AN: I decided to start a new fic and yes, I know it's short but I plan for the chapters to be a little longer in future, this is just the intro if you will. Anyway, please review even if you hate it. You can't expect to grow as a writer if you don't take on board the bad reviews and improve your shit. Happy reading, you nerds. Xo
"Miss Mitchell, I'm offering you an out here. A pardon, if you will. All I ask is this one tiny favour in return and so far you've yet to speak. Did you understand the question or do you need me to repeat it?"
The Men in Black. The not-so-secret faces of the not-so-secret service. They're all the same. Men in their 30's with the same stupid haircut and those ridiculous sunglasses that they wear everywhere. I cannot say I never pictured myself here, I must admit. However, I thought I was a lot smarter that this and now sat in- well, tied to- this chair all I can focus on is how they even managed to find me after all this time. It's been a while since the… let's call it the incident. I knew they wouldn't just forget what happened but why try to make me think I got away with it? What was the point? I'd been living happily for the last 4 years hopping from country to country every couple of months. I met some cool people, I spent loads of time drinking, I had many-a drug fuelled adventure, I got a couple tattoos, I got laid a bunch and of course did some sight seeing but that's not so high on my list of cool shit I did. I was living wild and free, well, sorta. As free as you can be on the run and wanted in all states and due to the nature of the incident, I was being hunted in all countries within NATO. Not that it bothered me, all the stuff I could ever want was in Asia, not to mention is was cheap. I guess the expenses weren't really an issue though.
"Will I get paid?" I asked with a smirk, knowing full well what the answer was. I just like to try and ruffle them.
"You will receive a full pardon for your crimes and a clean slate. No money," he replied with deadpan tone.
"You know, you're really not selling it to me here, Smith. I was doing fine in Laos with a non-clean slate. It'll take more than that."
"How about this: you complete this mission assignment we give you, you do as we say when we say it, you do not break character, and if you're still alive at the end of it, which I'll be honest, isn't likely, you get your pardon and you will no longer be bothered by the CIA. If you refuse, you face the maximum sentence for treason," he shot back at me. Jail was sounding quite appealing. I could totally handle jail; I'm badass as fuck. "The maximum penalty for treason is execution, don't forget."
Damn, so close to getting out of this.
"Yeah, I still don't get why you need me though. You obviously knew where I was all this time. I'm not that stupid to not know when I'm being followed, physically or digitally. You clearly have people better than me at hacking, if you didn't I'd still be in Laos with a bottle of Jack in one hand, a cocktail of class A's in the other and a hot girl on my lap," I retorted. Why I tried to talk him out of the deal and push him towards killing me, I'll never know. I guess I'm just one of those people that like to see how far they can push things. It didn't make sense though. They needed me to go undercover and be able to report back to them in code, something most CIA agents in the IT field can do. They're not exactly bad hackers when it comes to these sorts of missions.
"Seriously, what are they teaching you guys down there these days? Back in my time, I'd have killed anyone suspect of treason without a shadow of doubt. No one is irreplaceable in this industry, Smith. You know that."
He paced up and down the interview room a few times, maybe collecting his thoughts, I don't know, I don't care. I'm 236% done with today already. It's exactly the same as yesterday and the day before and I just want to go to sleep if I'm honest but that is a pleasure I will not have this evening I'm guessing. I know they aren't going to kill me. At least not yet, they want something from me and this 'interview' is far from over unless they get what they want. I glanced around the room for what seemed like the first time since I'd been here today, which was a while now judging by the numbing in my ass cheeks. I shifted in my seat to try and ease the discomfort and continued looking. It was like every other interrogation room at Langley, I guess. I'd seen pretty much most of them in my time here. They all had off-white walls that really echoed your voice whenever you spoke, a metal table in the middle with enough room for two people to sit at and two matching chairs, perfect for keeping someone handcuffed to as I am currently experiencing. It wasn't common practice to keep prisoners hands behind their backs in interrogation but I guess they got a bit paranoid after the last time they had me in one of these things. The wall would not be complete without that huge one-way window in it. You know the ones you see in the movies? Yeah, that's the one. I have no idea who is on the other side today but I keep that thought to myself. I may or may not have gotten bored yesterday while waiting for the 'interviewers' to arrive that I started singing the chorus of Adele's Hello to the people behind the glass. I thought I was hilarious. The guy that walked in and punched me on the nose did not.
Smith finally sat down and took off his glasses. This piqued my interest. His eyes were nothing out of the ordinary. There were prominent crows feet on the corners of his brown eyes and frown lines on the bridge of his nose. He looked at me, and I mean really looked at me as if he was trying to read my mind using all of his silly CIA tricks they teach you when you first start. I would know. I used to do the same. Study a person, notice little things and what they could mean about said person. He clearly seemed to forget I underwent this training. I know what he's doing and I know how to deflect it. They teach you that too. You're no use to anyone in this place if you crack under interrogation. So I just sat there waiting for him to finish 'reading' me. Not as if there's really a lot else I could have done.
A few minutes passed and his gaze was starting to get on my nerves. Either he's just trying to piss me off or he's mentally deficient.
"Dude, are you just going to stare at me all day or are you going to answer my question?"
He sighed and put his glasses back on his face before sitting back on his chair.
He glanced over at the window and nodded. He shifted his position to be facing me head on.
"We need someone on the inside that is no longer a federal agent. The people we are after are clever and that makes them twice as dangerous. They have lists. Extensive lists of anyone and everyone who currently works for the CIA. We need someone with your skills to be able to get inside and back out again without being detected. All of our agents that can already do that have been exposed. You are the only person we know of that is capable of getting the job done that's not on their list. We need you undercover to keep an eye on the guy we're after and his wife. We don't believe she has any idea of her husband's criminal activity but we cannot take that risk. We need you to get in close to the couple, befriend them and report back to us. When we have the evidence we need, you are to infiltrate the business he runs, hack into the system and send us everything on his computer so we can send in the big guns to shut it all down."
I sat back and contemplated things for a moment. It didn't seem too hard apart from the whole 'befriending' part. I hate people. People suck. Everyone takes life way too seriously and worries about little things like feelings and people being nice. We all die in the end anyway so why spend time worrying so much about stupid shit like 'am I gonna be their in time for my meeting?' or 'I hope so and so likes the gift I bought them'. Who cares? Just go forth and have fun kids, you know? Normal people worry about this trivial shit, I don't. My only worry in this world is if the girl I slept with the night before had the clap. I could live without it burning when I pee thank you. All in all though, this mission seems far too easy for my liking. There's something he's not telling me.
"All this just to save your own skin I take it? What does the guy do? Drugs? Smuggling? Counterfeiting? Fraud?"
"Counterfeiting mainly but he… dabbles in other things."
I let out a sigh. "What is it you're not telling me, Smith?"
"You already know the wife."
Now he had my full attention.
"Her name's Chloe Harris or Chloe Beale as you probably know her by."
Aaaand there it was. Chloe fucking Beale.
Shit. I'd not seen her since freshman year at college. We had just won the ICCA's. God knows how she got me into that a cappella group she loved so much. Damn her and her boobs and other feminine wiles. It was weird thinking about her. I'd not really given life pre-CIA much thought over the past 8 years. I had to cut off most ties when I joined. I'd hate to be the reason people got hurt if something went tits up.
Smith chuckled in his seat as I fell into deep thought about red hair, cerulean blue eyes and tanned legs that went on for days.
"So, I take it you're with us then, Miss Mitchell?"
"Well, I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Play it cool Beca.
"You do have a choice. It's either do the mission and maybe not die or don't do the mission and do die. Decision is yours."
"Well, what can I say? We all die but I don't feel like dying at the hands of the CIA. I'd rather choke to death on my own vomit after ODing in an alleyway in some random dirty city in the middle-east than at the will of you prissy douches."
Plus, I always said to myself I'd like to see the one and only Chloe Beale again before I die. Hopefully she remembers me like I remember her. It's been a while though so I wouldn't be too shocked if she didn't even recognise me. I'd be a little hurt, with the amount of sexual tension we had in that year and all but… Wait, what? Why am I worrying if she remembers me? I don't do worrying. Especially over women. Ugh. Fuck it.
"Uncuff me and hand me the file then, chop-chop, Smith. We haven't got all night."
What am I doing?