#id give everything to see vincent in a red dress

[dbhilluminate]

DBHI: Equilibrium, ch. 13 - “Periapsis” (pt. 1)

Characters: Noah / “Erwin Yvonne”, Gabriel / “Vincent Sharp”, Special Agent Gavin Reed, Director Thomas Falken Word Count: 2,842

Noah crashes an undercover FBI operation to say hello to a friend he hasn't seen or spoken to in a couple of months, but the mood is spoiled when the Zionist Inquisition shows up to deliver an ultimatum to Vincent Sharp, and issue a threat to anyone who would dare support the installation of an android suburb in Washington, DC.

***For a glossary of world-building terms relating to this series and chapter, click here.

(Chapter Art by ozaya, Co-authored by @grayorca15​)

• Chapter Index • Characters • Glossary •

——

December 23rd, 2041 - 9:45 PM

From the outside, the looming auditorium locally known as The Mellon was unchanged. Whatever techno-aesthetics the Capitol had adopted in the last two decades, Washington, DC’s architecture was still mostly the same neoclassical Roman-inspired drivel the Founding Fathers probably thought the height of grandeur that any respectable city could model itself after. This particular building was very much a product of its time- a perfect encapsulation of the stiff right angles, thick brooding columns, and bleak texture-less walls, suggested nothing of what might actually be happening beyond the foyer. The red-green cutout projections of trees and reindeer and ornaments dancing across the Columbia pediment sculpted across its tented promenade and the delicate string instruments currently honoring an orchestral cover of one of a hundred classic Christmas songs was a hint though.

Noah stepped out of the Jaguar to be accosted by a shower of holographic white and blue snowflakes, mixed with the real-life equivalent wafting about that cold winter’s night. They swarmed like his very own plague of too-friendly gnats. Whatever property-wide projection program the event had been accentuated with, the programmer had evidently spent too much time re-watching Frozen as a child. He pulled his sunglasses down just far enough to peer over the lenses as a few flakes fluttered in, close enough for him to see their individual fractals, and gave an irritated huff through his nose. “Still bitter over the demise of Disney, I see.” A few seconds later, the shy valet swept around the roadster’s red taillights and apologized profusely for a near-nonexistent delay in offering to take the car to be parked. Noah felt nothing but amusement at their blathering, patted him on the shoulder and held the door open. “Quit fussing. It’s early yet, and you’ve a lot more rides to tuck in before the night’s over. Treat this one like the queen she is and there’ll be an extra fifty in it for you… Fredrick.”

The kitschy light-show and dear hapless Fred weren’t as bothersome as the front ranks of guards posted at the velvet rope-fenced entrance. The nearest man put up a hand and stopped him in his tracks at the top of the stairs. “I’m sorry, sir, but this is a charity function for contributors only. Have you made a donation?” It seemed only pre-approved guests were being permitted inside- a slight oversight on his part, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from his goal. He had a conversation to close out.

Noah popped his brows and donned a charming smile as he presented the falsified credentials, nestled in a flip-fold ID bearing the name Erwin L. Yvonne, complete with the most abhorrent manipulation of his likeness ever produced. “Not to worry, gents. I’m intimately acquainted with the curator, Mr. Sharp, and I’m here to deliver my contribution in the flesh.” Everything about the little white lie he’d spun on a whim was unnatural to him, but convincing to the two confused humans -poor, overworked and underpaid minions as they probably were- relaying questions into their headsets. After a few moments of conferring with whoever was heading security (most likely the Special Agents in charge of the sting this event was a front for), they motioned him through for a pat-down just beyond the rope. Noah didn’t bother feeling offended at them for only doing as they were instructed, but he did have a little fun making them as uncomfortable as possible as they searched his person for weapons. If his disguise, an old favorite thrown together on such short notice, held up to that much, then the rest would be a cakewalk- not that he had ever harbored a desire to actually go skipping through a fully-stocked dessert table. As fun as it sounded, he had enough messes splashed all over his real name without adding another to the list.

To his relief, the reach of the holographic snowflakes stopped at the door and vanished as he crossed the threshold of the foyer. The marble floor of the lobby had been buffed and waxed to a soft shine, and was still holding up to the foot traffic four hours after the meet’s commencement. Noah only paid enough mind to the guests still loitering about in groups no larger than six people to disinterestedly scan their faces at a glance and assign his background processes the menial task of matching names and dossiers to them. At the moment, he was far too focused on finding the one disguised face among them who was of any real importance to care about much else.

Mr. Vincent Sharp. Or should he say, Gabriel Reed.

The main hall was a wide, cavernous space, with rows of columns standing off to either side. Gold leaf sconced wall lamps provided an accentuating glow compared to the three giant chandeliers of brass and aluminum that bathed the room in ambient light. The dazzling light-show playing outdoors was only outdone by the splendor of one thirty-foot tall balsam fir erected in the center of the floor, adorned with no less than one hundred feet of multicolored string lights, dozens of strands of tinsel, swaths of garland, and a few hundred bauble ornaments. The topper, a white tinsel angel with glittery wings, faced the entrance with its hands pressed together and head bowed as if to thank all who arrived. A few outlying rings of cocktail tables surrounded the roped-off centerpiece. Those guests who weren’t conversing had taken seats to sip champagne or nibble on appetizers while they caught up on their gossip. Each cloth-covered table possessed its own small topper of a larger holographic projection of snowflakes hanging stationary in midair, which constantly shifted from one pattern to the next, spinning like a globe on a stand whenever a curious hand reached out to ‘tap’ them.

A small stage nestled in an alcove against the back of the ballroom hosted a classical band (ruled by one full-size concert piano) who looked as superfluous as the snowflakes that had greeted him outside. They wound through the last chorus of Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire as he descended the staircase, before starting back up with Jingle Bell Rock. Between the cello and violins, Noah’s hypersensitive ear detected at least three strings in need of tightening before he shunted that note aside to take a backseat with the rest of his anxieties. He hadn’t spent two hours biting his knuckles over ever approaching the Andrew W. Mellon Auditorium just to show up and critique its acoustic entertainment.

It wasn’t until a few curious eyes had turned his way, nodded and bid him good evening, that Noah realized how entirely inappropriate it was to be wearing sunglasses indoors, much less an event so high-class. The rest of his ensemble was tame enough- a dark navy blue suit bearing pointed lapels and a Zion sigil pin, complimented by a black dress shirt and loafers. The mild dose of glitter effect (same as could be found on the snow outside) projected into his black hair, accented with blue highlights, wasn’t as much of an affront as the pair of Ray Bans. Before anyone could make much of a fuss about it, he pulled them off and stashed the specs in his jacket’s breast pocket; in this kind of crowd, acting appropriate was of the utmost priority. Except when it wasn’t. Off to the left was a fully stocked pop-up bar- heads of the handful of people standing near it were turned away, giving off all manner of unapproachable vibes, including the only familiar silhouette in the room. Noah fought back a smirk when he spotted one particular set of ears before the facial recognition software even kicked in. As much as he would have loved to surprise him with his presence, he knew better than to sneak up on the owner of said ears. The last time he’d done so, Noah had wound up laid out over the fragments of his former coffee table, and he wasn’t eager to experience the cocktail hour equivalent of that encounter.

A half-hearted sweep of the room offered a few other suggestions of anything amiss, and that conclusion was about as dull as dishwater. Noah wasn’t really feeling making a scene with another guest (this event was far too classy for such delinquency), nor was he feeling at all confident enough to steal the mic off its stand and serenade the entire room. But that Christmas tree… it was giving off far too many signals to only be rigged with illumination accents. On his optical spectrum, a cloud of static encircled the poor displaced flora from top to bottom, a few of which were emitting from little lens-capped nodes disguised as burnt-out bulbs along the string. He drifted over casually and leaned in as if to admire his reflection in one of the gold metallic baubles, then carefully reached past the rope to twist and unplug one of the planted camera bulbs like plucking a petal off a flower. The fir gave only a whisper-quiet tink at this attack. The light strand continued to blink and cycle away, regardless of the missing piece. Noah held it up to eye level with a triumphant, yet mischievous grin. He knew exactly who was on the other side of the monitor observing the footage.

And having the most important discussion of the holiday season. On the other end of the feed, tucked away in the off-limits green rooms of the hall, Special Agent Reed was too busy engaging in one of his favorite pastimes of discussing classic action flicks with the unbaptized to notice that one of their cameras was moving. “I’m tellin’ you, man, Die Hard is THE Christmas movie, and if you don’t agree you’re just wrong .” “No way,” a second agent argued, “Bruce Willis himself denied that shit more than twenty years ago…” Reed let out a laugh that bordered on mocking, shook his head, and gestured to the man with one scolding finger lifted off his coffee cup. “John McClane would disagree-“ “Hey! Dumbasses! Stay focused!” Director Thomas Falken -who had insisted on overseeing the sting himself, in the event that something went horribly wrong - barked at the yapping men with a threatening leer that snapped Gavin’s head around and back into focus. On the feed of one of the bulb-cameras, an unrecognizable man rolled the glass node between his fingertips like a gem, and smirked as he held it up to the light. Reed’s brow furrowed in distress as he mumbled “What the fuck…?”, then swiped the walkie off the counter to relay the information. “Gabe.” “What is it, Reed?”

All done up in the swankest cocktail suit anyone would ever see him in, ‘Vincent Sharp’ turned, then leaned with his back against the bar and nursed a drink as he scanned the room through half-framed, squared-off, horn-rimmed glasses. One idle hand reached to throw back the hem of the tweed charcoal gray blazer, exposed the light brown waistcoat hugging his waist and hips, and slipped into the pocket of a pair of perfectly tailored, black slim-legged slacks. “We may have trouble, one of our spycams has been compromised.” Gabe tipped back his head and emptied the glass in his hand to smother the outward reaction of surprise, then set it down on the counter and gestured to the bartender for another. Rather than reach for any of the bottles displayed on the back counter, she went for a decanter on the shelf below the bar and refilled the glass with a burgundy brown liquid- thirium, distilled and dyed to mimic the appearance of Scotch. "Just one?” he asked in a curious tone as he searched the crowd around the tree. From his vantage point, he couldn’t clearly see anyone acting suspiciously. “Yeah, it’s the weirdest thing… little shit’s just holdin’ it up and grinnin’ like he knows we’re here…” And that he did. The harsh whisper to emanate over the commandeered camera’s mic said as much:

Good evening, Special Agent Reed. Fancy seeing you here.

From the other side of the room, Gabriel’s head turned a tic at the sound of crashing equipment and a few muttered ‘shit Shit, SHIT’s coming from the other end of the frequency he was currently tuned to. Like a bull in a china shop.

“How does he know you’re here… !?” Falken -known in his social circles as Tomahawk, for good reason- boomed from across the room as he rose from the couch and stormed over to the monitors. He shoved Reed’s chair aside, and scrutinized the face of the man making a mockery of their carefully planted monitoring equipment. Gavin’s heels scraped against the hardwood as he backpedaled and held his hands up in surrender. “I- I- I don’t… I don’t know, I didn’t tell anyone, I swear-” “Then who is THAT?” Falken punctuated with a slam of his palm against the monitor that made everyone in the room jump. “That’s… that’s, uh-...” He could explain that, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. No matter how he looked at it, he was to blame for his presence that evening. His negligence had compromised months of careful planning.

“...Gavin?” His target rose from a table toward the front of the ballroom and directed his attention toward the bar, leering with the clear intent of starting a conversation. What impeccably bad timing for this to go down. “Reed! Talk to me!”

Gabriel’s intrusion provided him with the convenient excuse he needed to disengage for a moment. One visibly-shaking hand swiped the walkie off the desk and Gavin turned to break away from the glower of Falken’s death-glare long enough to respond to his partner in the field. The other hand ran through his hair with a nervous twitch in his fingers and he glanced over his shoulder as he cleared his throat and swallowed, then mumbled, “It’s-... it’s Noah,” under his breath just loud enough for him to hear.

Gabe’s thought processes came to a screeching halt as his personal life collided with his alias for just a moment. To hear that Noah was in Washington, DC, much less at the Zion Founders Fundraiser, was the last thing he’d expected to hear that evening. As Reed continued to drop curses in the background, Gabe turned to face the bar and flashed a polite, but forced smile at the bartender as she eyed him with nervous sweeps. He didn’t reach for the glass right away as it was set in front of him on a small black napkin. “Please, tell me I didn’t just hear what I think I did…” he muttered internally as a dozen different possibilities for how the night would turn out flashed thumb-nailed pre-constructions across his HUD. But Reed’s uncomfortable sputtering confirmed what he was hoping was just a joke.

“No, you heard me right.” One hand swiped over his face in a downward motion and scratched in frustration at the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave in almost a week and desperately avoided Falken’s infuriated ‘what the fuck’ gestures in the background. “The bastard’s actually here, arrived in DC last night with Hannah and President-Elect Kamski. H-he stopped by the house lookin’ for you, but I told him you were undercover an’couldn’t make an appointment. I told him t’keep his nose outta our shit, but he-” Reed paused and squinted over Falken’s shoulder as Noah slipped the tiny camera into his pocket with a ‘Can you hear me alright in there?’ “Oh, son of a….” “What the hell is he doing…?”

The camera-bulb didn’t act as a walkie. And to their credit, all the personnel Noah could plainly see -now that his recognition software had sorted fact from fiction- didn’t stir, much less blow their cover. He knew without being told what this sting was about, and who it was the FBI were really here to keep tabs on. Perhaps him showing up was akin to being a ‘fly in the ointment’, but as yet he hadn’t done anything other than offend their Christmas tree. He gave the indifferent lens one more wordless glance as he rolled the bulb between his fingers. For a brief moment he considered winking at it, but decided at the last moment to pocket the device instead. Perhaps it’d come in handy elsewhere- for someone who hadn’t been properly equipped for this operation, it was the best he could do on such short notice. Failing that, he could always speak very loudly and deliberately at Gabriel’s collar mic, if he’d let him get close enough. The owner of the ear he recognized from before still hadn’t turned around. Outwardly he didn’t look very distressed. Only the new hunch in his shoulders, invisible to the human eye as it was, said it all. Far be it from him to keep ‘Vincent’ in suspense.

[rainy-rose]

Silver Serpent: Takeru and Vincent

Hullo, I needed to work a bit on Vincent and Takeru and their friendship before the plot and this snipped happened. I am not entirely pleased with it, but it id help me find out more about my boys. Enjoy! ^_^

TW: vague implication of a past suicide attempt

Waves came crashing on the rocks and shore. The air was thick with the smell of sea salt. The wind was lifting the sand and constantly moving it around, displeased with its position and frustrated that it could not dislocate larger chunks. On the horizon dark grey clouds were slowly making their way towards Rockcliffe Beach.

On a flat, light grey boulder, Takeru was laying on his side with his back to the water, a half-finished cigarette in the corner of his lips, and a black backpack with a small flashlight hanging from one of the zippers at the base of the rock. The rising gale was playing in his hair, long, thick, dark strands going all over the place, especially in his mouth and eyes. He shook his head. There were two black hairbands around his left wrist, but the intention of using them was nowhere to be found. Bored, seemingly uninterested dark brown, almost black eyes were slowly following the animals. Running around on his long slim legs, Schilo, the greyhound mix was snapping playfully at the peregrine falcon which was flying just a few inches above his muzzle. Hiei’s strong beak was open, short high pitched calls alternating with longer variously pitched ones. The dog was barking in response, an inviting delighted sound sometimes turning into a low, nonthreatening growl. They were fun to watch, their friendship always blooming despite their differences.

A short distance away, shoes and socks in hand, water lapping at his feet and ankles, Vincent was making his way towards the boulder. He had been walking for a while, listening to the calming sound of the waves. The last few weeks had been tiring, work piled up, urgent foreign requests for help keeping him up late into the night. He had been tired, stressed, sloppy and aggressive in conducting the training of his disciples. When his friend had suggested the quick getaway he was so quick to accept that he bumped his knees on the desk, cursing.

‘I’m going for a swim!’ he said in a monotone reaching the stone and taking off his light coat and shirt. It was cold, barely April, but Vincent did not feel it, his body temperature running higher than everybody else’s, his blood hot as the fires that were bending to his every whim and will. ‘I won’t be long!’ he added taking off the silver necklace he always wore and handing it over.

‘Careful!’ Takeru’s soft baritone rose slightly over the noise all around them. The cold metal of the zippo touched hardly touched the scrapped skin of his palm before long slender fingers closed around it and he was putting it around his neck for safe keeping.

And like that Vincent was gone, running into the water.  Growing up next to the sea in a small Romanian town, swimming came natural to him. The waves were getting higher, the clouds closer, a storm imminent. He did not care! With every stroke he was getting deeper and deeper, farther and farther his body welcoming the exercise, the resistance of the current. Holding his breath, he dived in. The water was murky, impossible to see through. Less than twenty seconds passed before he rose to the surface and in another ten he was going under again. Getting used to the temperature was easy, by the fifth dive, the water around him was warming up a little, steam spiraling from the surface. Relief washed all over him. Closing his eyes he floated on his back, arms moving lazily from time to time. The temptation of staying there for hours was growing with every minute. It was so pleasant! He had not done this in almost a year and he missed it greatly!

Diving again, he searched blindly for the bottom, arms outstretched, legs and feet moving in a precise rhythm. Despite having enough air, his lungs started to hurt a bit after a short while. The pressure and tiredness were taking a toll on him. He ignored them and kept going deeper and deeper. The bottom was nowhere to find, but the water was getting colder, the air running out. He ignored the sensation, putting more force towards his goal. A small ray of light breached the darkness over his shoulder. He blinked confused, dizziness creeping in on him.

Something strong and slim coiled around his middle pulling him upwards. Looking around, the light was dancing in a strange pattern. Instincts kicked it. Increasing the heat in his hands he grabbed the thing, trying to free himself. It didn’t bulge. He tried again, higher and higher. It was an arm connected to a body. Shit!

Two heads emerged from the restless waves. Both had slightly tanned skin, one’s hair was cut short, the other’s was long and flowing. One was freezing, teeth chattering, the other was caught between confusion and remorse. Bright blue eyes met black.

‘I- id – a - aho!’ Takeru grumble stuttered, swimming towards the beach. His moves were difficult and slow, pain was running up and down his body. Teeth sank into cold numbed lips. The salt water was making everything worse. With every move of his hands the flashlight was nowhere to be seen. ‘W- What were you t - thinking?’ he asked as soon as they were back on the dry sand and in warm trousers. The pain subsided a little, the burns not deep enough to bleed. ‘What w- were you thinking?’ he asked again, throwing him the lighter. His tone was flat, anger hidden under layers and layers of indifference. Cold was chipping away at his control.

Vincent stared at him, not giving an answer. Not immediately anyway. He finished getting dressed, put the harness on Schilo and handed Takeru his own shirt and coat together with the leather glove for Hiei. ‘I was swimming, trying to reach the bottom’ he shrugged touching his friend’s arm, a green, heeling glow at the tip of his fingers.

Takeru looked at him, analyzing, running the words through his head, sniffing out for lies. Power coated the words, searching, separating, extracting the tone in which they were spoken and the emotions behind it, deconstructing that even further, until the truth stood out clear in his mind, Vince’s truth.

They had been here before, a few times, and afterwards he had spent hours upon hours in an uncomfortable plastic or wooden chair in a hospital’s waiting room. ‘You’re not lying’ he sighed, a small twinge of relief in his voice.

‘No, I’m not.’

Their eyes met, unspoken apologies, reassurances, admissions and fears passing between them. Neither needed to hear them to know they existed. Vincent broke the contact first by moving his head towards the hotel. As he was walking the sand stuck to his feet bringing back childhood memories of long summer days. They walked in comfortable silence. Neither was a talker. They had Ingrid for that. When the older woman was not there they made do snuggling in the other’s quietness.

In their room, Takeru went first to shower, leaving Vincent to clean the animals and open the two windows, welcoming the storm. As he came out of his own, brief shower he found his friend sitting on the bed, dressed in oversized gray pajamas, damp hair pulled up in a bun, a jar of soothing muscle reliever in hand. It was almost dark outside, lightning, thunder and wind chasing each other.

‘The gods are having fun?’ Vincent asked, rubbing the water out of his short black hair.

Belief in the Shinto gods had been a part of the Matsuda family for countless generations. Takeru was not as devoted as the rest of his relatives, but he did hold the god of wind, Fujin and the thunder and lightning god Raiden in high regard. Few people outside his family knew about this aspect of his life, labeling his fascination with storms as just another quirk. Another strange thing to look at and gossip about.

‘Or sex’ he shrugged, vaguely amused, breathing in the clean humid air coming through the window.

‘Or both.’ There was a knowing smile on his face, blue eyes glinting. The invitation was missing however. They’d had their own fun, from time to time along the years.

Vincent took the jar reading the label. It was one of those ointments that heated up after application. It felt nice, smelled pleasant and made him sleepy. He took off his sleeping T-shirt, laying on the clean white sheets. Two red wrapping towels were stacked next to the pillow.

Takeru straddled his legs. Vincent was well built, his back muscles beautifully defined. This white scars took over most of the skin, the worst ones on the nape. That area was out of boundaries. The cream was think between his palms, but it was absorbed quickly, Vincent visibly relaxing under his touch. His breathing slower, more stable. He was working in precise sections, coating everything in an even, thin layer. It took quite some time, and he had to bend forward more than once to care for his upper arms as well. By the time he reached his lower back, Vincent had fallen asleep, light snores escaping thin parted lips. Takeru kept working, fingers playing over the skin as if it was they keys of a well-tuned piano.

The towels were soft and thick. Putting them around the sleeping man without waking him up was not easy. Vincent was a light sleeper, but Takeru had a lot of practice. He knew where to press, to guide his body. Vincent feeling comfortable around him helped a lot. The covers were left unused, unneeded. He settled beside him with a manga, not actually paying attention to the black and white panels or the strings of kanji that formed the dialogue. Instead he kept watch over his friend, ready to intervene in case of a nightmare or worse a night terrors.

Taglist: @inexorableblob

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[dearophelia]

this night ain’t for the faint of heart (norasquad)

scenes from a mission going mildly awry, or, “the author has seen Leverage and the Ocean’s franchise way too many times in her life and has zero regrets”

"Hurry up," Alle says. "Guard’s coming."

"I can’t hurry any faster than your stupid program," Nora hisses, snapping her fingers at the drive, as if that will encourage it to hack faster.

"Hide. Now," Alle says, at the same time as the distinct noise of a guard clearing his throat.  

"Who are you?" the guard says, shifting his grip on his assault rifle.

Nora turns so the drive is hidden behind her back. She blinks. "Health inspector."

The guard looks her up and down, taking in the slinky black dress, and the four-inch heels, and the red lipstick. "Not dressed like any health inspector I’ve ever seen."

"Spot inspection," she says. "I’m supposed to blend, and you’re having this wonderful party." She flutters her eyelashes as best she can, and ignores the distinctive sound of Alle trying - and failing - to hold back laughter.

His eyebrows furrow, and his eyes sweep side to side, as if pointing out the total lack of party surrounding the corner he’s found her in.

"I got a little lost," she says sheepishly, giving him a little innocent shrug. The dull background hum suddenly disappears from her earpiece, and Nora swallows back a little huff of amusement at her best friend laughing hard enough to put herself on mute.

The drive chooses that moment to beep in completion, and Nora coughs, hoping to cover it up. As smoothly and subtly as she can, she tugs it out of the port behind her and palms it.  

The guard sighs. "This way," he gestures with his rifle.

Nora smiles and, once his back is turned, snaps the drive back into her watch band. "I’m gonna need a health inspector profile," she mutters as she follows the guard down the hallway.  

"On it."

“And we need to have a talk about the incompatibility of infiltration missions with tech that beeps.”

“Maybe we table that for the ride back, yeah?”

The guard leads her back to the party and then points down another hall. "Kitchen’s down that way."

"Thank you," she smiles, and heads in the direction he pointed. She bumps into another patron, mumbles an apology, and waits another few steps before she looks at the tablet she slipped from the patron’s hand. A personal tablet, but it’ll work as a prop. "Got me a cover yet?" she asks, looking back to see that the guard’s still watching her. She gives him a little wave. 

"Nora Vincent, senior inspector with the Illium Board of Health. It’s only good enough for an initial search, so don’t do anything that would get them to actually call the Board."

"You mean like my job?" Nora mutters, slipping down the hallway to the kitchen.

"Hey, I told you to hide."

Nora grits her teeth. "It was the end of the hallway, Al." Taking half a moment to center herself, she takes a breath and pushes open the doors to the kitchen.

***

Carlos feigns an important call, apologizes to the businessmen he’s been conversing with, and turns away. "Rabinowitz, how we doing on the target?"

"Facial recognition hasn’t picked him up. Neither has the ID scanner. Doors close in five minutes, I don’t think he’s coming."

"He RSVP’ed," Carlos says. "We tagged his ship in orbit, and him at the docks. He’s here."

"He’s on the planet," Alle says, "doesn’t mean he’s at this party. Heads up Torrini, lady in the green dress is making a bee-line for you again."

Sighing, Carlos walks away, hoping to blend into the crowd; he’s been dodging her all night, certain that he’s going to end up cornered for the rest of the evening if he lets her get even one word in. "Little help," he hisses, leading her past the security station Micah’s working.

"Name’s Anastasia Cartwright. Only talent seems to be being richer than god."

Micah steps between Anastasia and Carlos. "Ms. Cartwright, my apologies, there’s a security concern. I need you to come with me."

"Oh," she says, looking longingly after Carlos. "Nothing serious, I hope. I was hoping to speak with that young man over there."

"Come with me, please," he says, leading her away from Carlos and to what he hopes is a security office. "Three more minutes, and he’s not coming," he whispers into their comms.

***

"Thank you," Nora says, "now the refrigeration, please?" She makes a few taps on the tablet, making sure to keep the screen - and the health inspection checklist she found on the extranet five seconds before approaching one of the junior chefs - out of sight of the supervisor leading her around the kitchen. "Any luck on the item?"

"Nothing," Carlos says. "This place is full of rich people shit, but none of it’s pinging the scanner."

"Okay, how is it that we spent a month prepping this mission and literally none of the things we need have shown up?" Alle grumbles.  

"No plan survives contact with the enemy?" Carlos suggests.

"This plan hasn’t made contact with anything," Alle points out.  

"Uhm," Nora says, noticing an odd package in the back corner of the walk-in refrigerator. She focuses on it, and the HUD in her lenses flashes red. She shifts so the camera masquerading as a jewel in her necklace can get a good shot. "One of these things is not like the other."

"Sorry?" the supervisor says.

She clears her throat. "Oh, just that this isn’t like the other refrigeration units I’ve looked at this week," she says weakly. "Bigger."

Three nearly-identical snorts over the comms. Nora turns away from the supervisor to glare at the ceiling. 

“It’s in the fridge? No way you can sneak that in at a party like this, someone on the kitchen staff has to be involved,” Carlos says.  

“Second shelf in the corner,” Nora whispers, “I can’t loop back without tipping someone off.” She feigns interest in the freezer unit, checks off a few boxes on her tablet, and peers into the meat storage unit the supervisor seems particularly proud of. “That vial can not leave this party with anyone but us.”  

“On it,” Alle says, followed by a thump and the noise of moving things around in a small space.  

“No,” Nora hisses, “you’re the exit strategy.” She coughs lightly, waving her apologies at the supervisor as they move on to dry storage. “We need you in that shuttle.”

“You’re out of position, Rabinowitz is burned from the security briefing, and Torrini’ll throw about a million red flags in the kitchen with that suit he’s wearing.”

“That problem won’t be one in about ten seconds. Excuse me, sir?”

Another thump, this one dull and heavy, and one Nora is very familiar with. She clenches her back teeth. “Tell me you only knocked him out.”

“Of course,” Carlos scoffs, almost offended, “I paid attention in that meeting.” More muffled sounds, and Nora wonders just how weirdly her life turned that she now recognizes the sound of an unconscious body being undressed and redressed in a closet. “Shit, this guy’s only a server. I need an ID card to get that far into the kitchen.”

“On it,” Nora whispers. She bumps into one of the sous chefs, apologizes, and palms the ID card she lifted from his pocket. And Vega thought nothing came of the three months she spent undercover with a smuggling ring on Omega. “Kitchen entrance, three minutes.”

“Doors are closed,” Micah says, “our guy’s not here.”

“The vial’s here. Why isn’t he?”

“A fantastic question which we will deal with later,” Nora hisses. “Everything looks in order,” she directs her focus back to the supervisor. “All I need is the transition point for your servers.”  

She takes a cursory glance at the counter, pretends to examine the hands of an outgoing server, and nods. “Thanks for your cooperation. You’ll have the results in a few days, I’ll get out of your hair.”

On her way out, she brushes up against Carlos, easily slipping him the access card. She waits until she’s in the crowd to give orders. “Get the vial and meet us at extract. There’s a reason he didn’t show. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not good.”

***

Alle sets the shuttle down, hovering about a foot off the ground, and opens the door. The external cam shows Nora rounding the corner, shoes in hand and Alle decloaks the ship and starts preflight so it’ll be mostly finished by the time Micah and Carlos on board and they need to book it.

“Why are we running?” Alle asks.

Nora doesn’t say anything, so Alle turns and follows the thumb Nora’s jerked over her shoulder while she catches her breath.

“Yeah,” Alle says, “that’s sure worth avoiding.” She directs her attention away from the mansion and the flames that now engulf it, and back to the checklist. This mission doesn’t exist, she can fill out the non-essential bits once they’re safely in another system.  

She hears the thud of the other two jumping aboard, followed by the thump of Micah’s fist on the door control, and lifts off before the door’s even closed. Pressure pushes on her ears and she takes one hand off the controls to plug her nose and pop her ears. She cloaks them again just in time to pass three - no, four - emergency shuttles with lights and sirens blaring.  

They’re out of the gravity well and into space before Alle turns around to look at her team. “So,” she says as the autopilot takes them toward the relay, “why was the building on fire?”

“That wasn’t our fault,” Carlos says.  

Alle nods. “Good to know. So why was the building on fire?”

“Lantaag was there,” Nora says, “he’s got some freaky black market tech that can change his appearance.”

“That’s inconvenient.”

Nora nods. “He caught up with Torrini by the spinach - ”

“Wondered why you were covered in,” Micah gestures at the vegetable detritus staining Carlos�� stolen uniform.

“ - didn’t take too kindly to us stealing the bioweapon he paid a couple trillion credits for,” Nora continues past him, “and there may or may not have been a firefight on the way out that may or may not have had some goons with shitty aim hitting a gas fireplace instead of me.”

***

Vega raises an eyebrow. “May or may not?” He puts the report down on his desk.  

“There was some debate in the shuttle regarding improper use of hand grenades in a residential combat environment,” Nora says.

He sighs and folds his hands over his stomach. “Between you, me, and the wall, did you guys blow up the building?”

“The detonator was on a timer. Everyone was out of range before it blew.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Vega takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

Nora stands, pulling up straight at attention. “Yes, sir.”

She’s at the door before he says anything else.  

“Did any of this mission go according to plan?”

She turns back to him. “Well, we got the bioweapon. And, as a bonus, Torrini got a socialite’s number.”

He blinks. “Intentionally, or...?”

“She was very persistent. Stopped him while we were running from the burning building.” Nora doesn’t even try to hold back the smirk; Carlos’ annoyance at that number has been an endless source of entertainment for the past few days. Pegasus landed this afternoon, and Nora gives it about an hour before Deck steals his omnitool and messages Anastasia. 

Vega stares at her for a moment, clearly unsure what to do with that. “You’re getting very good at not answering questions.”

Nora grins. “Thank you.”

“Get out of my office.”