She hardly got recon missions. Those were slow, and hardly eventful. She was grateful, since she was so freaking sore from training the past couple weeks. Training had gotten more intensive, and she was glad she came back to a recon mission. She could infiltrate, and she could take people out, but she refused to kill. She refused to come back home to whispers of guilt and wake up to eyes of a killer in the morning.

As she dashed from rooftop to rooftop, she slipped her goggles on, switching the mode to night vision instantly.

She jumped from the roof, the wind like a caress. She landed softly, about as obvious as the night breeze tickling the bush leaves. Squinting slightly, she adjusted her goggles, zooming in on the scene with a binocular function.

Aside from the size, the Davenport household was like any other: mom cooking something, four kids gathered around a table, and a busybody dad no where to be found. They were laughing, smiling. Tory felt a pang in her gut, and it definitely wasn't from the sight of that chicken alfredo.

Tearing her eyes from the scene, she grabbed a black cylinder from her belt. It snapped open into a clean ninety degree angle, veins light blue leaving a trail from the barrel to the handgrip before fading to a clean black. It was for flare, she supposed. the grappling hook grabbed the side of a streetlight, and she used it to bound from roof to roof.

Once she got out of the rich people district, she exhaled a sigh of relief, but she had no idea what for. She didn't know any of them, not personally. She read the reports and she analyzed the people, but . . .

She shook her head, coming to a stop at her front door. She took a deep breath before stopping herself. Who the heck gets nervous at the sight of their front door? Her hand was inches from the knob before it swung open, revealing her brother.

"Hey sis! You're late," he opened the door wider, stepping aside to let her in. He was already in briefs and a tee. "You should probably shower and change. Dad made hot cocoa for debriefing."

Tory nodded, yawning. "Yeah, okay. Whatever."

Marcus wasn't really her brother, and she knew that. He adopted, and so was she. She was picked up at the age of five. She didn't really remember much, even though that was only ten years ago. She remember a car crash, a fire, a few days at an orphanage, and an adoptive father. Several months later, along came Marcus, who was her age, and was in on the thing.

The thing wasn't a huge deal. Her dad had a huge beef with another guy, who happened to be world-famous inventor, blah blah blah. And it was an excuse for her to exercise some mild form of juvenile delinquency, so why not? A frown crossed her mind and a shadow flitted across her face as she thought of the infiltration missions, then shook her head. That wasn't important.

Her dad was in the kitchen. He was an eccentric guy, and really supportive of all the things Tory and Marcus decided to pursue in school. Unless it was the unholy trifecta: drugs, sex, and alcohol. Then ooh boy, things got intense.

Douglas Henderson was leaning against the kitchen counter, and eyebrow raised and a playful smirk on his lips.

"Aw, c'mon Tory! Your cocoa's almost cold!"

Tory rolled her eyes, black hair spraying droplets as she spun around grab the mug, setting the microwave to a minute. "These things exist for a reason you know."

But she was smiling anyway.

It was decided: she and Marcus would be attending school to keep an eye on their marks: Adam, Bree, and Chase.

So yeah, pretty short, but when we start hitting the episodes, stuff will go from zero to a thousand REAL quick.

I know I've kind of made it clear that morally, Tory is kind of ambiguous, and it'll become obvious why later.

So thanks for reading, and I'd love it if you guys left a review! :D