Chapter Text
It is a crisp December evening in Hamburgh as he watches an inebriated couple stumble out the main entrance of a local tavern before disappearing into the nearby alleyway. Though the sun had set long ago, the streets are still filled with the sounds of life unique to the city’s nightlife district. Even nestled away in the back alleys, it is hard to ignore the chatter of passersby and the rumble of cars on the street. It not only serves as the perfect backdrop for the city’s energetic nighttime venues, but also as the perfect cover for the immoral activities lurking in the city’s shadows.
The man’s eyes shift towards the alleyway momentarily, the ruffling of clothing and muffled giggling the only clue he needs to know what those two are getting up to at that moment. He turns his attention back to the entrance of the alley, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the brick wall. Aside from the dim bulb illuminating the entrance, the alleyway sits in darkness, its abrupt turns and dead ends a mystery to all, save for those that know them. It is the perfect rendezvous for meetings not suitable for the light of day, information and secrets confined by the boundaries of the borough’s underbelly.
Which is what’s brought him here tonight.
A bell tolls in the distance. A check of his watch confirms the time: midnight.
“Good evening, Minister Gardner.” He says with a tip of his hat.
He doesn’t have to look up from his watch to know it’s him, having already deduced as much from his footfalls down the alleyway.
William Gardner. Minister of Health. Tasked with overseeing public health efforts and policies regarding Ostania’s health care system. A father of two, he’s a well respected political figure, liked by both supporters and opponents alike for his stances on issues regarding the country’s most vulnerable patient populations.
“You’re early for once.” Minister Gardner huffs, flanked by two security personnel on either side.
“Best not to keep you waiting. You’re a busy man, minister. I’m sure you have other matters to attend to.” He replies, pushing himself off the wall and turning to face him.
“Then I presume you have what I want.” Gardner states.
Without a word, the man retrieves the manila folder tucked safely inside his trench coat, holding it up for him to see, but not touch.
“Local drug ring’s suppliers.” He says simply, “Anything and everything you need to know, along with how to contact them.” It’s a treasure trove of knowledge containing more than enough information to land these individuals behind bars for the rest of their lives, maybe even more. In the right hands, a valuable resource that will undoubtedly bolster public health efforts while striking a fatal blow to those that seek to bring harm to the community.
In the wrong hands, however, it is anything but.
“I showed you mine, now show me yours.” He states.
A ghost of a wicked grin barely materializes onto Gardner’s lips before it’s quickly replaced by his previous scowl. With a quick motion of his hand, one of the security details steps forward, handing him a similar manila folder before returning to his previous position.
“Every hospital in Hamburgh, including those located outside the city, with affiliated drug rehabilitation programs. Program details including location, time, and members, as well as their medical histories regarding drug abuse.” Gardner recites, “If your men are smart enough, they’ll know to go towards the end of the month. Everyone’s itching to spend once payday rolls around.”
“I’ll be sure to let them know.” He responds.
Folders in hand, the two step towards each other under the watchful eye of the security personnel. The swap is instantaneous, folders passed wordlessly between the two. The exchange complete, he backs away from the minister. Tipping his hat once more before bidding him farewell, he turns on his heel to descend further into the alleyway’s sprawling network system.
Tucking the folder into the innermost pocket of his coat, he lowers his head. The couple previously occupying the alley corner had finally disappeared, most likely realizing a back alley wasn’t the best (or most comfortable) place to continue with their nightly romp. Where they ran off to, however, was anyone’s guess.
His train of thought is interrupted before he’s able to ponder the situation any longer. The back entrance to the tavern opens abruptly, followed by a man drunkenly descending the steps, clinging to the railing for stability. Using the rail, he swings himself forward, clipping the other individual roughly. He stops, turning around, narrowly avoiding falling over in the process.
“Hey! Buddy!” He barks at the man, “Watch where you’re going!”
When the other individual doesn’t respond he curses under his breath. Inhaling sharply, he turns around once more, wobbling in the direction the other man had just come from. He squints momentarily before grinning, waving an arm haphazardly as he approaches the figures standing at the other end of the path.
“Minister Gardner!” He slurs, bracing himself against the brick wall, “Shorry ‘bout the wait! The bartender wash really slingin’ them drinks tonight! That gal serves a mighty stiff drink y’know!”
The minister’s eyes widen, darting between the inebriated man before him and the alleyway behind him. The more he analyzes the scene, the more he begins to understand what’s unfolding before him, and the more his blood runs cold.
“Lukas,” He starts, fighting his drying lips and quickening heart rate, “weren’t you, weren’t you just-”
“At the bar, yeah!” Lukas nods in no particular direction, “Wash tellin’ ya ‘bout the pretty gal and her drinks! Don’t know what the lasshy putsh in ‘em, but they’re worth the wait I tell y-”
He’s cut off abruptly, words replaced by incoherent shrieking as a single bullet tears through his leg, his body folding in on itself as he collapses on the floor. He tries to pull himself up, only to be forced back down by the weight of a guard, knee firmly pressed into his back as his hands are restrained behind him.
“What the fuck man?!” He howls, struggling in vain against the weight, chest heaving as he fights to get air into and out of his lungs properly.
“I should’ve known the minute you were early something was off.” Gardner mutters, returning the pistol to the security detail standing beside him.
“The fuck you goin’ on about ya geezer!” Lukas grunts, “I wash in the bar the whole time! The fuck you mean I wash early-”
“Don’t you understand you goddamn moron?” Gardner hisses, “We were set up!”
“And you,” He spits, whipping around to face the remaining guard, “what are you waiting for? An invitation or something? Find that bastard!”
As he watches his security detail sprint towards the darkness that awaited him, Minister Gardner already knew the outcome that would await him. Countless years of training couldn’t prepare anyone for the redlight district’s disorienting backstreets. Even if he did overcome the maze of dead ends and looping passes waiting for him, who , or what , was he even looking for? The man they wanted was right where they wanted him: wounded and pinned under the minister’s watchful gaze. Who had he even sent him after? He didn’t even know the answer anymore.
It might as well have been a ghost.
While the guard struggles to navigate the labyrinth, his ghostly target resurfaces on the other side. He crosses the street casually, disregarding the intoxicated individuals still roaming about and the scantily-clad women beckoning to him from behind their windowed storefronts. He stops beside a parked car, a two-tone, black and beige 311 Wartburg Coupé, engine idling beside the sidewalk. Gloved fingers wrap around the passenger-side handle and pull, allowing him to slip into the vehicle with little effort. As the door shuts and locks beside him, the engine roars to life. They were on the road faster than the amount of time it’d taken him to cross it.
“That was sooner than expected.” The driver speaks up, casting a sideways glance at the other man.
“I took my time.” The passenger reassures him.
“Didn’t even bother checking out the scenery?” The other grins.
He rolls his eyes, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips as his hand rises towards his face.
“Just because I could,” He starts, “doesn’t mean I should.”
With one swift motion, the man seemingly transforms in place. Weathered lines give way to a youthful complexion, a clean-shaven face replacing the beard that had sat on his face only moments before. Even the brown, slicked back locks sitting beneath his hat peeled away to reveal a mess of blond, unkempt hair. To the untrained eye, it was as if an entirely new individual had manifested out of thin air, replacing the previous passenger that had boarded the vehicle. His piercing blue eyes the only feature that had gone unchanged, the only hint another individual had ever sat in his place.
“Too good for the redlight district, Twilight?”
“Try too young , Midnight.” He corrects the older man, retrieving a pre-prepared moist towelette from the glove box and roughly dragging it across his face, removing the residue left behind by the facial prostheses.
Midnight chuckles, shaking his head lightly. Donning an indigo blue, three-piece suit and black tie, he very much fits the bill of a man meant to blend in with the cover of darkness. His youthful complexion contrasted by harsh lines and fledging gray hairs peeking out from beneath the dark brown hair and stubble that frames his face. Azure eyes behind a pair of spectacles alternate between watching the road ahead of them and monitoring their surroundings.
“I take it you had no issues then?” Midnight questions, merging onto the highway.
The younger agent shakes his head, retrieving the manila folder from his person.
“Documents signed by Minister Gardner regarding hospital drug rehabilitation programs and their members.” He pauses momentarily, unfastening his watch and pulling it off his wrist. The wires and recorder strapped to his forearm followed shortly after. “As well as audio recording for confirmation of his involvement. Coupled with the intel we retrieved from the pharmaceutical company, this should be more than enough to prove he’s working with them under the table to increase their profits and line his own pockets at the same time.”
“Atta boy!” Midnight beams, one hand reaching over to ruffle the boy’s already messy hair.
“Could you knock that off? I’m not a child you know.” Twilight groans, swatting his chuckling mentor’s hand away, “What safe house are we heading to anyway?” Though Westalian Intelligence is not one to spare expenses, their safe houses littered across both Westalis and Ostania were often hit or miss. In this case, he hoped for the former, or at the very least, some place with hot water and a bed that wouldn’t leave him sore the following morning.
“Berlint.”
“Berlint?” He echoes, “What for? There’s safe houses just a few miles outside the city-”
“We’re not heading to a safe house, Twilight,” Midnight hums, “we’re heading to WISE’s Berlint branch.” Even with his eyes trained on the road, he could feel the other’s questioning gaze on him. “She’s got another mission for you.”
“Of course, I should’ve known.” He moans. There’s no end to the barrage of missions he’s tasked with, oftentimes simultaneously. It makes sense, considering they seem to be perpetually short-staffed, but at this point he felt more workhorse than human. “Do you have any idea what it entails? The mission?” He asks.
“I do, but I think it’d be best to hear it from her first.” Midnight smiles, “She’s your handler, you know.” Hearing his passenger sigh audibly, an amused huff escapes his lips. “You’re not doing a very good job of convincing me you’re not a child anymore.” He remarks.
“Well in that case, you won’t mind if I close my eyes until we get there.” Twilight replies, resting his head against the window. Though this mission had been substantially shorter than the last, the knowledge he’d already be shipped out elsewhere in a day’s time was enough to remind him of the exhaustion his body had been fighting off. Even now it became difficult to keep his eyes open, the low rumble of the engine on the open road a welcomed melody compared to the cacophony of sounds that had characterized the redlight district.
Midnight smiles softly, sneaking a glance at the other.
“I wouldn’t mind it at all.”
By the time Twilight stirs from his slumber, they had already arrived at their destination. A nondescript building located in Ostania’s capital city of Berlint, it is difficult to believe it serves as the regional branch for Westalian Intelligence agents deployed to the region. Hiding in plain sight, it serves as WISE’s lifeline, working to maintain the fragile peace between the two countries using any means available to them. Night or day, rain or shine, their mission stopped for nothing or no one, and neither did he, apparently.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he tucks the folder and recorder back into the safety of his coat before exiting the car. The fluorescent lights buzzing overhead the only lighting afforded to them in the building’s basement.
“Sleep well?” Midnight grins, pushing himself off the side of the Wartburg, which teeters in response to the shift in weight.
“I slept, that’s what matters.” He replies idly, eyes shifting between his mentor and the car, “It’s a miracle you manage to fit into one of those.”
The older agent’s laugh reverberates off the concrete walls as he rounds the front of the car and pats the other squarely on his back, nearly toppling him over. “A great question indeed boy.” He muses, “How about we ask her that as well, hm?”
If Twilight opposed his mentor’s suggestion, he made no effort to show it. Instead, he follows him towards the entrance at the other end of the garage, allowing the strong hand resting between his shoulder blades to guide him. A long hallway awaited them behind the door whose creaks echoed throughout the relatively empty basement. Walking alongside him, Twilight peers into the various rooms that splinter off from the main hall, primarily the private offices of agents and informants stationed in the area. Though many rooms sit empty, many others are still occupied even at this time of night with individuals hunched over growing piles of paperwork. A few unfortunate souls had even lost the battle against their work, reclining in their seats or resting their heads on their desks fast asleep. Twilight couldn’t particularly blame them.
Midnight steps ahead of him as they reach their destination at the end of the hall. Opening the door, he allows his mentee to step inside the office ahead of him, closing the door behind them.
“Apologies for the delay, Sylvia.” Midnight greets, “Junior here was catching up on his beauty sleep on the ride over.”
“You were the one driving, don’t peg this on me.” He counters.
She glanced up from the report in her hands, a polite smile gracing her lips.
“It’s always a pleasure to see you two, Midnight, Twilight.” She greets them warmly in return, placing the report back on her desk as she turns to face them, “Please, take a seat.” She gestures to the seats in front of her. Nodding in acknowledgement, Twilight sits before her, his mentor opting to stand beside her.
“How was Hamburgh?” She asks simply, crossing her legs and leaning forward as she rests her folded hands on the desk.
“Raunchy.” Twilight replies curtly, placing the folder and recorder on the desk.
“So I’ve been told,” Came her response as she slid the intel to the side, “excellent job as always, Twilight.”
“Midnight told me you had another mission for me, Handler.” He says, glancing at his mentor. Beating around the bush had never been something he enjoyed, and the lack of sleep was only serving to further annoy him. A cold shower and rock-hard bed would even be welcomed sights at this point.
“Impatient as ever I see.” Handler chuckles, expert fingers retrieving a folder wedged within the stack on her desk and sliding it towards him, “Does the name ‘Eden Academy’ ring a bell to you?”
Eyebrows furrowing together, he grabs the folder, “Can’t say that it does, no.”
Having only recently been transferred to Ostania, he only knew the areas worth remembering: his immediate surroundings and the safe houses closest to them. The folder before him was virtually indistinguishable from the clutter of others on her desk, save for the words OPERATION TALOS stamped across the front in bold lettering. Inside, a wide array of documents and photos so extensive it was a miracle they’d managed to fit inside the flimsy thing to begin with. Photos of historic, picturesque buildings sat atop the pile, though none in particular seemed to ring a bell.
“A prestigious private academy located in Berlint, it’s known for its rigorous top tier curriculum and, consequently, student body comprised of elite students from notable pedigrees.” She states, adjusting the frame of her glasses to sit perfectly in place, “Starting in January, it’ll also be the location of your next mission.”
“A private school.” He notes, fighting a grimace, “What business do we possibly have in a private school?”
“We have reason to believe that the school is being used as a cover for strategic meetings regarding potential espionage tactics to employ against Westalis.” Handler explains, “For the past few months, we’ve been picking up increased radio signals from the area. They’re indecipherable, perhaps coded. That alone is reason enough to raise suspicions.”
“Seems suspicious enough alright.” He hums in agreement, “Any possible leads?”
“Just one for the time being.” She leans back in her seat, “Demetrius Desmond, eldest son of Donovan Desmond.”
“Of the National Unity Party?”
“The very same.”
“So what, I’ll be infiltrating the school to monitor him?” Twilight questions.
“If the solution had been that simple, don’t you think I would’ve sent someone by now?” She questions in return, “Attended by the children of influential politicians and world leaders, its security is second to none. A single misstep, and the State Security Service would be all over you in minutes, and interrogating you in less time than that. That is, if they choose to interrogate you.” She didn’t need to state what the other option was for him to understand.
“Fair enough,” He reasons, reviewing the photos in hand, “but if simple infiltration won’t work, then what’s our strategy?”
“Oh, it’s quite simple really.” She smiles, sliding another folder across the desk.
His eyes shift between her and the folder, one hand returning the photos to their proper place while the other retrieves the new folder. Just like the other one, it too was seemingly jam-packed with documents upon documents, though their subject matter ranged from calculus and biology to literature and-
The pieces that’d been scattered before him click into place. She must’ve sensed it as well, her smile only growing bigger in response.
“You’re kidding.”
“Oh, but I’m not.” She replies, “You’ll be sitting for the entrance exam at the end of the month. The semester begins in early January, and you’ll be graduating in May.”
“This is ridiculous,” Twilight had never been one to talk back to her, but the more she spoke, the more insane the mission seemed, “a student transferring in for their final semester is too suspicious. Besides,” he pauses, retrieving a document from the other folder, “it says here students often enroll in the first grade and remain with the same cohort until their senior year. How could I possibly sit for an exam for a full class?”
“An excellent question. It just so happens you’re in luck.” She motions to another document in the folder, which he readily picks up, “A student was expelled last semester for being in possession of the final exam answer sheet. An Imperial Scholar at that. What a shame really, but his expulsion means an empty seat. A loss for him, a win for us.” He studies the portrait of the boy in question. The words ‘BENEDICT MULLER’ are stamped underneath the image. Unruly strawberry blonde locks and brown eyes, freckles scattered across his cheeks. His expression one of embarrassment and anger. Not exactly the face of a cheater, Twilight thought, but looks can be deceiving.
“Luck aside,” He starts, grasping another file, “it states here both parents must be present for a student to enroll.” The loophole he’d been looking for. “How are you going to deal with that?” Not like they could possibly hire individuals to play the role of his parents, not when every other agent was already juggling more missions that humanly possible.
“That’s already been taken care of.”
“Alright, then where are my parents?”
“Why, you’re looking at them, Twilight.”
He blinks.
“You’re joking. You’ve got to be joking.” He stares at the duo before him, eyes shifting towards his mentor almost immediately, “You knew about this, didn’t you?”
Midnight chuckles in response, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Perhaps,” He laughs, “but your mother promised me not to divulge any mission details prior to her debriefing with you.”
“No, no do not call her that .” Twilight rises from his seat, “Handler is not my mother. She can’t be my mother, she’s much too-” He glances at the woman before him. Though her smile never faltered, he could sense the menacing shift in her demeanor all the same: choose your next words carefully .
“She’s much too young.” He concludes.
“Oh, Twilight, ever the charmer, aren’t you?” Handler chuckles softly, “Rest assured, I’m more than qualified to fill the role.”
“And you,” He turns his attention back to Midnight, “aren’t you too old to be playing pretend?”
“I’ll have you know it’s not unheard of for men to begin graying early.” Midnight scoffs, “Besides, we can just say you’ve got your mother’s looks and my intelligence.”
Handler coughs into her closed fist.
“My looks and your mother’s intelligence, is what I meant.” He corrects himself quickly.
“What he’s trying to say,” She starts, “is that this will allow us to monitor the mission progress more closely, and allow us to be more accessible to you should you ever need the assistance.”
Twilight’s gaze alternates between the pair before him. Despite his best efforts, every loophole that came to mind seemed to be shot down before he could even give them much thought. Not that he had a choice to begin with; a mission is a mission is a mission. Even one that involves attending school, regardless of how much he might protest against it.
“What safe house will I be staying tonight.” He asks.
“You two can rest upstairs for the night.” Handler smiles, “Some of the offices are unoccupied, and there should be some spare pillows and blankets lying around in a storage closet somewhere.”
He nods his head idly, turning towards the office door. A couch and some pillows didn’t sound half bad anymore. “Goodnight then.” He says simply, waving backwards towards them before exiting the office, admitting defeat as exhaustion catches up with him once more. If he was going to be cramming for a test, best to get some sleep in now before it’s too late, he reasons. That, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could’ve stomached staring at the two in front of him now that the association of mother and father wouldn’t leave his mind.
It was going to be a long, rough few months ahead.