Carla's eyes lock with mine the second we stride into the room, a sinister focus moving from her wooden desk and placing judgement on my soul. Her very essence suits the situation, every hither of her existence flattering a ruler of this horrific city. Her pale face framed by a black bob, her thin lips lined with dark lipstick, her teeth as white as snow, her scent mystical and dark.
She stands and opens her arms in welcome, a fragile figure reflected many hours of work at a desk. Walking towards the embrace, I quickly decide the mannerism which may suit the meeting best. Be snappy, keep sharp, in and out situation.
It's not that I dislike my aunty, but I'm aware of her methods in keeping order for expectation and consequences. A single slip, it's noted in stone.
Deciphering her is a challenge, but the few seconds should give enough time to figure out her intentions, along with the behaviour she expects. Carla's straight stance, shoulders back, hair was clearly brushed beforehand, clothing is ironed and formal appearance – no hints whatsoever.
Upon drawing closer to the desk, her intentions are given away. The lean towards the front of her dark heels indicate both discomfort and possible heel injury, typical with the footwear type.
If she wanted something casual, Carla would've chosen comfortable shoes. The blisters indicate that she's been busy, but continues the formality despite a supposedly poorly organised meeting.
She needs to use her sense of authority for some reason, she wants something. Carla's going to use a standoff strategy, attempt to belittle me.
I'm nervous, I'll admit it. Carla's rule always had a darker side, one that was searching for answers and secrets. They'd kill to find them, all in the name of city safety.
With a heavy bow towards her majesty, it begins.
"Orabelle," she says, walking around her desk to give me a kiss on the cheek. Her voice as sickening as oversweet medicine, bony fingers temporarily wrap around my shoulders. "Thanks so much for coming, I understand you've been very busy with your other assigned missions. I heard about how you handled Mr. Dupian, very impressive."
I flash a smile, half reflecting her own actions. My thoughts flickering back to my previous mission, completed a few days ago. I'll admit, tracking a man missing for over 10 years was tricky, but observing his long-lost daughter for a couple of days gave me enough to find him.
Swallowing the thought, I refocus myself. The Queen's stare always made me think she could read my mind, keenly stealing pieces of my memory with every second in her presence. Years of training helped me hide that feeling, years of practise helped me learn the ways of Carla.
"Yes Carla, but you must understand my curiousity upon this meeting. I understand that calling us all for such a formal conversation should require some urgency." I say, tip-toeing with every sentence formed.
Only the people within the room, including Carla, are aware of what I am. To her majesty, I'm her precious tool, the dime within her pathetic ashes. The rest of the world, however, thinks my existence is still a grand Marx mystery.
Hence why I can't leave working for her.
The scientists responsible used unborn children, such as me, to add any assigned animal DNA possible. It was the breakthrough of the century for them, years of hard work put to an end. Though, you can't imagine the shock with royal bloodlines were infused with animalistic DNA, I wouldn't be here without it.
Today, it's an elaborate scheme, making my entire life accordingly to the machinery which pumps through my veins. Whilst the world thinks Caliviano research goes into finding Agathas, under the influence they're a danger to society, I remain a secret weapon to fight this war.
Greeting her son and Alice, Carla walks over to a glass desk. She clicks the corner of it, the whole table lights up like a tablet. Carla types in some passwords, revealing an already open file. One is the profile of a boy, short hair and dull eyes.
"Sorry, I've been working on another case recently." Carla says, sounding nice, but the words taunt at my brain. Like a snake hissing in my ears, every word seeping into my ears like poison.
I nod, giving her an unnoticed glare, only slightly taken aback. "Luke Clagerine, I'm not surprised."
Luke Clagerine was a normal boy, aged around 17. Never knew him personally, but he was a friend of Oliver's. He was dragged in the stormy day discovered to have fox DNA, losing it in a pub and attacking another man. That's how our species was discovered, eventually leading to my own discovery.
You'd think that scientifically controlling the weather is enough of a breakthrough for Carla, but it became old news quickly.
Seeing her breakthrough, Carla convinced the public that Luke needed to be testified for being a violation to public safety. It didn't take much for them to agree, lack of knowledge easily collides with fear.
In terms of convincing me, it was clear Luke was never to come back from insanity. Despite my yearning heart, I was quickly informed to keep my mouth shut and instincts unheard.
They experimented on him, seeing how he reacts to certain substances and electricity voltages. That was when they discovered storms triggered our senses. I remember hearing his screams from a floor above that terrifying week. I was in training the day that he escaped, a bomb was thrown onto his floor, never seen since.
"And what was he?" Carla asks, her tone plastering a grin. She's aware of my instinctual emotions towards the torture he faced, a sickening advantage to her manipulation.
A reminder on what could happen to me.
I don't hesitate to answer, I know weakness isn't an option for the dangerous game at the table. "An Agatha." I say, calmness running through my voice, despite the rattle in my head.
"Okay, let's get to the real business." Carla says, swiping the profile away. She faces me, folding her hands in front of herself. "As you know, we are on the edge of war. I've sent you and multiple troops before to control the damage outside the city, whilst the enemy trots around like scavengers."
"You want me to go back in?" I ask, a new wave of curiousity sweeping over me.
"Yes, but not quite how you think." Carla says, clicking unto a new icon, bring up 6 different faces on the screen. "Troop 464 was sent in two weeks ago, all featuring soldiers which volunteered to be sent. Their mission is to rescue all hostages around the northern region, mostly farmers, located outside the city."
Carla enlarges a certain profile, now seeing a freckled boy. Around my age, his hair the colour of an ashy autumn leaf. A cooler colour in contrast to pale skin, along with sharp features and slightly rounded nose. "This is the group leader, Jackson Eve." Alice continues for Carla, stepping forward and glancing over the table. "I've met him. He's serious and distinctive, the exact leader material needed."
The room goes quiet for a second as I gaze on the boy, inhaling the silence like a fresh breath of air. Serious, ha! The very thought of being instructed by such a softie could make me gag, Jackson wouldn't even know what I could do to him.
A hand goes around my mouth in thought, I squeeze my lips into a mushy position. "I'm not a big fan of having a leader." I mutter squished words.
Carla steps closer, I sense her demeanour transform into an irksome sight. Still staring down at the frowning queen, I hook on every tenderly spoken word of utter chaos. "That's why you're going to kill him."
I grow dazed, yet perfectly in my senses. My brows furrow together, my head moving in small spirts as eyes dart around the room for mental processing. I'm supposed to assassinate a man who volunteered his life towards rescuing innocent people?
Right.
As my eyes land on Carla, my hand finally leave my mouth. "If I may ask so, so, politely..." I say, letting my tone speak my surprise and confusion, strolling over to my superior. "Why am I doing that?"
"Oh, Orabelle," Carla says, shifting more files on screen before sustaining eye contact. "You know not to ask questions, but I guess an answer is appropriate. He's confirmed to be divided in his tracks, on the wrong side of the road."
"A double agent." I mutter, still staring at his profile.
"Precisely," Alice continues, sensing a need to convince me for the mission. "I've looked at the calculations, Orabelle. We can't send another troop and evacuate the current one without lots of commotion. The entire process would alert the enemy on location and status. They need a better leader, someone capable of fully carrying out the mission as intended."
Once again, silent takes posts in every corner of the room. For the first time since we entered, I find myself glancing up at Oliver. He looks nerved, failing to hide the extensive puzzle that chatters his brain. "Should I do it?" I ask him, grasping Oliver from his scrutinising thoughts.
"I'm not comfortable with it, personally." Oliver spits out, taking a moment to shrug and scratch his head. "It's just... you gotta think about the people out there, Ora. They're waiting for someone, they need safety."
"I want to meet him first, to analyse Jackson." I announce, switching eye contact between all recipients of the news. "If I find evidence of his traitorous behaviour, I'll then hand him under arrest."
"Orabelle, I already have the evidence I need, I cannot have word spread on his behaviour." Carla counters, her voice raising slightly. "I do this to ensure your safety, classified information is kept that way for a reason."
I can sense it's a challenge for dominance, but all thoughts of backing down are ignored. "Carla," I say, my unimpressed voice known as I sit upon the screen table for extra attention. "Wouldn't it ensure my safety, in having some knowledge about my opponent? Surely, there's reasoning one of your undermined skanks won't dig the grave instead? Why me?"
I listen to the stillness, feeling gazes of greedy eyes that realise I'm confronting her. It's not a new idea that I contest against my boss, sometimes I think she likes it. Mind games are her specialty, she always trained whomever to master manipulation. That includes me, but sometimes it can grow... passionate.
The tension soars as Carla slowly walks around the desk, appearing before me with a vicious graze. She leans down to my level, absorbing the tricky smile gripping my lips, her voice thick and deathly. "I need someone who can tidy the little mess who slipped through my fingers, capable of the situation. Though, last time I checked, you don't have a choice in the matter. You're not human, Orabelle, only partly. You're disabled, you're a scientific experiment. I am your queen. You do these missions, and I spare your pathetic life."
Suddenly, I find my fingers digging into the hardwood. Carla's words sink in as if it's smoke, choking my insides with an added layer of anger. Leaning forward into the chair, my face disperses into a violent temperament. "My life is far from pathetic, Carla. So, unless you'd like to disclose your wretched secrets of grimy work with another agent, I suggest you abide by me." I spit, letting every word slowly slip into the electric air.
The world quickly encloses around her, the grip on the table getting even tighter by the minute. "Actually... I thought you'd like this mission, he's suitable for you. Man against agent, hunted against the hunter, predator against prey..." Carla counters my spat, responding rather quickly. She slips closer to me, dark brown eyes verging on the edge of pitch black, the tension taking up my entire focus. Her last words are whispered, but spat daggers at me. "Suitable for you, animal."
Fury. A wrath of absolute fury overtakes all other emotions. Senses begin to stir with a deep, awful growl that boils over my mouth and laps up all stillness. To grasp such a concept, Carla assigning a mission in direct poetic reasoning that it relates to the natural animal cycle. It's disgusting, it's labelling, it's horrific.
Without even thinking, I grab Carla's throat. Watching her eyes go wide as I jump unto the table, leaving her tragic body dangling at my mercy. She begins to choke, but too panicked to consider grabbing unto something.
"Stop it!" Oliver roars, grabbing his mother and shoving her to the side.
Snapped out of my infuriated entrance, my soul-fuelled fire quivers and I observe Carla stumble to regain balance. Oliver comes up to me, my shoulders relax as he offers his hand and sits me back down.
I... just did that...
Huh.
Seeing my surprised face, Oliver turns his mother with a stare of death. "I see what you're doing." He skewers at her, sounding comically similar to his mother seconds before.
"But she doesn't." Carla snaps as if I'm not listening, voice echoing with iciness. "She's gotten stronger, did you see that jump? Can't you see how fascinating it is? She's effective because all threats are responded with instinct, giving an advantage of impulse in every assignment given to her. The Agatha has no control over her emotions, it's purely the neurological response to the idea of insult, challenge to her control."
"Orabelle, isn't an experiment." Oliver hisses defensively, quickly turning into a screeching match. "You came to assign her to a new mission, anything otherwise is irresponsible, mother. I will not allow you to mess her up with your appealing agendas, it's more than irresponsible to purposely trigger this response! You, out of all people, face the disadvantages if her Agatha traits are exposed!"
Dropping a feather would've been louder than the silence that followed, the room regaining its sanity. Oliver squeezes my hand in reassurance, watching as I breathe my anxiety away.
As if our discussion never happened, Carla walks back towards the table, scrolling down the profile. "Jackson's an orphan. Those who are alongside mission with him are mostly friends, they'll be worried when he disappears. Once it is handled, I will send coding electing you the new leader to complete the troop mission."
It's as if nothing ever happened. As if I almost didn't just kill the queen... again. Cause she knew how I'd react, a pawn in her chess game.
I bite my lip, staring at the floor whilst I try to wrap my head around this situation. My head snaps up. "How long can be suspect her to be gone?" Alice says.
"Normally, I'd say around a week? She tends to work quickly!" Carla laughs, arms spread over the table edge as she leans forward.
I walk towards the glass, staring down at the city once again. I sense Oliver not far behind me, but he walks back to the desk. "And what if Jackson admits to his crimes? Does she kill him in that moment?" he queries.
"I think that would be the best option. If she wishes to await some... evidence, beforehand, that's possible." Carla continues, her voice returning to that honey sickening tone from ages ago.
"It's a very small timeframe to make him admit something that'll cost his life. What if he never admits it?" Oliver continues to pester my boss, clearly focusing to the task at hand.
"Orabelle is capable to assess the situation and decide strategies herself, I have no doubt on her abilities. Continuing after the troop mission is optional, but I suggest the isolated and controlled environment ensures a higher chance in having a... clean kill." Carla states, closing the screens whilst doing so.
"Does she have any assistance, people aware of her job, during the assignment?" Oliver asks, not flinching at the acknowledgeable annoyance he brings towards his mother with constant questions.
"She doesn't need any." Carla says.
"She needs someone to stop her going crazy." He says.
"She needs a mission, her instincts." The Queen replies.
"She needs a less insulting boss." Oliver continues, hardly a stranger to putting his mother in her place. Her royal efforts go to nothing without someone to persist them. "I'll go with her."
"Oliver," Carla utters, I can almost hear rolling eyes. "You're the future king, if you're killed?"
"Ora will protect me, she's capable, like you said." Oliver says.
"Oliver is also trained, he'll be fine." Alice says.
Oliver takes a second to process her proposal, I listen to his thought process as his shoe taps on the floor. "I'm assigned as assistance to something unimportant, they'll hardly notice me."
"Fine." Carla says, sensing her son will refuse any other response. Her voice projects towards me. "Your mission is to assist the 464 troop on their journey to rescue hostages, all which are outside the city. Whilst doing so, you must eliminate leader Jackson Eve upon classified criminal charging. Oliver will be assigned your main assistant, which both will have new identities to decrease suspicion. Should you choose to fully accept, all illegal activities for this mission will be excuse in the name of Marx protocol."
It seems so simple, such a regular, innocent mission. Yet, everything about it seems to lead my mind astray. Orabelle, get a grip! This is assassination, this is normal, this is exactly what you're built to do.
Finally turning from the glass, I stare at the three different personalities, each waiting for my own answer. My eyes land on Carla, leading to a bone-chilling smile, emotion drained from character. "Consider it done." I declare, moving swiftly across the room. Oliver follows me into the elevator, knowing Alice would stay with Carla for organising my assignment.
"Oh, and Orabelle?" Carla says, catching me at the last second. "There's a storm tonight, to test if your disguise adapts to it."
That's the thing about Marx, emotions can flicker like a broken light switch. It's a comforting home and the pit of red hell all the same. Perhaps that's just due to my field of work, or possibly my... unique personality. Either way, it's a way of life, it's the ruling of this animal kingdom.
We just keep moving.
______________________________
The second the elevator doors close, my heart is out of my chest. I let a massive breath out, like I hadn't filled my lungs with air in years. I sink to the ground, holding my head.
Oliver looks to me, his face full of both concern and anger. "Are you okay?" He asks. He can see through it all, every piece of acting, capable of unmasking all my bitter core. Sometimes I hate it, but in moments like these, Oliver's comfort is my anchor.
"I hate it when she does that..." I mutter coldly, looking down to the floor as my vision becomes blurry in stress. All the tension in my body releases, shoulders slumping onto the wall, defeated. "Who does she think she is? She always considers me a beast, yet finds pleasure in my behaviour!"
Oliver pulls me into a hug, aware of the last seconds we have until the public eye judges us. I embrace his gentle hands wrap around me in comfort, encouraging my descend into a world of warmth and reassurance. "You're a creature, but that doesn't mean you're anything less than normal, especially when with Carla. Let's just get our new identities, we'll get ready for the storm, I'll talk to mother about her actions."
A beat of silence passes, the almost silent shuttle of the elevator trails with my thoughts. "You didn't have to yell at her... you know." I mumble, grateful for my cousin. "But thank you, thank you for offering to come... and stopping me from killing your mother."
He pulls my head up, a smile tickling his mouth. "I know it's not really you. Anyone could easily see how she baited that, you need help keeping your emotions in check." Oliver says calmingly, but his eyes seem to wonder from planet to planet, as if searching for scenarios in his mind.
I squeeze Oliver's body in thanks just as the elevator door rings, separating as we enter a less deadly Marx domain.
The lower levels of the palace are more open to the public, or the general workers. It's usually a scram of voices and shifting people, each with their own purpose to fulfil. No surprise that I've gotten lost numerous times whilst navigating the claustrophobic halls, but this floor is unavoidable for missions. It's a main assignment source for all supplies, including weapons and fancy inventions.
Within seconds, Oliver and I are across the hall into another hallway, leading us straight to CJ's office. In our case, new identities will decrease levels of suspicion, giving a fresh slate.
Opening the door, I give a genuine wave. CJ always had a passion for make-up and beauty, nothing makes the girl more satisfied than perfection.
Her room had two desks, both with a mirror and leather chairs, the literal reflection of a barber shop. The other half of the room contained various masks, wigs and make-up supplies.
Sometimes I become super girly when entering these booths, prepared to try a cringe look for missions. Every part of the room is placed accordingly, even down to the brush placements within their holders. The wigs are combed through often, every single tool is fully cleansed, I can't ever get over it!
"Goodness! Prince Oliver, Princess Orabelle, excuse me!" the quiet girl meets us with a bow, clearly displaying her softness. Although her twin, Amethyst Caliviano, is a more violently wild story.
Oliver and I politely greet the girl, little eyes peering out from her fringe, a neon blue streak on the side. Within seconds, she has us seated in the chairs and beats pouring through the radio. CJ starts rubbing different chemicals into our pores, matched with an untouched silence in conversation.
Daylight settles in through the glass, each cloud randomised as art whilst the sky dives into a deep blue. I relapse the beauty of it, thoughts of admiration in it scanning through my head.
My attention is snapped away as CJ holds a mask towards me, the skin tone much like mine. On one side lays slides of metal and thin wires. "I picked this one out to suit you the best, place it on your face and it adapts to your skin by activating it with the button near the jawline." She says, handing it over before going to fuss over Oliver.
These masks aren't new, they're specifically designed to transform your facial structure, a crucial step in securing your identity. I don't remember fully if they were revealed as a tool to the public, but it's not like one could tell if they're being practised.
Leaning closer to the cleansed mirror, the cover slips over my skin and grips unto my pores tightly. At first it stings slightly, but cools into a softened firmness once fully adjusted to one's skin. My face is radically transformed, building straight edges from squashy cheeks, sinking in with the skin around my eyes. Even up close, not even a critical soul could deifier I withheld a mask, ever.
Just when I want to turn to Oliver, CJ is behind me again. She faces my chin towards her aggressively, patting down the disguise with absolute caution and precision. Finally meeting my eye, her expression snaps out of concentration, confirmed by an awkward smile.
Before I realise it, CJ has a large blonde wig, placing it in my lap. "What do you think of this one? I've always wanted to see you in blonde, reckon it matches your tones." She says, spraying and pining my hair.
The shining wig feels as soft as a feather in my hands. The golden locks were thinner than the brown mess I'm used to, perfected down to tiny follicles. When CJ finishes my hair, she dances over to Oliver. With hesitation, I place on the refined wig for the final product.
Looking up, I see someone I don't even recognise, yet it's me.
Obviously, what else are you going to expect, Orabelle. I'll get used to it. This is me for the next week, whether I like it or not.
It's then I finally turn to Oliver, almost gasping at his finalised appearance, until I'm freed into a fit of laughter. The blonde model now had a modern, slick and dark hairstyle. His jawline less eye-catching and freckles on his nose.
When he's finally bothered to glance into the mirror, the typically-golden boy absorbs his new stereotypically rebel style. "Goodness! I didn't want to be a rebel boy! I'm pathetic at that!" He laughs, throwing the closest item when I erupt into giggles.
We stand in preparation to leave, CJ fastening the edges of the wigs. "Now, listen! Both the wig and masks are waterproof, can last up to a year without removing them as well. Her majesty asked me to get the names of your disguises."
"Sean, Sean Legend." Oliver answered, sounding confident. "I can see it in lights now, Sean Legend! Give me a black suit, I'll be the world's greatest gothic!"
Still recognising myself in the disguise, the mirror suddenly seems so out of place. The feelings creep up my spine, although I'm not quite sure if it's positive. This appearance seems so soft, like a little girl still in school.
The name spat out of my mouth like fate destined for it, although I think its mainly their waiting silence for my disguise name. "Eadlyin, Eadlyin Foster." I say, recalling the maiden name of my mother.
It feels good to be a new person, although I know it's temporary. I suppose it's just the concept of transforming into another person, Eadlyin. I can do anything whilst her, make her personality spontaneous, do things Orabelle wouldn't. Eadlyin Foster is mine.
CJ scribbles down the names before gesturing us out, no problem avoiding eye contact with anyone passing through the hallways. Oliver signals for an elevator, my dark and cold apartment calling both of us upstairs. I wait patiently on the hall, the feeling of subconscious change bothering me as my mind attempts to navigate it.
Oliver gestures towards the opening doors, I take after him. It doesn't matter what they think about this stranger walking the Marx, this mission is my focus now.
Jackson Eve, a man of great mystery, is my focus now.