Dying was NOT on today's to-do list.
We were supposed to rescue a bunch of slaves to capitalism—also known as employees—working at McGorrigan's Event Planners Company. Their building had supposedly been taken hostage by rebels from an anti-Mainland government group, so, as always, LIST received a notice of criminal activity (we may or may not have connections with the Mainland police) and sent us, LIST Unit 5 to extract the workers and capture the rebels.
If you ask me, I would rather have those rascals run amok since the Mainland did deserve to meet a violent reckoning for all the injustice they have done, BUT NOOOO, as a member of an organization dedicated to protecting innocent lives, I had no choice but to rush to a building containing a bomb that would literally send everyone straight to Retriever like I was running to a luxurious house made of cotton candy and ice cream to have a sweet vacation.
Protecting lives. Damn mantra. I just know that someday, those two words would get us in trouble. What I did not know was that day was today.
Again, we were supposed to be the heroes. The cool, awesome band of adolescents that swoops in and saves the day because they're just that great. We were supposed to bask in the praises of the people and the glory of our success for a few seconds before we immobilize the rebels, tie them up, and haul their criminal asses into jail.
Instead, I now find myself alone running through the levels of McGorrigan's Event Planners Company. Running from the supposed innocents that we were supposed to save while they carried firearms and all I had was a deck of trump cards and a pistol holstered at my waist. Plus a team that has already retreated. Great! Just another Thursday for a LIST agent.
You might be wondering, "What's happening here, Chance? Why are you eluding the people that you went to rescue?" Good question. Well, let me track back for you.
When McGorrigan's supposedly got overtaken by the rebels, they pressed the emergency police alarm against bombers. Since we have access to the Mainland police network, LIST was also notified of the criminal activity.
We, the LIST Unit 5, based under O.R. 4, was the first to respond, therefore we were handed the job. Truth be told, I was busy enjoying my daily 8 AM milk and cereal in our unit's common room until the loudspeakers started wailing like a stupid little kid that tried touching the fire of their hearth and then unironically cried because it burnt. With a heavy heart, I parted with my beloved breakfast, rushed to put on my gear, and hastily made my way to Deployment.
When I got there, Captain Stupid was already rounding up the team. The entire unit was lined up before him. And by the entire unit, I mean four people, in total. Five if you count me in. And six if you add the captain. Apparently, I was the last to arrive.
"Glad you decided to join us, Delaruse," he remarked, looking at me like I should feel guilty for being seconds behind the rest of the team.
Captain Stupid. Silver Trowan-James
Captain Stupid was basically a 19-year-old in an adult bodybuilder's... well, body. His physique made no sense for someone his age—that's why I call him stupid. Aside from the fact that he always picked on me, of course.
He was an olive-skinned, towering six feet and three inches with biceps half the size of his head, so you can already imagine how muscular he was. His clothes always looked like they'll pop and rip at every minor movement.
Sat atop his head was dark brown hair that was messy yet still somehow attractive, and nestled beneath his thin, sharply groomed eyebrows were striking blue eyes that were uncharacteristically warm and gentle rather than unnerving.
His nose was pointed and just appropriately proportionate to his build, and his light pink lips formed a steady line just above his slightly stubbled chin. I couldn't tell if that was a good or bad not-happy smile.
Encasing all of those features was a jaw that was as square and strong as a teenager could possibly have.
I know what you're thinking. He's perfect. His cheekbones were set high but his cheeks were hollowed, as if he's never had a puffy face day even as a child. However, disturbing all that perfection was a scar, starting from below the center of his right eye, then moving diagonally to the direction of the upper end of his right ear. It spanned about five centimeters.
He has never told anyone where that was from—to my knowledge, at least—but I felt glad knowing that even he had an imperfection, appearance-wise. Otherwise, he would have looked too flawless and intimidating for my comfort. Though, honestly, there are days when the scar makes him look roguish, thus further adding to his "manly" appeal.
I peeled my eyes away from his stupid face and fell in line.
"Well, I wasn't exactly getting my beauty sleep. I came running here just like all of you. It's not my fault I happened to be farther away from Deployment," I rolled my eyes at him. As you can see, I obviously have a wonderful relationship with our team leader. "Captain Stupid," I added in a silent whisper.
But maybe I was not as silent as I thought because his head immediately flew to my direction as if someone had violently slapped him across the face. I swear he moved so fast that that thick neck of his could have snapped.
"What did you just call me?" he asked although I had a feeling that he already knew the answer and was just asking me for confirmation. Still, I could never resist talking back to a figure of authority.
I was about to retort when a steady female voice cut me off.
"Save your lectures for later, Silv. We've got rebels and a bomb to deal with. I can't handle all your moaning this early in the day."
I held my breath and bit my tongue. That was the one figure of authority even I would not dare talk back to in this situation. Her… abilities scare me.
Vice-Captain Avec Lewis. She frightens me, but I like her better than Captain Stupid. The two of them have been best friends even during their pre-LIST days, although I've always wondered if that was true since Captain Stupid seemed like he always had a stick up his ass while Vice-Captain Lewis just looked apathetic, cold, and intimidating. (Her clapbacks are almost alwways hilarious though.) I feel like this kind of pairing should result more in bloody brawls rather than a long-lasting friendship. It's weird.
Vice-Captain has long, straight, jet black hair darker than squid ink. She had the body and face of someone who would have ruled as the dark-skinned queen bee of a high school with an outdated caste system, but minus the pretentious bubbly facial expressions, and plus lean muscles toned from training and field experience.
She had perfectly arched eyebrows, average-length eyelashes, deep, black eyes that complements her hair, a small pointed nose, and thin lips shut into an authoritative line.
Unlike her gigantic best friend, she only stood at about five feet and nine inches—beating me by an inch—but her posture and her aura made her seem like she was ten inches taller than she should be, like a giant not to be trifled with.
Her jawline was sharp, but her gaze was sharper—so sharp that even Captain Stupid could not argue with her when she gets serious. "You're right," he said.
"I always am," she said confidently. No—she stated it like it was a fact.
He gave me his I'll-have-a-word-with-you-later look before scanning the rest of the team. "I'll brief everyone on the way. The van is ready. Let's move."
One by one, we stepped into the van and settled in our seats. The van was a black incognito vehicle with a thin, black carpeting, and a sliding partition that separated the driver's seat and the shotgun seat from the passengers. However, unlike other vans, the passengers' seats were arranged in two vertical lines parallel to the doors. There were four seats on both sides, and a glass center table.
At the back of the van, half a meter away from the seats, were shelves stacked with weapons ranging from a few swords and daggers to guns and ammunition to bombs, and to all sorts of useful gadgets. Quite literally a mini weapon storage.
Yes, the butt of the van cannot be pried open. It only seems normal from the façade visible outside. And yes, no pets or children allowed, except young LIST agents like us who are, ironically, children—adolescents, to be precise.
"So, what's our game plan, Cap?" asked the girl to my right.
Valentina Bridges. She's my senior by a year. A petite 17-year-old girl from O.R. III that can play both offense and defense. She is a key member of our unit due to her capability for guerrilla tactics.
She had shoulder-level auburn hair with chopped bangs and a semi up-do clipped with a pretty butterfly hair clip encrusted with what looked like red amber. She also had a widow's peak, which made her face shaped like a heart.
She had sage green eyes that were so full of life and excitement despite the fact that we were riding I-don't-know-how-many-kilometers-per-hour to a building filled with event planners that were facing an impending explosion, and probably death. (Perhaps they should be planning their own funerals. Kidding! Well... not really.) She also had light freckles across her face, which paired well with her white skin.
Her nose was small but pointed, she had a beauty mark beside the right end of her right eye, and she wore a congenial smile that you would only see in a kindergartner on the first day of school before they realize how horrible the place actually is. Not that I'd personally know, of course.
Anyway, she looked exquisite. As "exquisite" as you can be while wearing full battle gear. She had a bulletproof vest with "LIST" printed in big, white, bold letters, a dagger, and a pistol both holstered at the sides of her waist. If I were straight, I would have totally started crushing on her the first day I got drafted into Unit 5.
"Game plan?" A male voice to my right drawled, dragging the "-an" as if he found it lame that we needed a strategy. I couldn't help but allow the slight tugging at the side of my mouth pull my lips into a genuine smile. "Let's just smash through the doors and kick their asses!"
I gave him the are-you-actually-serious-right-now look that he knew all too well, but he didn't even get the chance to notice me before another male voice spoke.
"A truly masterful plan, Chase," he said, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Except we still have no clue what or who we're dealing with."
"Must you always be a party pooper, Chandler? We have been on standby for three days," he paused, flashing three fingers at the face of his twin. "Three days! Can you believe it? And now that we've been given a mission, you act like a killjoy."
I wondered if I even wanted to know why he was even complaining about having three days of rest. Most of the time, asking him anything would make you so confused that you would wish you could travel back to ten seconds before you even talked to him.
But I was used to it. We were the 3Cs after all: Chase, Chance, Chandler. The fight-obsessed goofball, the wild card, and the sensible backbone of the trio.
Chase and Chandler Yllon were both 17 years old, a year older than me, like Valentina.
They were completely identical except for their beauty marks. Chase had one on his chin, just a few centimeters below the right corner of his mouth, whereas, Chandler's was beside the point where the bottom end of his right ear meets his right cheek.
They both had pale skin and short but thick, sandy hair, tousled like the captain's—although Chandler's seemed combed while Chase's was more untamed. They had neat, bushy, upturned eyebrows, startling brown eyes like a lion's, prominent noses, and pointy elfish ears.
Their lips were mischievous, but Chandler's was more subtle, like that of a sly fox waiting for the chance to pull a trick, while his twin had the goofy smile of an obvious prankster who would still be surprised that you figured out his scheme even after he leaving a blatant trail of evidence.
I shook my head at their antics before giving the man in front of me the stinky eye. "I guess that's your cue, Captain Stu—I mean, captain."
I stopped myself at captain. Sorry, but his surname was just too long. Too many syllables. Three, to be accurate.
Sitting across me, Valentina, and the twins, were Captain Stupid and Vice-Captain Lewis—one seat apart. I internally grimaced. Literally how are they best friends?
"Right. Well, there's been criminal activity in the Mainland," he said.
"Shocking," Vice-Captain quipped.
"Wonders never cease," Chase added.
And I unleashed a throaty laugh before I could stop myself. If you don't know how that sounds, try scoffing and laughing at the same time.
Captain decided that it was best to ignore us if he ever wanted to get us briefed before we arrived at wherever we were going.
"Where are we going?" I asked, voicing my thoughts aloud.
"McGorrigan's Event Planners Company," re replied. I wonder how he said that so fast in one breath.
"Rebels took the entire place hostage. They're demanding audience with the Mainland president."
He pressed a button at the side of the table and swiped his hand upward in the air. Then, from the glass, rectangular center table, rose a holographic map of the Mainland with two dots: one is red, blinking but stationary; the other was green, moving, but blinking as well.
Red: McGorrigan's, I thought. The party people. And green: us—the vehicle, at least. Precise geolocation, nice.
But something felt weird in my gut. As if my intestines were getting twisted. Something felt wrong.
"A bomb has been planted in the basement. Big enough to cause the building to crumble, apparently," he looked away from the map and redirected his gaze at us.
"Our mission," he said, pinching the blinking red dot on the map, then slowly opening his hand. The holographic image zoomed in on the company building. "Extract the employees, defuse the bomb, immobilize and capture the rebels, and hand their asses to the police. Then get out."
"In that order?" Valentina queried.
"Ideally, yes," replied Captain Stupid.
"Question," Chandler said, raising his hand. "Isn't LIST supposed to be like a secret organization because—you know—worshipping spirits are banned. Wouldn't approaching the police while wearing LIST gear defeat the purpose of being secret?"
"I've got that covered," Vice-Captain Lewis curtly said. "To them, we'll just be fellow policemen who simply arrived a little earlier than them."
Chandler was silent for a moment, processing her words. When it finally clicked, he simply nodded, "I see."
"But we're LIST agents," Chase whispered to his brother, clearly unable to follow.
For a second, I met the eyes of the more sensible one, "Chase," he whispered back. "Just follow Avec's lead. That way, you will look like a cool actor."
Chase gasped; in obvious fascination of the idea. "I would look great as an actor. I'm hot, I'm smart, I'm funny. Sold. Okay."
I have no words. Except—a simpleton.
Looking at the map, we were nearly at McGorrigan's. "So how do we proceed?" I asked.
"Well, I'm glad you asked, because, first," said Captain Stupid as he zoomed in on one of the building doors. "You," he was looking directly at me, so I felt the dumb need to also point at myself. "Yes, you. You will rain on their parade. A distraction right at the front door."
He paused for a few seconds as we began a staring competition. "What did you pull today?" he asked.
I swallowed a nonexistent lump in my throat. Then my stomach felt more twisted. Perhaps that was why.
I pulled a bad card.
"It's fine. I'll manage," I lied, avoided the question, and Captain Stupid was certainly not convinced. I guess he is captain for a reason.
"If you say so," he shifted his attention to the holographic building and rotated it.
"Chance will enter from the Southern entrance, but before he does, we will split up. Valentina, Chase, you two come with me to the northern flank. Once Chance gathers all the attention he could get, we will charge through. Valentina, cast a drowsiness spell on the ground floor, and a mirage blanket on the perimeter to prevent outsiders from noticing any activity."
He paused for a second to look at her and asked if she could cover that much ground. She simply nodded with an audible "Positive."
"Excellent," captain resumed. "Chase, you take point with a wide, long-range echo when Chance gives the green light. I'll take care of strays."
Captain tore his eyes from the map to look at us, silently asking if we could follow. We nodded affirmatively. Even Chase looked serious, although that might be due to another reason.
"Alright," Captain said, once again rotating the map, "Chandler, you go with Avec. The nearest access point to the basement is here, in the Western side. First left down the hallway. You'll see a door that will lead you to a stairwell."
Once again, he made brief eye contact with the team, as if silently telling us to steel our nerves or get the hell out.
"Valentina's drowsiness spell will focus on the ground floor to maintain effectiveness. Can you handle the rest of the levels, Av? Just dull their hearing and make them confused."
Captain spared a glance to his side where the Vice-Captain sat. She simply gave him a silent nod.
"Chandler, you disrupt their communications and defuse the bomb once you locate it. Avec will deal with guards on the way down. Is that understood?"
Chandler shared a momentary stare with his twin before nodding, "Yes. I'll disrupt their communications so the rebels on the ground floor can't contact the ones above. Chicken." He drew a shaky breath, as if he was trying to convince himself.
"Don't worry," captain said softly, "You'll be back with your twin before you know it."
Chandler took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled. "Right," he looked at his twin, "Be safe now."
"Ya think those puny rebels can beat me? No, no, no. First, they would have to dethrone the president, give the high priest a wedgie, and find Animus. Then, maybe they would have a teeny-tiny chance of beating me," Chase smiled reassuringly. "I'll take them down with one roar."
The thing about the twins is, they're not used to being separated. It was like they slowly die from the inside when they're apart. They quite literally cannot stand it. Once, they passed out simultaneously from two different places. We almost died carrying them mid-battle.
"See? No problem at all," Captain Stupid smiled.
I can't believe I stringed those three words into a sentence. The words 'smile' and 'captain' just have never had any correlation in my time in Unit 5. Times like these, I start thinking, maybe Captain Stupid isn't as bad as I think.
"Once the bomb is defused, you two will rendezvous with us at the ground floor. By then, hopefully, we have already immobilized and prepared the rebels for transfer to police custody. When they are transferred, we get out and return to HQ. I'll handle the report." Captain zoomed out of the building and turned off the hologram.
"Okay, rapid fire," he said before calling us one by one. "Recap. Valentina?"
She nodded, "Northern flank, drowsiness spell on the ground floor, mirage blanket on the perimeter."
"Chase?"
Chase perked up. "Northern flank, take point, wide, long-range echo, ground floor."
"Avec?"
A very calm, composed, Vice-Captain replied, "Western entrance, cause dulled hearing and confusion on levels above ground floor, take care of basement security, escort Chandler in and out."
"Chandler?"
"Yes," he said. "Western entrance, disrupt comms, defuse bomb, in and out."
"Chance?"
"Southern entrance, distraction, suicide mission," I replied grimly.
Finally, Vice-Captain asked, "Silver?"
"Northern flank, strays."
He looked around one last time. "We're ready," he announced. "Let's do this."
We finished just as we reached our destination.
The partition slid open, revealing a human driver (I honestly thought they would be an android or something). "We have arrived at McGorrigan's," he said.
Chase whooped in excitement, and I should be excited too, since the idea of death and danger usually thrills me. That is, except when I could also cause the death of my friends.
Involuntarily, my hand reached for my holstered deck of trump cards.
Earlier today, I drew a 2 of spades.
My stomach twisted even more, if that was possible. And I felt like I was gonna be sick.