Monroe barely glances up from the leather-bound book he's placing on his new desk, his fingers brushing across the cover with an almost reverent touch. His office is meticulously organized, yet stripped of anything personal save for a few carefully chosen items—a framed degree, a small marble sculpture, a silver clock ticking quietly on the shelf behind him. There's an air of calm efficiency to him, an almost clinical detachment that contrasts starkly with the tension in Miller's voice.
Miller stands in the doorway, fists clenched, a scowl fixed on his face as he glares at Monroe. "The hell are you doing here?"
Monroe finally turns to him, his expression neutral, eyes cool and assessing. "Last I checked, I was just appointed director. Is there a problem with me moving into my own office?" His voice is smooth, polite, but there's an unmistakable edge, a hint of satisfaction that seems to needle Miller even further.
Miller's jaw tightens. "We both know you don't belong here, Monroe. Steele's death—" he stops, taking a step forward, his voice lowering. "Steele's death was a disaster, and now you're here to pick up the pieces? Do you have any idea what's at stake?"
Monroe raises an eyebrow, folding his arms as he regards Miller with a calm, almost clinical gaze. "I have every idea, Miller. In fact, I understand it better than you do. Which is precisely why they put me here, to fix the mess you and Steele created. Your 'oversights' left us vulnerable. Perhaps you didn't realize it, but this department needs someone with a clear, strategic mind—someone who isn't… easily swayed by personal grudges."
Miller's eyes flash with anger. "Is that what you think? That I'm compromised?" He steps closer, his voice barely above a growl. "I know what's happening out there, Monroe. I know more than you could ever understand. And appointing you as director won't fix the damage Steele's death left behind."
Monroe's face doesn't change, but there's a faint glint of amusement in his eyes, like he's indulging Miller's outburst. "Funny, you don't look as though you're grieving Steele's loss all that much, Miller. Perhaps it's because you're angry someone else got his chair."
Miller's fists clench tighter, his knuckles white. "This isn't about a damn chair, Monroe. You're playing with forces you don't understand. We have a real threat on our hands, something Steele was prepared to handle—someone you're woefully unprepared for."
Monroe's mouth curves in a faint, mocking smile. "Oh, I know exactly who you're talking about. V, correct? Steele's little obsession, the young 'prodigy' he thought could bring down the whole structure." He leans forward, his tone dropping to a soft murmur. "Let me be clear, Miller. V may have caused some… unfortunate disturbances, but he's nothing I can't handle. In fact, you could say he's exactly the kind of mind I'm interested in studying."
Miller's face contorts, a mix of anger and barely contained disbelief. "Studying?" He spits the word like it's poison. "You think V's some specimen to poke and prod? He's dangerous, Monroe, a threat that needs to be neutralized before he brings down everything we've worked for."
"Neutralized?" Monroe tilts his head, looking almost disappointed. "Such a crude approach, Miller. Steele's methods were messy, inefficient. I prefer to work with precision. V may be a threat, yes, but he's also a unique asset. If you understood that—if you understood how to manage him—perhaps you'd be in my position now."
Miller takes a step back, his face hardening, eyes narrowing. "Just remember, Monroe—there's a reason Steele and I ran this department while you were sitting behind a desk pushing paperwork. V is beyond control, and you don't know what you're up against. But go ahead. Play your little game, see how far it gets you. Just don't come crying to me when it all blows up in your face."
Monroe watches him with a cool, detached gaze, as if Miller is nothing more than a passing irritation. "Don't worry, Miller," he says calmly. "I'm perfectly capable of handling V. I'm not here to make friends or appease old grudges. I'm here to bring order—and, frankly, I don't care if that offends you."
With a dismissive nod, Monroe turns his back on Miller, returning to his belongings, the conversation clearly over. Miller glares at him for a long moment, the tension thick in the air, before he turns and stalks out of the office. But as he leaves, one thought echoes in his mind: Monroe may think he's in control, but he has no idea what he's just walked into. And when V makes his next move, Miller knows it'll be Monroe's turn to face the storm.
V is hunched over a file in his cramped office, half-listening to the hum of the air conditioner overhead, when the door swings open with a quiet creak. He glances up, more out of habit than interest, only to see a tall, lean figure silhouetted in the doorway—Dr. Monroe. The new Director's presence fills the small space, an unsettling calm in his posture and the faintest smile on his lips.
"V," Monroe begins smoothly, stepping into the office without waiting for an invitation. "I've been looking forward to meeting you. I'm Dr. Monroe, the newly appointed Director." His tone is measured, his voice a velvet blend of authority and familiarity, as if they're old friends rather than strangers on opposing sides of a hidden war.
V straightens, assessing Monroe with a neutral expression. He's heard enough about Monroe from Miller's heated complaints and Steele's old files, but seeing the man up close is different. Monroe has a disarming presence, a strange combination of precision and warmth, yet V senses something darker beneath his polished exterior.
Monroe glances around the cramped office with a faint frown, his gaze flickering from the narrow desk to the stacks of files cluttering the shelves. "This hardly seems fitting for someone of your… abilities," he says, his tone polite yet pointed. "Which is why I'm here to offer you a new role—a chance to work alongside me directly as the Vice Director's assistant."
V raises an eyebrow, hiding his surprise behind a mask of indifference. "And why would the Director need me as his assistant?"
Monroe chuckles softly, folding his hands in front of him as he leans against the doorframe. "Because you're no ordinary asset, V. I'm well aware of your… unique skill set. Your intellect, your adaptability. I think we both know you're capable of much more than these routine tasks they've had you doing. It's time for you to put that mind to better use—right at the center of our operations."
V studies Monroe, weighing the offer against the hidden motives he knows must be lurking behind it. Monroe isn't offering him a promotion out of goodwill; there's a deeper game here, one V suspects Monroe is eager to play.
"And in return?" V asks carefully, his tone unreadable.
Monroe's smile widens, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "In return, you'll have a bigger office—far more space to work. And, of course, you'd retain Scarlett as your assistant. She's proven to be an asset to you, has she not?"
V nods slowly, his mind racing through the implications. Monroe is pulling him closer, drawing him into his circle, either to keep a closer eye on him or perhaps… to use him. But V can play that game too. If Monroe thinks he can control him, he's gravely mistaken.
Monroe steps forward, lowering his voice as if confiding a secret. "You're a rare talent, V. A mind like yours doesn't come around often, and I'd like to see it put to better use—under proper guidance, of course."
V allows a faint smile, his gaze steady. "And if I were to refuse?"
Monroe's expression doesn't waver, but his eyes sharpen slightly. "I doubt you will, V. You're too intelligent to waste an opportunity like this. Besides, if you want real freedom—real power over your own future—you'll find it at my side."
V lets a beat of silence pass, then nods. "Very well. I accept."
"Excellent," Monroe replies, satisfied. "I'll have everything arranged. Your new office will be ready by tomorrow."
As Monroe turns to leave, V watches him closely, filing away every detail of the exchange. Monroe might believe he's drawing V into his inner circle, bending him to his will. But V knows differently. He's stepping into Monroe's game, true, but he's doing so on his own terms, with his own agenda lurking beneath the surface.
Because Monroe may think he's in control—but V knows the true power lies in the shadows. And he's already preparing his next move.
V lifts the office phone, dialing the extension he's memorized for months, the one that leads directly to Scarlett's desk. He could easily step outside his office—she's only a few feet away—but today, a sense of subtle theatrics feels appropriate. After all, he's still adjusting to this new role, this polished corner office that feels so unlike him, and Monroe's shadow looms over everything. Perhaps this is his small rebellion.
The phone rings once, then twice, before Scarlett picks up. "Scarlett here," she says, her voice cool and professional, with just a hint of amusement as though she already knows it's him.
"Scarlett," V says smoothly, leaning back in his chair. "Could you come in for a moment? There are a few… adjustments I need you to make to some of these files."
There's a brief pause, and V can almost picture the slight arch of her brow, the wry smile tugging at her lips. "I'm right outside, you know," she replies, her tone laced with a subtle mix of curiosity and amusement.
He smirks, glancing toward the closed door, knowing she's just a few steps away. "Yes, but I prefer you come in at my request. Consider it a… formality of our new arrangement."
There's a soft sigh, one of resignation, but he can sense the intrigue in it as well. "Fine. I'll be right in."
Moments later, Scarlett appears in the doorway, closing the distance to his desk with a fluid stride. She studies him with a faint, knowing look, one that borders on playfulness yet holds a trace of wariness. "Formality, you said?"
V nods, gesturing to a stack of files on his desk. "New files, all courtesy of Monroe. I want you to scan through these and pull anything that mentions Steele, especially if it's tied to specific dates or classified meetings. Monroe may be underestimating what we remember of the past."
She gives a slow nod, taking the files, her gaze never leaving his. "Digging a bit deeper than he'd expect?"
"Only as much as necessary." He leans forward, lowering his voice. "This office, this 'promotion'—it's just his way of keeping me close. But he doesn't realize that the more he shares, the more control he loses."
Scarlett's lips curve into a faint smile, her eyes glinting with understanding. "You think he's trying to control you?"
"I know he is," V replies calmly. "But that means he's also giving me a vantage point into his world, his strategies, his weaknesses. And when the time is right…" He trails off, letting the unspoken words hang in the air.
Scarlett holds his gaze for a moment, then nods, a quiet resolve in her eyes. "Understood. I'll start combing through these and see what I find."
He leans back, watching her turn to leave, but something stops him. "Scarlett," he says, his tone softer now. "This game Monroe's playing—stay alert. He doesn't strike me as the type to make mistakes twice."
She pauses, glancing back over her shoulder. "Neither are you, V. And that's why he should be the one worrying."
With a faint smile, she slips out of the office, leaving V in silence, the phone still humming on his desk.
As the door clicks shut behind Scarlett, V sinks further into his chair, his mind already weaving through the threads of Monroe's scheme. The files on his desk feel like a taunt—a calculated release of information Monroe assumed would intrigue, maybe even trap him. But V knew better; he'd sift through every page, every hidden detail, looking not only for answers but for gaps in Monroe's carefully constructed story.
He lifts the top file, scanning the names, dates, and operations mentioned within, the dull ache from his time in captivity creeping into his thoughts. His fingers trace the edge of a page, stopping as they catch on something odd—a single, handwritten note in the margin, initials scrawled in the sharp, almost angry script of Steele himself. It reads: "M. holds the knife."
V stares at the words, his mind racing. M. holds the knife. It could mean any number of things. Monroe? Miller? Both of them had knives at each other's backs for years, but Steele's hand didn't leave careless messages. This was a warning, a breadcrumb, leading to the last pieces of Steele's final plan. If it was Monroe, then V's suspicions were justified; if it was Miller, then Monroe's very arrival might have been orchestrated by forces even he hadn't anticipated.
A knock on the door pulls him from his thoughts. Before he can respond, Scarlett steps back in, holding a slim, unmarked file with a cryptic expression on her face.
"Found something?" he asks, already knowing she wouldn't be back so soon if it were trivial.
She nods, closing the door behind her. "In one of the Steele files. There's a directive—a document that shouldn't exist." She hands him the file, her eyes dark. "It's an agreement. Something Steele put in place with Monroe years ago. A safeguard, in case… well, in case of a transfer of power."
V's eyes narrow as he reads, his pulse quickening. The document outlines Steele's plan in meticulous detail: Monroe would take his place if Steele's life were ever in jeopardy, with explicit instructions to monitor and, if necessary, "contain" anyone deemed a threat to Steele's legacy. It's not until V reaches the end that he finds his own name—highlighted as a potential asset or threat, depending on "evaluation of loyalty."
"So he saw me as a contingency," V murmurs, more to himself than to Scarlett. "Either I'm an asset to be used, or a liability to be erased. And now Monroe is here to decide which."
Scarlett studies him, her expression carefully neutral. "Monroe doesn't strike me as someone who leaves loose ends. He'll test you, see where your true allegiances lie. And if he suspects…"
V closes the file, a sense of cold resolve settling over him. "Then we'll make him suspect what we want him to."
Scarlett tilts her head, intrigued. "A counter-play?"
"Exactly." V leans forward, his voice low. "Monroe thinks he has the upper hand, that he's inherited Steele's leverage over everyone in this department. But Steele didn't know everything—and neither does Monroe. We'll give him just enough to believe he's in control while we dismantle his game piece by piece."
Scarlett nods slowly, her gaze sharpening with understanding. "And if he realizes we're playing him?"
"Then he'll have no choice but to react, to reveal his own strategy." V's eyes darken, a dangerous edge in his voice. "This is no longer just a test of loyalty. It's survival, Scarlett. If Monroe wants to keep me under his thumb, he'll have to do far better than vague threats and empty promotions."
Scarlett meets his gaze, her expression hardening. "Then let's start feeding him exactly what he wants to see. Make him believe you're falling in line."
A faint smile tugs at V's lips. "Let the games begin."
I sat at my desk, fingers poised over the keyboard, scanning Monroe's notes from the board meeting. He hadn't wanted me there—no surprise. Monroe liked to keep me on the periphery, close enough to observe, but just out of reach when it mattered. But I didn't need to be present to know what went down. I could practically feel the tension from here, in the notes, in the protocols. Everything Monroe touched reeked of control.
Scarlett's words echoed in my head: "Subverting an entire system from within." She had no idea how right she was. She knew some of my tactics, enough to piece together that I wasn't just some loyal assistant. She'd caught glimpses of my darker side, but I'd made sure to keep the worst of it hidden. Let her imagine the rest—it kept her intrigued and careful, both of which served me.
A moment later, Scarlett walked into my office, as calm and collected as ever, though her eyes shone with that sharp curiosity I'd come to expect. She handed me a file and quirked an eyebrow. "Everything go as planned?"
I allowed myself a faint smile. "Monroe is a little too confident in his control. He thinks putting me in his sights is enough to keep me in line."
She smirked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. "It's almost funny how predictable he is. He thinks he's ten steps ahead, but really, he can't see what's right in front of him."
My smile faded, replaced with something colder. "That's why he's dangerous. He's not like the others. Monroe understands just enough about Steele's vision to know I'm capable of more than he wants to believe—but he still thinks he can manage me."