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Rabidporcupine
DarkRecon
sassy1085
𝟸𝟸:𝟻𝟸
𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝙲𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚎
𝙼𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚂𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚕, 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚇
𝟿/𝟸𝟿/𝟸0𝟸𝟷
Nadia Sokolova was pissed.
This was not an uncommon occurrence. Nadia Sokolova did in fact have a tendency to be angry. The cheer squad could attest to their instructors' high standards, low patience levels, and general aura of irritation. Nadia was the type of person that simply did not enjoy smiling, simply put. She was always a frosty, callous, blunt, and often irritated person. Right now, however, Nadia was even more pissed than usual. She was extremely annoyed. Extremely. Her face was stony and her fists clenched as she walked down the hallway of Millard Fillmore High School. It was late at night, and so the building was almost entirely empty. Or at least, so everybody thought.
Nadia made her way over to a broom closet, gripping the doorknob tightly before swinging it open. She nearly ripped the door clean off the hinges, a creaking sound coming from the dilapidated closet as she angrily opened it up. She looked left, and then right, before stepping into the closet. She swung the door shut behind her before wrapping her hand around a mop standing perched nearby. She pulled it down like a lever, the entire closet immediately filling with a gentle blue glow. A robotic-sounding posh British voice echoed through the small room. "Good evening. Please complete the retinal scan to proceed."
Nadia nodded stiffly, looking over at one of the shelves in the closet. She pushed a few bottles of cleaning solutions out of the way, pulling forward a dusty old bronze bust of Millard Fillmore. She leaned in, staring directly into the statuette's eyes. A red laser glow pulsed from each of the bust's eyes, scanning for a few moments before giving a happy ding. "Scan complete. Welcome. Director Sokolova. To what floor will you be heading?"
Nadia folded her arms, grunting. "Command Center. Now."
"Can do. Heading towards the Command Center now." The floor underneath Nadia rumbled, before a small square platform, right around where Nadia was standing, began to slowly sink. Nadia descended into the ground as the mini-elevator slowly moved downwards. Nadia impatiently stared at the wall, her arms still folded, tapping her foot impatiently on the ground. A few moments later, the elevator stopped, and a pair of glass doors slid open, revealing a spacious room. It meshed the colors of cyan and silver nicely, with a massive conference table in the center of the room, multiple massive screens plastered on the walls. The screens were currently showing a live feed of some desert area. Several well-dressed men and women were dotted around the room, some standing in front of the screens, some sitting at the table, some having a meltdown in the corner of the room. Nadia stepped into the room as a man ran over towards her. He was tall and intimidating, standing at nearly 6'4" with an impressive build to match. He was balding, his hairline having retreated significantly, with the hair that he had left being wispy gray and combed back. He was wearing a tuxedo and was clutching a folder full of papers under his arm. "Director Sokolova. Glad you finally got here."
"Good evening, Agent Stanley. Apologies for the delay, I had a personal conflict I had to deal with." By personal conflict, Nadia actually meant cheer competition. As a professional spy, she did find it somewhat embarrassing that she was skipping out on her duties as Promenade Director to go work with cheerleaders of all things, but when you were leading a two-time state champion team that was in a good place to take a third trophy, you had to make sure you showed up to competitions. Nadia had already negotiated a major raise with Principal Donoghue already and anticipated another one with a third win. If Nadia was going to have to work as a teacher during the day, she might as well be a well-paid one. Sokolova looked around the generally chaotic room. "It seems like a zoo in here. What's going on?"
"We had a very interesting encounter," Agent Stanley said gruffly, walking over to the conference table and taking a seat. "Very interesting indeed."
Sokolova followed him, sitting herself down in a comfy leather chair. "Fill me in. Now."
Agent Stanley laid his files out on the table, spreading several dossiers and photographs out across the area. He gave a quick cough to clear his throat before speaking. "As you know, the team is on the first major mission of the school year right now. They were warped into Mali to stop a group of antique robbers from stealing some ancient manuscripts from Timbuktu."
Nadia glared at the agent, snapping her fingers impatiently. "I know, I know. I briefed them on this mission. Warp in, catch the guy, incapacitate them, warp out. They should've been back by now. What happened? What went wrong?"
Stanley coughed again, blinking nervously. Nadia had that effect on people. Even a trained spy like Agent Stanley, who had worked for MI6 for 17 years before coming to Promenade as a handler, was still somewhat intimidated by the woman. She was scary. "Well, how do I say this...alright, everything. Everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. Turns out the guys they were after planted some bombs in the university. The kids, they’re totally stumped by this and freeze up, blow their cover entirely. Total failure in that department. Then, there's this massive shootout. Massive. Imagine how the civilians must have felt, with a bunch of teenagers duking it out with a gang of African looters. Anyway, thankfully, none of the kids got really hurt. Maybe a sprained ankle or something, but nothing serious. They manage to take down a couple of the looters, but most of them escape with the manuscripts. On top of that, a bunch of the bombs went off and turned a good part of Timbuktu’s historic district to rubble. And to top it off, one of the criminals had a contact in the Malian government, so now these kids are being chased across the desert by the military...you want a water, Director Sokolova?"
Nadia was glowering. Her lips were so tightly pursed that her face was paling, all in pure rage. Her fists were curled up in tight balls. "I would love a water," she said stiffly, staring at one of the screens. Two rickety hummers were rolling through the desert, followed by a large number of military vehicles in hot pursuit. Occasionally, there were bangs of gunfire that echoed through the conference room from the speakers. Nadia grumbled something in Russian as Agent Stanley handed her a cup of water. She downed the entire cup in an instant, slamming it back roughly on the table, a sharp bang echoing throughout the room. "Scratch that. Get me a vodka," Nadia said, her teeth clenched. She released a heated sigh through her teeth, resting her elbows on the table and her head in her palms, running her hands through her hair. This had ended in a trainwreck. There would be inquiries, and damages, and lots of mind wipes necessary. This is what happened when you worked with amateur kids. They were extremely gifted and bright, but equally as inexperienced and prone to be being flustered. They lacked the ability to keep a cool head most of the time. That was why this Timbuktu incident had become such a massive disaster, that inability to react on the fly. Nadia shook her head, trying to dismiss these negative thoughts from her mind. It was better to think about the future, and how that would be addressed.
Lessons plans were something that Nadia had never imagined herself devising before she came to the States, but here she was. She had to somehow find a way to teach high school students- in essence, a bunch of chimpanzees- how to engage in spur-of-the-moment, advanced spy techniques. She massaged her temples for a few moments, staring directly at the table. What did high schoolers like? Sex? Drugs? TikTok? Those weren’t exactly options. Sports? That wouldn’t work, would it?
Nadia thought for a moment, before she removed a notepad from her pocket and grabbed a pen from the table. She stared at the blank page for a second before bringing pen to paper, and she began to plan. "Stanley! Do you know any places in Swindon that are abandoned? I'm getting the beginnings of an idea."
𝟽:0𝟷
𝟷𝟽00 𝙲𝚘𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚊𝚍
𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗, 𝚃𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚜
𝟷0/5/𝟸0𝟸𝟷
”Fuck…”
Benjamin James McBride was awoken that Saturday morning by his alarm. That was extremely unusual. Ben was definitely a hard worker, but he was not one to set an alarm for 7 in the morning on a Saturday after a long week of school and a foreign assignment. Something was going on here. Ben grasped at his phone from his bedside, but found that it wasn’t the source of the noise either. Ben grasped blindly a few more times at his nightstand, grabbing the actual source of sound. He looked over. It was his AP-Watch. What the hell was going on?
Still lying in bed, Ben dangled the watch in front of his eyes. The word “Emergency” was emblazoned on the face of the watch, in thick, bright orange letters, pulsing over and over again in rhythm with a constant beeping sound from the watch. He blinked, the gravity of the situation slowly dawning upon him. ”Woah, emergency!” Ben said urgently, slapping the watch onto his wrist and jumping out of bed. He got changed in a split second, throwing on a sea-green t-shirt and a pair of khakis and shoes. He grabbed his earpiece- a perfectly transparent device that was easily missed if one was unobservant- and hooked it into his right ear. ”Hiram. What’s the situation? What’s going on?”
There was a momentary delay and some static, before a pre-recorded message in HIRAM’s obnoxiously posh British voice flicked on. "Good morning, agent. Mandatory training exercise at 1700 Coolidge Road in Swindon in exactly 27 minutes. Failure to attend will result in significant consequences." With those ominous words, the message ended. Ben glared at the watch. Well, there went his Saturday morning. Still, training was very enjoyable, even if it was early in the morning. Ben grabbed a rucksack from his closet and looked around his bedroom. It looked less like a room that belonged to a teenage boy and more like a room that belonged to a gang leader or hitman. There were guns everywhere. Shotguns, pistols, machine guns, snipers, hunting rifles, antiques, everything. Ben stuffed a sawed-off shotgun and handgun into the bag, along with some other gear, before quickly running out of the room. He left a note for his parents on the kitchen counter before lacing up his boots and taking off.
Swindon was not a place that could be easily traveled across without a car, but luckily, Ben’s house was only a hop and a skip away from the address that HIRAM had told him. 1700 Coolidge Road was a few blocks away, and it was a condemned office building that once held a DMV. Slinging the backpack over his shoulder, Ben took off into a brisk job down the sidewalk. The sooner he could make it, the better.
A few moments later, he had arrived, approaching a tall metal fence with a cautious sign on it. Ben charged forwards, running at the fence, and then jumped at it, scuttling up and over like a squirrel. He landed with a thump on the other side, looking back. He had totally missed the door. Oh, well. Jumping the fence was much cooler. Ben walked towards the old building. It was in bad shape. Entire walls of the building were absent, showing to the world the building's dilapidated interiors, with rows of empty cubicles lining the interior of the rubble-filled structure. Several cranes were parked outside of the building, though it seemed as though construction had been paused for that day, or perhaps the construction workers weren't there yet. Outside of the building was a parked white van, and leaning against the van was Nadia, wearing a black suit and a pair of shades. Ben gave a meek salute. ”Morning, Director,” he said, looking up at the beautiful, yet intimidating, lady. The last time Ben had seen Nadia was a few days prior, when he had just gotten back from Timbuktu. That was a memory that Ben would like nothing better than to wipe from his memory. Talk about humiliating. There couldn't have been a worse way to start the year.
Nadia nodded. "Yes, good morning," she said in a thick Russian accent. As a spy, Nadia could speak a number of languages in practically any accent she wanted, but she preferred speaking with her native Russian brogue. She thought it was much more intimidating. She wasn't wrong. "Welcome. Go inside, grab some items." She reached aside, opening the van's back doors. Inside, Ben saw a massive supply of weapons. All sorts of new-looking guns (pistols, snipers, shotguns, rifles, and even two bazookas), along with what appeared to be grenades and other explosives, and a bunch of what appeared to be nightsticks, though all of the said batons had what appeared to be a rainbow-colored tip, like some sort of deadly-looking paintbrush. "As they say, early bird gets worm. You are first, so you have the choice of weapon." Nadia looked into the van. "They are all paint. Paint grenades, paintball guns, paint batons. We are doing a training exercise. Make sure you take a vest, too. It won't make it hurt too much less, but it will at least keep your clothes safe," Nadia said dryly as Ben dropped off his more lethal bag and picked up a (paintball) hunting rifle, which he slung over his back, and two paintball pistols, which he clipped to his belt. He then put on a vest and hopped out of the vehicle. He unholstered a pistol, spinning it around his finger effortlessly as other agents began to show up.
Nadia repeated the same instructions over and over again like a drone, looking down at her watch in increments. "Alright. Welcome to our training exercise. It became apparent after the horrendous disaster that was Timbuktu that you all need a lot more training. A lot." As Ben winced in embarrassment, Nadia grabbed three small backpacks from the front seat of the truck. "In order to get this important information through your thick skulls, I will be doing this drill in the form of...a competitive game." She stared coolly at them. "There will be two teams. One, the so-called terrorists. The other, the response team. The terrorists will be given three of these devices." Nadia held up the backpacks. "These devices are designed by Professor MacMahon. They can rapidly synthesize 200 liters of paint and fountains them out the top. The 'terrorists' of this training operation will be given a head start to plant the paint weapons in the abandoned facility and defend them as they so please. The response team will then be given time to disarm the weapons. If the response team disarms all the bombs in time, they win." Nadia tossed the backpacks to Emily, Binx, and Honey. "You can use any of the weapons here as you see fit, along with any of your own, provided, of course, that they are non-lethal. Any questions?"
Ben raised his hand. ”What happens if we get shot?”
Nadia raised an eyebrow. "That is a stupid question. You get shot."
Ben's cheeks turned pink in embarrassment. ”Yeah, but, like, are you out or something? Like in paintball?" Ben was very good at paintball, being very good with guns in general.
"Oh, I see...allow me to demonstrate." Nadia reached into her waistband. In a single swift move, she drew out a pistol, aimed at Ben's chest, and fired. A ball of red paint swiveled through the air, hitting Ben in the sternum. He yelped very loudly as he was thrown off his feet, falling with a thump to the ground. "AUGH! Ow, ow, owie owie ow ow ow...” Ben moaned, as he rolled around on the floor, clutching his chest, the expression of pain clearly on his face as Nadia holstered her weapon. "There are no 'eliminations.' If you are downed, then you are downed. Though some of you are assuredly much, well, larger than Agent Kingfisher, I will also inform you now that it will likely still hurt just as much." She reached into her breast pocket, removing two pieces of paper, and used a magnet to pin them to the side of the van. "I took the liberty of creating two teams. The terrorists will have a few minutes to prepare. I have cut off the opposing side from your earpieces, so feel free to use those in peace. Ground rules, no leaving the premises, and...that's it. Oh, and try to show some mercy. If your opponent is lying on the floor, crying like a little girl, I would advise you not shoot them again. But I suppose that is up to you." Nadia looked them over. "I almost forgot. If the terrorists win, the responders will have to clean up all the paint in the facility." She paused. "With a toothbrush." A menacing smile grew on her lips. "If the responders win, however, they will have 3 minutes to pour as much paint as possible in the facility, at which point the terrorists will have to all the paint in the facility. With a toothbrush." Nadia looked at her watch. "Well, without further adieu, let's begin. Good luck. Your time starts now."
As some of the agents ran for the hills, Ben struggled to his feet. He gasped as he made his way over to his group, his arm still wrapped around his chest, a red dot emblazoned on his vest. "Let me just say...that shit hurts,” he complained as he stood up straight. "Anyway...let's think about how we're going to go about this,” he said, grabbing his pistol from his holster again and twirling it effortlessly in his palm. Playing with guns was definitely a very bad habit of his, but he did it so easily that it was almost hard not to. The weapons were quite literally second nature to him. "We should probably move in groups; we'll cover more ground that way and we'll find where they're hiding faster and disarm the weapons sooner. Any ideas how we should splinter up? If at all? If we all go in one group, we'll have better odds of taking the other side down...but we do lose valuable time...” Ben pondered, tossing his pistol up in the air and catching it. The plan was the most important part of an operation for Ben- a good plan meant a good execution, which meant a flawless victory (and no clean-up job for him.) "Any ideas, y'all? I really don't want to have to spend Saturday cleaning up paint, for Christ's sake.”
