. But not as many as you might think. Certainly, amongst some of the old timers, there’s a kind of hidden joke. If someone in the refectory asks how the latest job went and they don’t want to reveal compartmentalised data, they’ll describe it like an action movie. A lot of those stories enter into office gossip, but it really isn’t how the Operatives in the question act in the field. Even my old friend and Monitor, Doc, has a reputation around the break room for sleeping with a gangster’s moll on every assignment. But in reality, he sits in his room reading briefings. Everything at our classification level, every document we have access to, so that if our bandits cross over into someone else’s assignment, he’ll know who to get in touch with. Seriously, the guy won’t step outside his hotel room once until he needs to be somewhere. And then it gets to the point where the admin staff make up their own stories to paper over the gaps if they don’t know what we’ve been up to. Don’t trust the gossip, that’s one of the tips I wanted to give you.” “Oh, yeah,” she said. And even if this was a bittersweet discussion now, there was still a warm glow inside her from knowing that Brown seemed to respect her abilities. “Two tips, you said?” “Yeah. The first rule, don’t take anything for granted. When you’re assigned a partner, get to know them. Not just what people say about them, or even what they tell you, but watch the way they act. See when they react quickly and when they pause to think. See if you can understand who a person is beneath all the walls they put up, so you can know what they’re really capable of. That’s more important than most people would believe. And the corollary, make sure that you act rationally around your partner. When you’ve been working together for a long time, you can get blind to someone’s weaknesses. Like when I… When the whole business on my last mission went down, Doc put himself in the line of fire trying to help me. Didn’t stick to protocol. I appreciate that he cares, but all it meant was that we both got injured. As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I feel bad about that. I should have reminded him to stay put. So that’s the rule. Know your partner, and know yourself. Know the mistakes you’re likely to make, so you can avoid them. We always talk about knowing your enemy, but knowing yourself is so much more important.” “I think Sun-Tzu said that,” Isadora responded, a little distracted by the mental image of someone getting shot in the field. It was easy to conjure up a pure-Hollywood image of diving in front of a bullet to protect Brown; that would be a true act of heroism. But when she thought about someone sacrificing themself for her, even someone completely unlikely like the irritating mailroom guy, she could see a shadow of Brown’s disapproval. It made the whole situation seem real in a new way. “One of them, anyway,” Brown said, and smiled. “You know they think The Art of War had at least seven authors, a bunch of different books put together under the name of a semi-mythical genius tactician?” “Yeah, I heard,” she said. “I guess it’s like you said, don’t trust the legends. So what’s the other rule?” “Think about why you’re doing this. I guess that’s part of knowing yourself, really. But it’s something a lot of the old-timers never considered. For so many years, I really didn’t know why I’m in this life. I signed up when I was young, because they said I was good about it. And I never thought about quitting, because people needed me. But I never questioned my own motivation. You should. Do you want to do this because you think it’s needed? Because you’re good at it? Because the movies make it seem so glamorous. Because let me tell you, it isn’t. Think about why you want this life. Think about how much those feelings mean to you. And think about who will miss you if you don’t come back, and how much you mean to them. And if you’re not absolutely certain that it’s a trade worth making, take a step back. For a life like this, you need to be sure. I didn’t think about it until it could have been too late. I was lucky. You can do better.” “I… uhh…” Isadora stammered, finding the whole conversation heavier than she had expected. “I think you’ll be a good Field Monitor,” Brown said, cutting through the tension. “I really do. And I hope you’ll be protecting the country from the bad guys. And being a good role model for the more impetuous. But I don’t want you to dive into it without really knowing that’s what you want, or without asking yourself why. You deserve better than that.” “Thank you,” she whispered. They kept on talking, and the discussion was lighter now that all the serious issues were out of the way. But twenty minutes later, Isadora’s shoes rapped slowly against the wooden floors of Millennium House as she returned to her department. She had such a lot to think about, and now she really didn’t know if she wanted to be an Operative or not. Without Brown in the picture, she felt like the whole career path was out of focus and not quite what she had expected. Had her desire to go into the field really just been a desire for one man, without her being able to admit that to herself His questions cut deeply now, in ways she had never even expected. Was she throwing away a promising cryptography career on a promotion that she didn’t really want? It didn’t help that as soon as she swiped in through the last security checkpoint, the screen told her to go straight to Kane’s office, on the seventeenth floor. That gave her a lot more time to think; as well as adding a whole lot of new worries to the mix. Emerson Kane was a veteran Monitor, one of the best of the best. Everyone in the building had heard of him, but it was a long time since he had been in the field. Now he moved in the upper circles of the Agency, managing funding and politics. He was a big picture guy, who would never need to look at an individual case; and being sent upstairs was rarely good for anyone in the administrative side of the building. Isadora spent half the walk up there wondering what she could have done wrong. When she reached the office, she found herself standing outside, too nervous to knock. Her hand closed around her pendant, grasping so tightly that the plastic edges probably left white lines across her palm. She needed comfort now; she needed to remember a time without so many responsibilities. Because everything was happening at once, and she didn’t know how to deal with all the things that were worrying her right now. Running away wasn’t the right answer, she was sure. But moving forward terrified her, and she didn’t know if there was even a point to it now. “Enter.” The word came from the intercom beside the office door, brusque and businesslike but without any obvious signs of impatience. She hadn’t even knocked, but of course her security badge would track exactly where she was within the building. Kane would have been able to watch her on the map, coming closer to her scheduled appointment. She took a deep breath and stepped forward, dreading whatever was next for her.

Hi, I'm a guy interested in age play. Many people are interested in wearing diapers or nursiring little's. My preference lays more in a age range between 9 and 11 yo. I wear undies and clothes that fit that age and love to be forced wearing lil girl undies. Maybe is there someone that can relate to this fetisch.

Here's a free story about a young woman who doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut. Please comment or give it a like if you're enjoying the story. --- Lindsey sat in her room, staring out of her bedroom window brooding after her self imposed exile. It was her fucking birthday for crying out loud and her parents had forbade her from being able to leave the house! Unlike most twenty one year olds, Lindsey had been forced to spend her summer break from college back at home with her parents. Well, the word "forced" was a bit extreme; she had voluntarily returned home to see her parents and mooch off of them until she had to go back to school. However, things quickly changed once she got home and found out that they had a new baby in the house. "It's okay, Maddie. It's just a little bit of poopy in your pamper." Lindsey felt the right side of her head throb upon hearing her mother's sickeningly sweet voice coming from just outside of her door. She knew that voice well. It was her mom's "attempting to calm her sister tone" when the brat was screaming her head off like a teething toddler. "Don't cry, baby. Mommy's going to change your diaper once we get you down for bed." "Ugh," Lindsey subconsciously groaned. She had been stuck on diaper duty during the past three weeks whenever her mom and dad weren't at home and it was starting to grind away at what little remained of her sanity. The worst part of the whole arrangement was that she effectively being kept a prisoner in her own house. At first, it was because nobody was around to watch the baby since both of her parents still worked. Since she was watching her sister all day long, she hadn't really thought about leaving the house since caring for her sister was literally a full time job. However, as time passed and tempers flared, she finally got sick of wiping her sister's ass and wanted to go hang out with her friends. It was on her mom's first day off since Lindsey arrived home that her parents literally told her that she couldn't leave the house! It was no longer about helping out with the baby; according to her parents, it was about keeping her safe from whatever was going on around town. To Lindsey, it was as if a quiet, self contained hysteria had engulfed the small town over the past few weeks. It seemed more and more incidents were occurring around town which made her parents become increasingly protective of her. At least, that's what she was able to piece together through the few snippets of what passed as conversation during dinner. It felt so odd to be effectively ignored since she had to help feed the baby, but hearing her mom and dad gossip in solemn tones about which family around town was afflicted by this mysterious tragedy was starting to drive her crazy. It all came to a boil during the previous night's meal where her dad had casually mentioned Maddie's best friend from down the street like her disappearance was perfectly normal. "I haven't seen the Miller girl in a few days." Her mother looked up from her plate. "Is that the family with the twenty four year old daughter?" Her dad sighed. "Yeah, she went to school with Maddie if I'm not mistaken." Lindsey recalled putting down the large plastic spoon full of mashed prunes before chiming in. "Are you guys talking about Jackie Miller?" Her mother sighed. "Yeah, I think so." She couldn't believe her mother's apathetic tone. That was Madison's best friend and they were pretending like she didn't exist! "Well, what do you guys think happened to her?" "Hopefully nothing, but I haven't seen her since last Friday." Her mother replied before taking a sip off of her alcoholically enhanced iced tea. "They should've kept her in the house." "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" Lindsey snapped at her father's remark causing her sister to start bawling her eyes out. In the blink of an eye, her mother had leapt up from her seat and was standing beside her daughter, Maddie. "It's okay, baby. Big sissy isn't mad at you." Her dad had cleared his throat by that point and was staring her down from his spot at the head of the table. "You know what I meant, Lindsey. The Miller's shouldn't have let Jackie leave their house which is why you're definitely not going to leave this house until the sheriff's catch the sick fucks responsible for your sister's condition!" An awkward tension had filled the air before Lindsey stood up from her seat at the table and screamed at her father. "Tomorrow is my twenty-first birthday, dad! I'm not going to just sit here like a prisoner while all my other friends are enjoying their lives!" That was the last time Lindsey had spoken to her parents. She had spent the entire day in her room, periodically walking out to the kitchen to get a yogurt or make a bowl of cereal. Just because she was pissed off at her parents didn't mean that she was going to starve herself. Their attempts at conversation were ignored. Each "happy birthday" was met with quiet indifference and indignation. Somehow she had gone the entire day without talking to either one of them, but luckily she had her friend, Gwen to chat with. They had spent the whole day planning out their night on the town. In all honesty, there wasn't much to plan since the town only had two bars and the Copper Stallion was the only thing close to a "hip dive bar" suitable to the forty and younger crowd. The Iron Spittoon was literally a Boomer bar and she wouldn't waste a minute in that shithole even if the drinks were free! The sound of her bedroom door creaking open pulled Lindsey's attention away from the window and towards the door to see her mother looking in through the gap. "I just put Maddie to sleep." Lindsey remained silent, but didn't look away. "I know you're still upset about the situation, honey, but we don't want you to take any risks. What if you end up like your older sister?" The question lingered in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time until her mother spoke again. "You're still angry, I get that, but how about we celebrate your birthday tomorrow?" It sounded less like an offer and more like a plea. "I'll take the day off, hire a babysitter for Maddie, and we can make mixed drinks all day. It'll be a regular girls day in!" Slowly, Lindsey turned away and returned her gaze to the window, peering out of it like a bird trapped inside of a cage. The sound of her mother closing the door in defeat was the only sound that pierced the quiet stillness of the house until a few moments later a digital ping came from the phone that sat on the desk by her chair. She immediately picked it up and noticed that it was Gwen. Ur parents in bed yet? Lindsey's thumbs got to work typing on the now fully charged phone. "Dunno bout my dad. Mom is prolly gonna lay down." K was the only letter sent in reply. Lindsey stared at the reply for a moment and started to get annoyed. "U gonna pick me up or wat?" Normally, she would've taken her car, but since her dad had confiscated the keys she was forced to rely on Gwen. An uncomfortable amount of time passed waiting for her reply. If Gwen had bailed on her then she'd just walk to the bar. It wasn't that far away, but the thought of someone jumping her along the way did linger in her mind until another digital ping sounded off, pulling her out of her increasingly dark thoughts. Can't take my car. No gas. "Fucking cheap cunt." Lindsey seethed under her breath. "Walking to the bar." Lindsey replied with annoyance. Don't. I got a buck for UBER to get you. "Such a cheap cunt." Lindsey chuckled to herself before typing, "Wat about beer?" I got cash. UBER is cheaper than gas. Lindsey couldn't argue with that line of thinking so she simply replied with a "K" and put her phone into the back of her ripped Jeans as she stood up. She quietly slid her window open, taking her time to push the screen out from its place, knocking it out of the frame. Flashes of sneaking out of the house during high school to smoke pot flashed through her mind as she did so, making her feel rather juvenile until her face was hit by the cold air of the night. Originally, Lindsey had wanted to wear her booty shirts and show off her body, but once her sneakers landed on the wet grass, she knew that she had made the right choice by wearing her Jeans. The minutes passed by painfully slow as the cold air made Lindsey start to question whether standing around and waiting for her friend was a good idea. Lindsey sighed, seeing her breath hang in the air for a moment before vanishing. 'Fucking bitch.' She looked down the end of the street and was just about to text Gwen when a pair of headlights appeared in the distance. 'It's about damn time!' Lindsey thought as she stood there impatiently on the sidewalk in the growing glare of the car's headlights. The black SUV crept forward until it pulled up to the side of the curb and stopped. Right when she was about to step up to the sports utility vehicle her phone pinged, notifying her that she had just received a text message. 'I wonder who that could be?' Lindsey ignored her phone, opting to approach the luxurious SUV. Before she could reach for the handle, the back door flung open revealing Gwen leaning over from her seat. The slightly older girl flashed her a smile and patted the empty seat. "Come on, Lindsey. What are you waiting for? Your birthday is almost over!" "No thanks to you." Lindsey replied in a bitchy tone while getting into the car and grabbing onto the side of the door, slamming it shut. Before Lindsey could even get comfortable, the driver was already starting to complain. "Make sure your friend is buckled up!" Lindsey cocked an eye and looked over at Gwen who was already reaching over for the seatbelts that laid limply by Lindsey's shoulder. Before she could be buckled in, Lindsey brushed away Gwen's hands and buckled herself in. "Just because I haven't been out of the house doesn't mean that I forgot how to use a seatbelt." She expected Gwen to say something, but the young woman remained silent which seemed odd given that she was always a bit of spitfire; it was why they both got along. "You're the birthday girl. Just thought I'd help." Gwen finally spoke up after snapping her own seatbelt shut. Lindsey felt like she was missing something here; like she was being left out of an obvious joke or something. She turned her gaze away from Gwen and to the driver who was already looking over her shoulder, watching her. It made the already awkward atmosphere of the backseat seem to build more awkward if such a thing was possible. It felt like the driver was waiting for her to say something. "Maybe you should stop staring at me and get this clown car on the road." Lindsey demanded in an annoyed tone. "You don't like the lighting? My passengers always love the lights, especially after a long night out." The driver replied, ignoring her rude tone. "They just stare at these lights until I deliver them to their homes." The back of the car had electric-pink pin-striping running around the lining of the ceiling which bathed the backseats in a faint pink glow. Lindsey had noticed the lights, but didn't exactly care for them. It seemed a bit much for a simple ride to the bar, more like a luxury car,but maybe Gwen had been lying about her budget? "The lights are nice, but I'd have to be pretty shit faced to just stare at them like some retard." Lindsey retorted. "Don't mind Lindsey." Gwen finally spoke up. "She's had a long week and just wants to get drunk on her birthday." "That's right." The driver smiled. "You did say on the way over here that it was her birthday." "Yeah, and it's almost over." Lindsey sighed. "So less yapping and more driving!" "Of course, but before we get going, here's a little gift from me for your special night out." The older woman pulled out a bottle of water from a cooler she must've had sitting on the passenger seat and handed it back to Lindsey. "Gee, thanks." Lindsey replied in a sarcastic voice. "It's actually a good idea to hydrate before you start drinking." Lindsey cocked her head just in time to see Gwen drink from her own bottle of water she must've gotten from the driver beforehand. "Your friend is right. It helps prevent hangovers." The driver added, seemingly waiting for her to pop open the top and drink. "Fine, but I want this car moving once I finish taking a sip." Lindsey grumbled while screwing off the lid of the twenty ounce bottle of water. She took a long sip from the water bottle and the car finally pulled forward. Feeling the vehicle actually moving made Lindsey start to unwind. She leaned back in her seat and started thinking about the potential guys she'd meet tonight. How many she'd flirt with and maybe the lucky guy she'd fuck if things went right and he invited her back to his place. Suddenly, Lindsey felt like she was having trouble thinking straight as an unusual haze overcame her mind. She tried to lift her hand to touch her forehead, but all the strength had left her arms, causing her to drop her bottle of water onto the floor. "Gwen!" Lindsey slurred her words. "Sum thin ish wong wif me!" If Gwen had heard what Lindsey had said, she gave no indication of it. Lindsey struggled to keep her eyes open as everything grew blurrier and darker in the backseat. A yawn escaped her mouth as a tiny trickle of drool dripped down her chin. Lindsey couldn't believe how out of it she was; it was like she had been drugged or something! The very idea that she had been drugged gave her a second wind of sorts. She gazed up from her slumped position and tried to spot the driver but found an opaque black glass divider that hid the woman from sight. It was like a big black mirror reflecting an endless sea of neon pink due to the custom interior lights of the car. She pulled her eyes away from the tinted glass partition and let out a long sigh before succumbing to the drugs in her system. "Okay, she's knocked out now." Gwen said as she looked at her unconscious friend. To Be Continued...

(Hi. I want to do an RP where I am a man(22 years old) who is kidnapped by another man and whisked away to a nursery where he is babified and forced to live with him as a supposedly growth-disordered baby. Please be aggressive and condescending. Thank you.)

I am thinking about a scenario where a small framed man attracts the attention of a larger man,he abducts the smaller man and turns him into the baby of his dreams whether he likes it or not! I can play the daddy or the baby anyone interested?