Welcome to Secret Agent's Wanted II: Rise of the Moderators! Let's skip the opening Author's Note part and skip right to the good stuff!
Takes place two months after the end of Secret Agents Wanted.
I do not own Club Penguin.
Special Agent, Captain Jezzie Swan stood at attention before the huge mission control flat screen, tinted green from the unnecessary use of night vision. Clicking on the keyboard on her hand-held remote, she switched views, changing from the over zealous rookie who wrongly thought that twilight was a suitable place for night vision to the captain of the operation, who had barely any sensory enhancers turned on, giving her an uncluttered view of the Tactical Team's target—the newly installed Recycling and Energy Plant. The huge green building was completely empty from the outside, the only movement the drift of loose snow, carried by the wind.
"Adlib," Jezzie said into her ear comm. link, "Report."
"Surely, Bright-Eyes," Captain Adam Libson drawled into his comm., all smooth, Southern-accented charm. "I've got a whole lot of nothin'; dust and snow. What have you got over there in the HQ?"
Jezzie rolled her eyes and snorted. "Nothing interesting, Libby. You know that."
He chuckled for a moment, at the worst kept secret in the EPF: He absolutely hated the blandness of the HQ, and craved the excitement of being a field agent, even if it was full of waiting and watching missions, like what he was doing now: keeping an eye out for Moderators. Every agent who had ever met the large young man knew this secret almost from the first heavily accented word.
Jezzie heard him click off of the public comm. channel and into her personal number. "Hey, have you seen Kat around? Did she mention me?" he asked in a small, shy whisper, afraid to let his team hear him.
"No, Libby. I haven't seen Kat." Jezzie couldn't help but smile. She had, in fact, seen Kat that day, but she knew that once Libby caught wind of that information, he would dump the mission on his second-in-command and run his hardest over to the HQ in search of the chestnut-haired tech expert.
And right now he couldn't be spared.
Libby was the best there was in the Tactical Division, although not originally in the PSA. He had been recruited after the PSA had ended and the EPF had announced its intention to bring in some new blood into the system. A massive, Island-wide message was sent out to existing agents to please choose anyone they believed a good asset for consideration. A rumor floating around the EPF Training Room was that over thirty separate people had sent in Libby's name. He was a true powerhouse—over six feet tall, well-built and with hand-eye coordination that was unparalleled. It always floored Jezzie to consider that all of this had been wasted while Libby was working on a construction crew on the Ski Hill.
Jezzie felt a headache begin at the base of her neck and idly rubbed at it. There was still a half-hour left on the surveillance mission that Libby was leading, and she, as first operator of his division, was required to be on-hand for the entire thing. She would have to remain standing, switching between the cameras installed on the agents' Tactical equipment to keep her view changing. It was the most boring job to have on any day, and the most annoying one to have at the end of the day, right when her coffee was starting to wear off…
There was a blip on the radar.
Suddenly the public comm. was full of the field agents reporting in the sighting near the perimeter of their territory, just a small flicker of movement that had them all on their toes, ready for action. And through it all, Libby was heard giving orders in a flat voice he reserved only for tense situations. Hearing his accent pitched so low immediately told Jezzie that this wasn't just some curious civilian; this was confirmed as a Moderator.
"Stand down," Jezzie told him. "Do not engage. I repeat: Do not engage."
"'s getting awful close," Libby muttered back. Silence had surrounded his team as they awaited their orders. Jezzie zoomed in and saw the large man walking calmly up to the entrance of the Energy Plant. His arms didn't swing like a normal person, and his head moved side-to-side in a mechanical sweeping motion. The facial recognition equipment turned on with the press of a button on Jezzie's remote, and the man was confirmed as MIA PSA Agent Tommy John, missing for several months. Jezzie and the entire field squad waited with baited breath to see what he was doing.
Tommy John circled around the building twice, keeping his eyes on the roof of the building, before approaching the door and staring intensely at the lock, memorizing it. As he reached out one hand to it, one of Libby's rookies leaned forward in anticipation, the tip of his toe cracking a twig like the explosion of a bomb. Everyone on the comm line inhaled sharply. The readings on Libby's stats showed how his heart rate increased rapidly. The silent call went out for the tactical team to remain in position.
The Moderator's head turned sharply; his blank eyes stared into Libby's, and the Tactical Captain asterisked under his breath.
"Break formation!" he shouted as the Moderator began to sprint towards his assembled team. "Retreat!"
They all began to retreat into the woods, a few starting up jetpacks and taking to the skies. Libby lead a small group of three of his best operatives, and one look over his shoulder confirmed for both Libby and the apprehensively observing Jezzie that the Moderator was following them, arms straight as a board and pointed behind him. He was faster than Jezzie could think possible, and Libby quickly calculated his odds of escape. They weren't good.
"Retreat pattern delta!" he ordered, and his three followers confirmed the plan before striking together into the trees. Libby watched them go before stopping and turning quickly on his heels.
"Libby!" Jezzie shouted, fingers losing her grip on the remote as she watched the Moderator grow closer. "Libby, what are you doing?!" She gripped her hands into fists to keep from banging on the viewscreen, her fingernails digging into her palms.
"Giving them time to escape," he stated simply, and she could almost hear the nonchalant shrug in his voice.
"That's stupid!" Jezzie replied sharply. "I swear to Mod, if you get captured I will never forgive you!"
"I'll miss you too, Jezzie," he replied kindly. "At least, if I remember you."
Jezzie ground her teeth and watched helplessly as the Moderator attacked.
Libby tightened his fists, held up as the ex-agent approached him at a sprint. He waited until it moved within arm's distance before bringing his forearm into Tommy John's midsection in a sweeping chop. The Moderator hit the ground in a roll before popping up, seemingly unfazed. It turned slowly to face Libby, still standing at the ready.
"Yeah, come on," Libby muttered under his breath, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "C'mon, let me give you a proper southern welcome!"
The Moderator was at him before he could blink.
Swift, hard hits to the abdomen, to the jaw, to the nose and chest. Adrenaline flooded his body, blocking out the brunt of the pain as Libby went down first on his knees, then on onto his side. The Moderator switched from punches to kicks, hard, mechanical moves that drove the breath from Libby's lungs. He asterisked loudly between grunts. Finally, he lashed out randomly and managed to punch upwards, knocking the Moderator far enough away for him to stand, shakily, on two legs.
"Okay," he drawled, one hand lightly pressed to his bruised abdomen. "Not my best idea, granted…"
The Moderator took one step forward, and Libby quickly retreated.
It was a hard sprint, and the Moderator was on his heels the entire time. Libby could feel his strength leave him, and he began to look through the endless woods for a way to lose him. Smiling, he began to head towards where the woods met the beach.
"Oh no you don't." Jezzie's voice came from the comm receiver in his ear. "Libby, don't you dare-!"
Libby dutifully ignored her and leapt off the cliff.
The Moderator skidded to a stop at the top and looked down blandly to the cold waves crashing against the cliff face, only a few miles above the cove. No one could have survived the long fall into the ocean, and even if they did, they would be broken against the rocks. Looking calculatingly bored, the Moderator strolled away.
Beneath the edge of the cliff, Libby sighed and rested his cheek against the stone. He clung expertly to the rocks, his hands calloused from years of extreme rock climbing.
"I'm alive," he said weakly, over Jezzie's worried squawking on his comm. "You can stop insulting me now."
"Right," she sighed, and he could almost hear how she picnehd the bridge of her nose in her fingers. "I'll call you a rescue helicopter."
"Thanks," he said, seriously, and heard the click of her comm going offline. He slid his eyes closed and touched his forehead to the water-touched stone, the wind whipping forcefully around him. When he had been asked to join the EPF, he had thought of it as exciting, adventuresome work, like he had heard the PSA described by his friends who worked there before the HQ had been blown up two months earlier. Instead, it was dangerous and challenging, slowly turning Adam Libson, construction worker, into Adlib, finely tuned weapon.
He wasn't sure he liked the change.
Jezzie sighed again, fingers working through her hair. It had grown considerably in the past two months, since the explosion had destroyed the PSA. She was almost unrecognizable from her days in the PSA, her yellow hair longer, her clothes well-fitted and brand new, not her usual hand-me-down and thrift store fare. Of course, she was expected to look nice as the captain of the Communications branch of the EPF. All major missions were under her direction as Mission Controller. Lately, most missions ended the same: a mad dash for freedom as a single Moderator set in at inhuman speeds with inhuman strength. Although their bodies were human, and trained into peak condition by the PSA, the missing agents had been reengineered, possibly mentally, into cold, heartless killing machines. Frankly, it was terrifying.
Jezzie's attempts at shrugging off the stress of Libby's most recent mission were cut short as her cell phone, in her pocket, beeped loudly. She pulled it out eagerly, with trembling fingers, and accessed the camera feeds from the entrance to the EPF, masqueraded as a phone company.
A young man in a red sweatshirt entered warily, strolling in carefully, with one hand shoved into his sweatshirt pocket. As Jezzie, and countless others in different rooms looking at different screens, watched him, he looked straight at the hidden camera, green eyes flashing dangerously dark beneath his thick black eyebrows. His hand emerged, holding onto an electronic tablet that had been delivered to him earlier that day. It was the thirtieth he had been sent that week, and all had gone into the garbage.
His voice washed over Jezzie and her heart missed a beat. It was deep and masculine, coming from the center of his chest.
"Stop. Sending. Me. These," he said clearly, glaring at the camera. He dropped the tablet onto the ground and slammed one heel into the screen, shattering it. He then walked out without another word.
Jezzie watched him go.
After calling in Libby's helicopter and confirming that he wasn't permanently damaged by his own stupidity, Jezzie made her way down to the technical center of the EPF, and took a straight path towards a computer alcove where two women sat together, chatting in front of a glowing computer screen. One was seated on the side of the desk, her short yellow hairdo perfectly fluffed and her purple-clad legs crossed in a feminine manner. The girl at the computer had a huge mass of curly chestnut hair and a pair of thick glasses perched on the end of her nose. They both looked up at the sound of Jezzie's approach.
"I didn't send it," Jezzie said, holding up one hand to stop Kat and Dot's eager expressions in their tracks. "So don't ask."
"I wasn't going to," Kat said primly, although the way her ears tinted pink claimed otherwise.
"I was," Dot said bluntly. The small blonde woman had a no-lie policy that was infamous in the EPF. She claimed that it was because since her job as an undercover specialist, she rarely got to tell the truth, and so enjoyed doing so at every scarce opportunity. "Because honestly, Jezz, everyone thinks that you did."
"I didn't," Jezzie insisted. "I know him better than that. He would never say yes to an invitation. He has to make the decision himself to come back."
"I wonder who sent it this time, then," Kat muttered to herself, fingers tapping quickly away at her keyboard, clearly losing interest in the topic of conversation.
Dot ignored her and turned to face Jezzie directly. "Why won't he come back, Jezz? The PSA was his life… it just seems so strange to me that he wouldn't want to join the EPF. Guy still has a Captain's spot saved for him in techie village."
Kat harrumphed to herself, partly at the insulting title for the Technological Advancement Archives that she worked at, and partly at the well-known fact that Kat was vying for Justin's saved leadership post.
"It's a long story," Jezzie said softly, closing off the conversation. She snapped her figners in front of Kat's face to get her attention away from the screen of the computer she was seated in front of. "I need you to put in the request for improved surveillance at the Energy Plant. Libby almost got killed today because of a Moderator that was sniffing around."
The tech expert nodded and quickly typed out the order, sending it out with the click of a button. "Is he okay?" she asked, trying to sound uninterested. Both Dot and Jezzie knew better, and shared knowing smiles.
"He's fine," Jezzie said, inspecting her nails. "Only broke his legs in three places."
"He broke his legs?!" Kat screeched, jumping out of her chair. She frowned at Jezzie and Dot's expressions. "That's not funny!" she said, as the two blondes bowed over laughing. "I'm telling you, I don't care about that annoying southern boy," she said with an air of finality, gathering up her things from the table. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go check in with the science labs." She flounced away with the air of a queen, nose turned high in the air. As she passed through the automatic doors, Rookie walked in, pausing to wave at her. When he stopped, the doors momentarily closed on him only to open after giving him a good hard squeeze. The young boy continued inside, rubbing his sore arms and muttering to himself about faulty equipment.
"Hiya, Rooks," Jezzie greeted him. "What's up?"
He tried to give her a disappointed glare and failed, instead looking slightly amused. "You know," he said.
"I do," Jezzie said primly, "And I'm still not going."
"You really should, Jez," Dot added, trying to be helpful. Her response was to glare.
"Two against one," Jezzie observed. "Hardly fair."
Dot stood, smoothing out imagined creases in her clothes, all varying shades of purple. "You should really talk to Mitzi, Jez. That's why she's here; to deal with all the baggage that we carry around as agents. And frankly you're a freight train of baggage."
"Baggage full of bricks," Rookie added.
She glared before sighing.
"I'm not talking to Mitzi," she insisted, shaking her head. "In fact, I'm pulling rank on you. No more talking about Mitzi," she pointed to Rookie, "and no more talking about Jetpack," she pointed at Dot.
"But—" they said together.
"Rank. Captain. You're a lieutenant, and you're a… well, you're a Rookie. You are required to follow my orders."
"And you are required to follow mine." The entire room of tech agents went silent and stared at the woman standing at the just-closing doors. Mitzi was a co-director of the EPF, and so outranked everyone but the Director. She stood tall and completely straight, with no-nonsense graying brown hair and steely gray eyes. She was looking directly at Jezzie, who shifted her gaze away uncomfortably, one hand going to the brim of her fedora and uneasily pinching the felt between her fingers.
"Agent Jezzie?" she asked in her sweetest voice. "Come with me, please." She crooked a finger after her, and Jezzie looked sadly at Dot and Rookie before following her out. Rookie and Dot shared an uncomfortable look. Before today, Mitzi had only sent agents like Rookie after Jezzie, never coming out to personally invite her to her office. It did not bode well for Jezzie.
"Agent Jezzie, please take a seat," Mitzi gestured to the leather couch in her office. The younger woman sat down uneasily, brown eyes shifting around.
Mitzi observed her for a moment before speaking. "Why did it take you so long to come in?"
Jezzie scoffed. "I don't need a therapist."
"Your team was betrayed from within. You witnessed the murder of a fellow agent. You had a hand in the destruction of the PSA, and your partner has not returned to us. You need a therapist more than you know."
"I don't need a therapist," Jezzie insisted. "Sure, that stuff happened, but I'm fine."
"You feel guilt," Mitzi said. "You throw yourself into your work without rest because you don't want your mind to ever become peaceful enough to think about what you've been through."
Jezzie refused to respond.
"Have you contacted the ex-agent known as Jetpack Guy?"
"No."
"Do you want to?"
Jezzie stood up suddenly. "I'm fine," she insisted. "Jetpack has nothing to do with this."
"Do I have anything to do with it?" Mitzi asked gently, genuine concern in her eyes. "If I were to replace myself with a different therapist would you be more cooperative?"
"I'm fine," Jezzie's voice cracked, and one hand went to the brim of her fedora. The fedora that Agent Jack Robinson had given her before he died in front of her. He gave her the hat and the order to tell his wife that he loved her.
Passing that message on had been Jezzie's first conversation with his wife, Mitzi Robinson.
"I don't need a therapist," Jezzie said softly, and let herself out of the room, leaving the door open with Mitzi still sitting inside.
The woman sighed, massaging a headache in her forehead. She really wanted to help Jezzie, she really did. She had the same fire and conviction in her that she had seen in her late husband when they were both starting out in the PSA. But she was so closed out, afraid of letting anyone close who may be torn away. According to Mitzi's research, Jezzie had all of four friends in the PSA, and she never saw any of them for casual meetings. Kat, the tech expert. Dot, the undercover field agent. Libby, the tactical genius. And Rookie, the… Rookie.
The Co-Director of Agent Resources pressed a button on her cellphone. G answered it.
"How is she?" Gary asked, as an explosion went off in the background.
"She's still unresponsive. I'm worried for her, G," Mitzi replied.
"And Jetpack?"
"He came into the EPF entryway and stepped on your most recent invitation."
"I'll send another one."
Mitzi smiled faintly. "I'm not sure that that's a good idea, G."
He ignored her. "I'll send him another one." His voice was strained with emotion. Someone in the background of his call was screaming for a fire extinguisher.
They talked for another minutes about trivial things before another explosion took up his attention and he accidentally hung up the phone.
Meanwhile, Jezzie was alone in her office, and watched the recording from earlier. She paused on a single frame. Jetpack's green eyes looked up at her serenely. She missed him. She had to admit that.
She wondered if he felt the same.
Justin Guy let himself back into his igloo quietly, shrugging snow off of his red sweatshirt clad shoulders. It had killed him to leave the shattered pieces of the EPF invitations behind, but it was for the best. He had trusted Memory despite knowing better, and his entire team, and the entire PSA, had suffered for it. He had no right to force himself back on them.
No matter how much he missed her.
As the two contemplated each other, a third party awoke deep in the depths of the Island. He was sunburned and with blonde hair in overgrown spikes. In one pocket an MP3 Player played on silently. As he opened his eyes and saw the mechanical implements around him, he began to feel frightened, for the first time in years.
"Let me go," Memory's voice was weak.
"You will obey me."
"Let me go!" he began to struggle against his bonds.
"You will be under my control."
"I didn't sign up for this! Let me go!"
He continued to scream as the Protobot moved over him.
... Aaand that's Chapter 1! More fun times to come!
Review, please?