Chapter Text
Sixteen.
It was the sixteenth mission of the year that got him. To the disappointment of the betting crowd at WISE, Twilight could not, in fact, complete a marathon of twenty back-to-back missions without getting injured.
The injury wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Had he been a millisecond slower to react, he’d have had three broken ribs instead of one small fracture, and would be off the field for months instead of a few weeks. He counted himself lucky. Not only because of the relatively light pain, but because he could finally take a bit of a break.
Swapping identities one after the other took a toll even on the best of spies. Twilight wasn’t only in need of physical rest, but a mental vacation. Shed the dross he’d collected over the past half year of masterful covers—bodyguard for an arms smuggling kingpin, collector of ancient artifacts, professional horse bettor. Center himself again on the overarching mission that he and all his fellow agents had dedicated their lives to.
As usual, it took several days for his body to wind down from a state of constant vigilance, where he twitched awake at the slightest sound or even no sound at all. Last night he had a rare full eight hours of sleep and now enjoyed the luxury of a slow morning, including a leisurely breakfast with a novel in hand instead of a newspaper. He followed that up with a weight training routine that didn’t put any pressure on his ribs. And that brought him up to noon, where he was scheduled to meet with Handler at the WISE office. His expectations were low. This window of relaxation was probably over. Even when Handler gave him desk duty, the hours were relentless.
“Good morning, or rather, good evening, Agent Twilight,” came the standard greeting. She raised one penciled brow at his choice in attire. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his workout clothes. “Enjoying spa day?”
“Actually, it’s leg day. And good to see you too, ma’am.”
She shifted backward in her chair, settling into a deceptively relaxed posture. She let a few seconds of silence pass as if she were taking the measure of her best agent in repose. Twilight was used to these subtle games, if one could call it that. In his training years, it seemed like everything Handler did was meant as a test or a challenge, which he instinctively strove to meet. She probably still intended everything as a test, but he had learned not to take it all so seriously anymore. He had earned that right.
“As much as I’d like to continue footing your rehab bill, I’m afraid we aren’t sufficiently staffed to keep you off the field.” It was the closest to an apology she had ever offered.
“I expected as such. What’s the mission?” he cut to the chase.
“I daresay it’ll be an easy one for you. You might even consider it a continuation of your break.”
“I appreciate that–”
“Of course, to keep you from getting too bored, I’m adding a secondary task: field training a rookie.”
Of course. No way he could get an actual break; he’d need to babysit. Handler knew he preferred operating alone and avoided trainer duties whenever possible. It was why he had only trained one agent so far, to dubious success. No matter how much she emphasized that building strong partnerships within the agency was essential to his long term career, it went against his nature to rely on others, especially in life and death situations. And given the fact he outperformed his fellow agents in every area, there was no one he found competent enough to be his partner, except if perhaps Handler herself were to return to the field.
Since they were meeting in private, Twilight didn’t bother to hide his annoyance, which manifested in a slight stiffening of his bottom lip amidst his otherwise neutral expression. Naturally, it did not go unnoticed.
“Would you rather hear about the mission first, or the rookie?” she said, amused.
“Surprise me,” he deadpanned.
Handler cocked her head slightly, her look of amusement growing into a rare smirk. “We’re shaking things up a bit for you. He’s part of the Homeland program, in the first batch. Excellent information gathering skills, fluent in most Ostanian dialects, graduated from university with an engineering degree before getting drafted during the war. Won’t be much help in a straight-up fight, but for this mission that shouldn’t be an issue.”
The Homeland program was an experiment that had started bearing fruit just recently. Instead of relying only on Westalian agents, WISE had begun recruiting native Ostanians in an extremely selective, secretive process. It was a high-risk, high-reward gamble that had required the Prime Minister’s approval to become a reality. In exchange for ten years of loyal service, WISE’s Ostanian agents would be granted Westalian citizenship and a generous pension. Twilight hadn’t worked with any Homeland agents yet, but he had to admit he was curious.
It put him on guard that Handler was selling this rookie quite strongly. She rarely gave endorsements for anyone, so there had to be a punchline. Before he could probe further, she changed the topic.
“Now as to the mission. We suspect former Prime Minister Donovan Desmond to have a major hand in the flow of illegal drugs over the border to Westalis. As you know, negotiations from our side have failed to make any headway in stemming the supply of narcotics and synthetic hallucinogens. It’s not primarily a money play for him.”
“It’s national security,” Twilight surmised. He had done a couple of missions related to drug trafficking, and had heard the rumors.
“Yes. Taking a page from Britania’s history, he aims to weaken Ostania’s foes by seeding malaise among their civilian population. Particularly the youth. In a few years we will have a major national health crisis on our hands if Desmond and his partners continue unchecked. The problem is, we don’t have any definitive proof that he’s involved. He runs a notoriously tight ship.”
“So you want me to find the evidence that can bring him down. But it’s nearly impossible to get close to him. We’ve tried. So what’s the angle this time?”
Her smile sharpened. That did not bode well. “I was getting to that. Please remain seated and don’t interrupt until I’ve laid out all the parameters.”
He frowned, but did as he was told.
“Donovan’s two sons both attend Eden Academy, the most elite preparatory school in the country. His older son, Demetrius, holds the coveted status of Imperial Scholar, granted only to top-performing students. The only public events Donovan is known to attend are Imperial Scholar mixers.”
So far, so good. Twilight would likely need to impersonate a professor or administrator who worked closely with the Imperial Scholar program.
“You and your partner are to go undercover as seniors at Eden Academy–”
Seniors? Senior faculty members?
“–and become Imperial Scholars, in order to infiltrate these mixers and make contact with the target.”
What?
…
What?
“I’m sorry, ma’am–”
“I told you not to interrupt, agent,” his superior said sternly.
He shut his mouth more forcefully than necessary and ground his teeth behind a veneer of professionalism.
“I know what you’re thinking. Why not impersonate a faculty member or some other adult on campus? Two limitations. Eden has a strict policy discouraging staff from becoming too friendly with parents. With so many business and government leaders among the parent population, Eden cannot afford any rumors of favor-seeking or bribes in either direction—whether from overzealous parents trying to pay for good grades, or faculty looking for a leg up in elite society. Imperial Scholar mixers are highly regulated and monitored. It would appear suspicious for a new faculty member to cozy up to Donovan Desmond, if you could even get past his security detail.”
Twilight took in the explanation as level-headedly as he could. It made sense.
“The other reason is that we need to keep our options open. Going directly for Donovan is quite a limiting approach, given these mixers only occur once a semester. It will also take you a while to gain access to the mixers, as you’ll need to earn eight ‘Stella Stars’ through academic excellence, outstanding talent in extracurriculars, or noteworthy acts of service to society. Donovan has two sons at the school, as I mentioned. Becoming a student will allow you much greater leeway in infiltrating his inner circle. Demetrius is a senior, while Damian is much younger. You and your partner can find ways to befriend both boys, whether through academics, extracurriculars, mentorship, sports, whatever route you can find. If you can secure an invitation to the Desmond estate, you’ll be that much closer to finding the evidence.”
Twilight could barely hold back his questions. This sounded like a long mission. At least half a year, if it were truly that difficult to gain Imperial Scholar status. And earning the trust of a Desmond, even a child, would be no easy task. Their entire family was known for extreme reclusiveness.
More importantly, how was he to construct a convincing cover? Even if he wore a mask every day to make himself look younger, it would be hard to hide his muscled physique and other obvious tells that he was in his late twenties. And if he had to play sports and go on field trips and do all sorts of other physical activities with these children on a daily basis, it would be extremely difficult to ensure his disguise would hold up.
And lastly, a question he was loath to ask even himself, let alone his superior:
Was he actually capable of impersonating a teenager?
Twilight had earned a vaunted reputation as the Man of a Thousand Faces. He had tricked the closest family members and friends of his targets with his flawless disguises and expert acting. He had brute forced his way through the most unsavory of masks—mafia henchmen and black market dealers and secret police—suppressing his self-disgust at the binge drinking and blackmail and violence he’d had to undertake to stay in character. But somehow, the prospect of becoming a teenager made him sick to the stomach in a way none of his other missions had.
He had barely even had a childhood, scuttling through the streets like a disease-ridden rat for the greater part of the war, before he had enlisted in the army and begun taking out his rage on nameless enemies with guns and grenades at age sixteen. His upbringing had been the complete opposite of the soft, pampered lives of the children at Eden Academy.
Could he actually do this?
Handler paused, signaling he had permission to speak.
“Why me?” were the first words out of his mouth.
She laughed. She had laughed at him many times throughout his career and he’d learned to brush it off, but somehow this time it stung.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared, Twilight.”
She was always too damned perceptive. This was the problem with reporting to the same officer who had trained him from the start. She knew him all too well and how to push his buttons.
“I’m not scared, I’m just offended.”
She laughed again, with more derision. “You look young. And with your intellect and encyclopedic knowledge, you have the best shot of rising to Imperial Scholar status faster than any student ever has at Eden Academy. Your acting skills are unparalleled. Need I go on?”
Handler never flattered him. She did not intend those remarks as flattery. She was merely giving an assessment of his strengths and why she had chosen him for this mission. But he still had the sinking feeling that this was partly a prank. He understood the importance of the mission’s objective, but the entire approach seemed uniquely engineered to embarrass the hell out of him.
“What’s the point of having a partner, then, if I can do all that myself?” he tried to deflect.
She opened her mouth to answer, but just then someone knocked on her office door.
“Ma’am? Here to report for the mission briefing,” came the muffled voice.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Twilight knew that voice. He hadn’t heard it in years, but he would never forget the day he had met that man. Boy. However old he had been. It had been hard to tell, given his diminutive height and self-proclaimed virginity.
With dread, he turned to face the newcomer as Handler called for him to enter.
A terribly awkward silence fell as WISE’s most legendary spy locked eyes with the scruffy-haired Ostanian deserter, and the moment of recognition flashed across the latter’s bespectacled face.
“You!”