Three hours in and Kenzi's kind of praying to cut her hand against one of these tapes. Maybe hit a minor artery, just so she could bleed all over the place and at least earn herself a bathroom break. Anything to get out of this hellhole.
Or maybe it'll be faster to just hold out for that carpal tunnel diagnosis she's expecting by the end of the month.
Watch, rewind, watch again. Catalogue, next. Forget Chinese water torture. This is the new morally-approved line of interrogation techniques.
She's lost count of all the surveillance tapes she's combed through. By this point, she's basically moving on autopilot, arm reaching for a new tape every now and then.
"Hey, eyes on the screen! We don't pay you to look at the back of your eyelid," a guard barks as he passes by her workstation.
"You hardly pay me at all," Kenzi mutters when the he turns out of earshot.
It's her fault she's here though, although she'll die before she ever admits it on record. New job, her first real job, and in her eagerness to impress, she'd accidentally contaminated evidence on an important case. The coffee slipped from the tray before she could react, and even though she tried to brush off the scalding liquid staining the files, there was no escaping the screeching, reprimanding tirade that followed afterwards. Next thing she knows, she's re-assigned to Evidence.
Officially, it hasn't even been a week yet, but every second with her eyes glued to the screen feels like an eternity spent. It makes for a terrible atmosphere, manifesting in the form of grumpy, verbally abusive patrol officers. But with every system, there's always a loophole. She's practically got the evading down to an art, memorizing the times in between patrol shifts and planning out her naps.
"Kenzi."
She jolts awake in her seat, ready to spew out excuses of a bad heart, or some ailing sickness concerning her corneas that prevent her from opening her eyes for more than thirty minute intervals. Anything to ward off another round of scolding from higher-ups. When she turns in her chair, she realizes it's a familiar face.
"D-man!" she almost shouts. Familiar personnel was hard to come by in this black hole of misery, much less a friend.
"It's work hours Kenzi. Let's at least try to be professional."
"My bad Dyson. It's just been so long since I've seen you, or like any real human being outside this dungeon. How've you been?" Kenzi asks excitedly.
"Good. Well enough to have been assigned my own unit," Dyson answers.
"Oh my god, congrats dude! When was this?"
"Let's leave the catching up for later," Dyson derails from the subject. "More importantly, I came here to find you for a reason, and well..." he pauses, studying Kenzi's face before continuing.
"How would you like to leave Evidence once in for all?"
Oh, would she.
Tamsin didn't expect to be flagged down on her way in. Although, it probably would have been less awkward if she hadn't been sporting shades and a massive hangover.
"Agent Tamsin!" the woman shouts, rushing towards the elevator.
Tamsin stabs the close button frantically, but the woman already has her leg in the door. Damn mornings.
"How's your morning," she asks, with that distinct perkiness that makes Tamsin want to vomit for the second time that day.
Instead, she turns and gives the woman her best glare through the tinted glass. She hasn't seen this one before. Must be new, especially since anyone would know better than to chat Tamsin up for small talk.
"Anyways," she continues, seeming to have gotten the hint. "The Morrigan wants to see you. In her office."
"Right, her office. In case I confused it with her castle in the sky," Tamsin sneers.
Thankfully, the doors open right then and she slips out, leaving the confused and kind of terrified woman in her wake. She isn't exactly psyched to see the Morrigan today, what with her looming headache and all, but there does seem to be something unsettling about this meeting. The Morrigan is all about after-hours, so something this early just screams bad news.
She swings past the cubicles, giving customary nods to her colleagues, and stops before the door at the end. She knocks once. Then again, and when the third knock elicits no response, Tamsin tries the doorknob. It's not locked.
It's also empty.
Typical, she scoffs. Punctuality is always being herded like some necessary virtue, part of the package of expectations for all the agents. What they really mean are the low-tier, shit-eating agents.
Tamsin takes a seat, sneaking a casual glance at the messy heap on the desk. On top of the pile is a black envelope, no labels. Shit. She's seen those before.
And suddenly, that unsettling feeling from before just rose two notches.
"Agent Tamsin. Glad to see you're already here."
Tamsin jerks from her seat and rises. No one gets the drop on her except for her. She's never quite figured out how the Morrigan just glides from place to place. As she ponders this, the woman makes her way around to the other side of the desk.
"So, what's so urgent that you called in this early?" Tamsin asks.
"Rough night?" she rebuffs, amused, pointing to her shades.
Tamsin scowls and takes them off. "What's it to you."
"Because I care, of course. Wouldn't want anything bad happening to our most promising agent," she drawls. To anyone else, it may sound like a well-veiled compliment, but Tamsin's known her long enough to detect the dangerous undertones.
"Down to business then. Here," she tosses the black envelope to Tamsin. "New project. Keep working your current cases but this one takes precedent."
"Anything extra I should know?" Tamsin asks as she turns the envelope in her hand.
"All the info's in there. And as you can see by the seal, I haven't opened it."
Tamsin laughs. "Since when have you been a stickler for protocol."
"Never," she deadpans. "But it's sealed with Elder Magic. Only people with clearance can open it."
Tamsin frowns. A file requiring higher clearance than the Morrigan must mean -
"It's straight from the Council," she continues, as if reading Tamsin's thoughts.
"Should I...keep you in the loop then?" Tamsin asks hesitantly. Nothing involving the Council was ever good news.
"It's best that I stay out of things that don't involve me. It's how I've lasted decades longer than the last Morrigan," she points out. "Now off you go then. I've got things to do, humans to con."
Tamsin gives a parting nod before she leaves. Just as her hand grazes the doorknob, the voice behind her starts again.
"Tread carefully on this one. You know how they are. The Council doesn't take to failure lightly. Screw them over and you won't get away easily, even if it's you."
Ah, here comes the not so thinly veiled threat.
Tamsin turns around, lips curving slightly into a hint of a smile. "Your concern is touching, but really, when was the last time I ever screwed up a mission?"
"Bo. Bo...BO!"
She nearly jumps out of her chair, shrieking in the process, much to the dismay of her roommate.
"Your alarm's been ringing ever since I jumped into the shower."
Bo glances at the clock. 10:49. Shit. Deadline's in an hour, she groans.
"Thanks. Sorry about the noise," she apologizes.
"Yeah no problem. I just wish you'd take a break and stop working yourself to death."
"Yeah, you and me both," Bo mutters.
It's only week one into the semester and she's already swamped with assignments. If she knew college was going to be such a bore, she never would have falsified her way in. It was such a pain, calling in favors and cashing in for fake papers.
She leans back in her chair, eyes darting to her closet.
That'll have to wait.
Well, this is rather…
Unexpected? Anticlimactic? Tamsin doesn't really know the word for it except that that she was expecting something more serious coming from the Council.
Assigned Identity: Transfer student for the 2014 Spring Term at Fae University. Target unknown. Wait for further instructions to be delivered.
Code Name: Valkyrie.
Aside from the standard admittance paperwork, there's not much else in the file. She was wondering why it felt so light earlier, but really, this is a new level of vague, even for the Council.
Undercover isn't exactly new to her; becoming an Agent, - a Fixer - meant being a chameleon of sorts, taking on new identities practically every other day. Corporate spy, paparazzi for hire, the occasional home-wrecker - with the right price, anything's possible, and needless to say, she's covered quite a lot of ground so far. There's really nothing they can throw at her that would overstep any boundaries.
But posing as a student? The last time she was in school was several lifetimes ago, literally. And that was just to fulfill some creepy client's schoolgirl fantasy.
"God I hope there aren't uniforms," she mutters, taking another swig of her drink.
She can deal with complicated requests anywhere from finessing through detailed security traps to snuffing a person in their sleep, but school - well that's a different beast altogether. The oppressive regime of the education system and the catty likeness of its audience. It's cesspool of everything Tamsin hates in life.
'Target unknown'. Those cryptic Una Mens bastards. She just wants this over with, and to go back to the life where the Council isn't looming over her shoulder and monitoring her every move.
This is the price she pays though, the price she's been paying for lifetimes.
"You know, don't you?"
"Know what?"
"The case file you handed Tamsin earlier this morning. You know what it is."
"You overheard?"
"Of sorts," the woman smiles.
"…you bugged my office, didn't you? Lauren you bastard."
"I may have, but with your best interest at heart," Lauren insists. "And you didn't answer my question."
"Why would you assume I know?"
"Oh c'mon Evony. You'd never leave yourself out of the loop unless you were already in on it."
"I'm starting to regret letting you call me that."
Honestly, she's not that taken back by Lauren's discovery. She's not sure if it's just the brainy, all-knowing sciency part of her but somehow, Lauren always seems to know her better than she knew herself.
"Word on the street is that there's some vigilante about," Evony lowers her voice. "They've been turning over rocks of smaller name crooks and mailing the evidence to the police. It's all done through some anonymous channel and the press hasn't gotten their hands on the news yet."
"Score one for the good guys then," Lauren notes. "Any ID on the person in question?"
"There's a tip that it's someone from Fae Uni."
Lauren whistles. "A student. Wow."
"Or staff, or whatever demon thing that's got our bigger name clients rattled like no other," Evony adds, grimacing at the thought.
"You think they'll go after more than just small-timers?"
"It's only a matter of time, especially when they've got help. You remember that stick up our ass last month?
Lauren laughs. "You mean Dyson?"
"Yeah well, guess who's just been promoted."
"Oh," Lauren breaths in heavily.
"Yeah." Evony shoots Lauren a weary look. "You remember how he is, all eager puppy and shit. Now that he's overseeing practically all our cases, it's gonna be a shitstorm in the making."
"I assume the Council''s eager to settle this?"
"Eager doesn't even cover the half of it," Evony shakes her head. "It's not just about losing clients. If the cops start seriously poking around - let's just say there are more than just a few skeletons in our closets."
"And you think this is related to Tamsin's case?"
"Right now it's all just speculation," Evony sighs. "But seeing as Tamsin's one of our best, there's a good chance she's being sent to investigate this mystery person. And for some reason, the higher-ups are restricting my access on this case."
"Speaking of which," Lauren says. "How did you find out about all of this without the clearance?"
"Like you said, I'm never not in the loop," Evony remarks. "I've got eyes, everywhere. If Tamsin makes a move, I'll know about it."
"You don't trust her?"
"I don't trust anyone. But it's not her I'm worried about," Evony answers grimly. "The Council has a history of ruining careers. If they're moving to throw Tamsin under the bus, I want to make sure I'm standing as far away from the mess as possible."
She turns and looks at Lauren, who's squirming a bit at this line of conversation. Still a softie, she surmises. But beneath the lab coat and brainy pretense, she's surprisingly ambitious, with equal amount conviction. She minds Evony of herself, except more righteous. It's why Evony likes her, chooses her to be her right-hand man, so to speak.
"Anyways, I want you to do something for me," she says, pulling a file from her drawer.
"A case?" Lauren arches an eyebrow. "Since when do I do fieldwork?"
"Well, let's see. How do you feel about going back to school?"