Alright… here we go. New story and a million and one things to do in my life. I hope you like this one. There will be a few trigger warnings here and there, and I will do my best to preemptively warn you.

Warnings: Mentions of abusive situations, familial deaths, and homophobia.

Disclaimer: Here's where I start to not own stuff. I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out.

R.A.R.E. Central Base

Exact Location: Classified

Hallway 17

0825 hours

R.A.R.E.

Romulus And Remus Enforcement.

Yeah, I know it's kind of a weird title, but it makes sense. It's a play on words from Roman Mythology. Romulus and Remus were both orphans taken in and trained to fight and behave like a wolf pack. And, yeah, we do a bit of enforcement. Actually, a lot of enforcement.

Sorry, got a little distracted there.

Livia G. Trasic, reporting in on Mission JPN-5T. Log 1.

Opening statement: Fuck you all.

No, for real. Go. Get. Fucked.

I just got back home on what I thought was my guaranteed month-long break you-

Ginevra is shaking her head at me from across the hall. Fine, I'll save my rant for my roommate. But that doesn't mean I'll keep all my swears out of my logs. Unless I've been mistaken since my very first lessons here at 'Rawr', these logs are meant to capture every detail of our missions, including my 'potty-mouth'. Besides, this thing records all of the sounds it can pick up anyways, so my colorful dialogue won't be tarnished even if you told me to tone it down.

And if any of you listening have a problem with that? Please rewind the tape to 00:29. You're all adults. Grow up.

Now, I'm about to waste as much of your time as possible in the remainder of this first recording. If I get enough of you to complain, maybe when I get back from this trip you'll give me two months off! Sounds fair, right?

How to waste your time first, hm? I've got another ten or so minutes before getting back to my room, so where to start?

Well, I'm a girl. A very pretty girl, I've been told. I've got dark brown, almost black hair that I usually have tied back in a french braid. It ends somewhere beneath my shoulder blades. I've considered getting it dyed a dark red color a few times, but I'm never given the 'okay'.

'You're supposed to blend in,' they say.

'Your brown hair is perfect for that,' they say.

'Fuck off,' I generally reply.

Whatever.

The rest of me is pretty normal for this place. I'm not as thin as some of the other teens here because I like to eat unhealthy things and have a lot of muscles. Mostly in my arms and legs, but I guess I've got the makings of a six-pack if I really tried. Which I don't care about now. To me, my intelligence is what I'm most proud of, rather than my physical appearance.

I'm 17 years old at the moment. Five more months to go before becoming an official 'adult' in my home country. January 2nd and this party can get started! I'll have to start writing out a list of places I can legally drink…

Anyways, about my family.

I've got one brother.

And that concludes my detailed family tree.

But I suppose those of you compiling my logs aren't too surprised by that. Most of the people here are orphans, just like me, but we also have a fair few who were kicked out of their homes or escaped abusive situations. Sure, we've recruited a few children from military families and what not, but other than that? No real parents to speak of. It's an unspoken rule here that you can't ask new recruits about how they ended up at R.A.R.E. Most likely it's a sad and sucky story that will leave very few people without tears running down their cheeks.

Like me and Connor for example.

We were visiting our Grandmother for a week when a tornado appeared out of nowhere. Our parents had been enroute to join us when it hit. With no uncles, no aunts, one folded American flag from World War 1, and two pairs of lungs that looked like chunks of volcanic ash, we ended up staying with said Grandmother.

And then she was stabbed in a store's parking lot for the 25 dollars and flip phone stashed in her peach colored purse.

That was nine years ago, and I still get a little choked up whenever I look at the photo album that's underneath my bed.

Connor and I were, I suppose, lucky enough to be placed in one of R.A.R.E.'s orphanages. It has hundreds all over the world, and it's almost like a gift from above to make it into one. Mostly R.A.R.E. uses them for easy recruitment purposes, but it's not the only reason. R.A.R.E. is dedicated to helping anyone who needs it, and a lot of our jobs are centered around children. So it makes sense that, even though we recruit a lot of orphans and homeless children, we don't make them join. It's totally their choice, just like it was both mine and Connor's choice. And if they don't want to join? Then they stay in some pretty great children's homes that take good care of them. Most of the time when R.A.R.E. agents retire they do something with the orphanages. Whether they become a lifelong donor, or volunteer/work at one, or join our Foster Care services, or even adopt a child (or two), we always look out for our own. It's pretty cool.

I already mentioned how we take in kids who get kicked out of their homes, right? Well, that means we get a lot of LGBTQ+ folks around here. We get a lot of our orphans adopted by the gay couples that spring out of our agents. And then they live the rest of their happy lives in Canada, eh! The photo wall is so freaking cute.

Ahem.

Sorry, got a little more carried away there than I had planned.

Well, I'm back in my room, on my bunk, and I guess I should actually talk about my latest mission. Okay, to begin, I was called out of training room 4 by R.A.R.E.'s current and longest standing director. After finishing my last mission out of Scotland two days ago, I was just starting my usual pre-lunch training session with Nathan Aleshire, getting back into the swing of things after getting home, when the intercom buzzed my name.

I was, in a word, pissed.

Still, orders are orders, and I started walking.

Livia scowled as she walked down Hallway 5. No one stopped her to chat.

See, with the way that R.A.R.E.'s building was set up, there were only a handful of destinations someone could be heading if they were walking towards Hallway 4. It could be Human Resources, the garage for mission vehicles, the Director's office, or one of the many mission consultation rooms. Anyone going to either of those places would not be in a chit-chatting mood.

The brunette personally looked like someone had just delivered a sexist comment, so anyone who passed by gave her a wide berth.

How did she know she was heading for yet another mission with little to no reprieve after her last one? Because that's the only reason someone would get called into the Director's office at all. That was pretty much it's only purpose, other than to lead to the Director's personal sleeping chambers.

The crowd thinned the further Livia walked. She was almost completely alone by the time she arrived right where Hallway 3 ended and split off to Hallways 2 and 1. A door was stationed right the the fork of the halls, a silver plaque nailed to the center of the wood.

'Director's Office'.

Livia threw it open.

"I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU TELL ME I HAVE ANOTHER ASSIGNMENT ALREADY-"

"Yoshio Ootori called."

She stopped.

"...You're not bullshitting me to make me shut up, right?"

Her director shook his head and she sat down in front of his desk. "Okay… I'll listen."

Mathias Jepsen wouldn't strike you as the Director of a worldwide organization of weaponized youth if you took a passing glance. He looked more like an aging high school math teacher who was really cool with his students, but still painfully boring. Strong, but not buff, and with a graying army-cut hairstyle but laugh-lines around his eyes, Director Mathias could go from soothing a young new recruit to downright threatening a client who tried to talk themselves out of payment in a heartbeat.

The man rubbed one of his calloused hands over his haircut, "I just got a call from Mr. Ootori saying he had another job and he wanted you again. We arranged a meeting tomorrow at 0600 in Con/3. You remember the drill from last time? He's not like our usual clients and you'll need to be on your best behavior."

Last time...

Four years ago, I had been given my first ever Japanese assignment in my career. All of our main Japanese agents were out on missions when Mr. Ootori had called. He said he needed a solo mission only, and having two would be too suspicious for the cover he had organized. Since I was the only solo-mission agent left who could both speak Japanese fluently to get by in the country, I had been selected.

His eldest son had just entered his last year of high school, making plans to go on to a high-end university and take over his family's business. Yoshio had been informed that a price had suddenly gone out for his eldest son's death. While they did employ a private police force, they weren't trained well enough for professional hired guns. So, he had taken matters into his own hands and hired me.

And apparently my slight fumbling in the language fit me perfectly into the cover story; tutoring with Yuuichi Ootori. And while those lessons were Hell on Earth, I had a much better appreciation for Japan and the Japanese language when I left.

Not to mention a new hole in my left calf.

The brunette sighs, "Thanks for the heads up, I guess. I'll be there at 0558 tomorrow."

"Just don't talk like a sailor during the consultation."

"Don't fucking tell me what to do."

Our brown eyes meet over the desk before he snorts and covers his eyes, "You're lucky you're one of our best agents, Trasic."

"So you say, Sir."

He smiles and waves me off, "Dismissed."

Okay, so this is pretty much a demonstration of how most of the chapters in this story are going to go. They'll switch between Livia making her logs about her ongoing mission and the recorder narrating the actions she's describing. Does this work? Yes? No?

If you like where this story is heading, please favorite, follow, and leave a little review telling me what you think. I look forward to hearing from you all.

See you next chapter!