Secret agent man

Summary:

In which a certain sapien duo goes on an undercover mission, and Karl finds a new way to deal with his prisoner.

"Secret agent man,

secret agent man.

They've given you a number

and taken away your name."

— From "Secret Agent Man", by The Ventures (S2E2)


July 6, 2017 (cont'd)

"The Bug has uncovered the truth," the melodramatic voice echoed through Nomi's speaker. Sun and Amanita sat next to Nomi at the kitchen table, all eyes fixed on the screen.

"Bug," Amanita warned. Nomi chuckled.

"Right, right, no drama." He raised his hands up in surrender.

Sun raised an eyebrow.

"What he meant to say is"—Nomi came to his aid—"he found the deleted footage from the Bak Summer Gala. There was a camera behind you."

"Those who are guilty of violating the moral law always cover their tracks," Bug drawled as he opened his eyes wide and stared at the video cam. "But The Bug has uncovered them from the evildoer's personal hard drive."

Sun opened her mouth and closed it again. She frowned as she searched for words of gratitude, and finally had to decide on a simple, "Thank you, Bug."

"The Bug is happy to serve in the name of justice."

A smirking Amanita turned to Sun. "I think it's time for a good samaritan to tip off the Seoul Metropolitan Police."


Felix felt like a secret agent.

A dashingly handsome, mysterious secret agent with slicked-back dark brown hair and a pair of sunglasses more expensive than his apartment. The suit jacket he borrowed from Lito fit more like a black overcoat on his gangly frame, with the shoulder pads jutting out like epaulets. Thankfully he had enough sense to pack his one and only white shirt, he thought as he looked at Dani, who was sitting next to him, pinning her hair into a twisted updo.

It was Salsa Night at the bar, Mavis had told them as she dyed Felix's hair. Dani had watched with a giggle she didn't bother suppressing as he cringed at his reflection. Then the ex-spy had reminded them that it was a classy, upscale sort of place, and they were expected to dress like they were "fancy rich people".

Upon hearing this, Dani had immediately pulled out a dress from her suitcase: red, single-strapped, with a flowing ankle-length skirt that had a slit down the right side. Wherever you go, always bring heels and a red dress, Mads, Dani's college roommate and best friend, had advised at the start of freshman year. And she had lived by this, she told Felix, even after they'd fallen out of touch.

Felix, on the other hand, had cursed himself for not packing the one nice suit he'd bought with the diamond money.

Capheus drove the rental car to the Soho bar. Mavis sat in the passenger seat, giving him directions from her phone. "Drop me off here," she told him when they were three blocks away. She turned back to Felix and Dani and said, "You guys can get off at the front door. Best if we don't all barge in together like some kind of shady entourage."

Then she put on her own pair of sunglasses, adjusted her blonde wig, and stepped out of the car. Her hands tugged at the hem of her simple black dress to adjust it before she began walking. Felix watched her take careful steps down the road in borrowed high heels, swearing when she almost fell sideways into a tree.

When Dani and Felix entered the bar, music was already playing. The middle section had been cleared, and the tables were pushed aside to allow room for dancing. Most of the people were having a blast on the dance floor, and everyone else sat scattered around the bar table or inside the cushiony booths near the wall.

Felix took off his sunglasses and nodded with approval at the sight of couples swaying wildly to the beat. Mavis had already arrived long before. She looked at them from where she sat at the bar, sipping at a glass of the house wine. They locked eyes for a few seconds before she turned away to chat with the bartender, writing in a notepad she'd brought.

I always add a bit of backstory to my disguises, Mavis had told them as they entered the car earlier that evening. It makes it more fun. Tonight I'm a writer, people-watching at the bar to gather inspiration for my next novel.

Felix raised his chin and held out a hand to Dani.

"We need to blend in," he said in a conspiratorial stage-whisper as he nodded at the crowded dance floor, removing his borrowed suit jacket to put on the back of a chair.

Dani raised her eyebrow and pulled off the black scarf she was using as a cardigan to lay on his suit before accepting his hand.

Felix pulled her in just as the next song was starting. He had never shied away from dancing. At clubs, Felix always made his way to the center of the floor. Though he'd never been professionally trained—who the fuck had time for that?—he always danced with endless energy, flailing his arms wildly, exaggerating his steps as he stomped around. The ladies found it entertaining, and that was all that mattered.

But tonight, as Dani pulled Felix to the center of the dance floor when a new song began, he found himself in a daze. Dani twirled around him, a whirlwind of black hair and scarlet satin. He'd expected this dance to be like the ones he did with those easygoing ladies at his favorite clubs. His eyes widened as he saw Dani's feet stepping around his in perfect rhythm. All he could do was make sure he didn't trip over her legs. Or his own.

She paused and pulled him close, still swaying. "You okay?" she asked, her tone taunting. "Am I going too fast for you?"

"Pfft, no," he bluffed, trying not to pant. "One thing you should know about me, Dani, I like things intense."

"Good." She smirked. "I was saving the best part for last."

He swore under his breath as she led them back and forth. Her fingers gripped behind his back and at his shoulder as she spun them around, pulling him close to her and then pushing him back as they side-stepped in a who-knows-what formation. His leg muscles protested at the swiftness in which she made them move as he glanced down at his feet every other second to make sure he wasn't about to stomp on her toes.

When he lost balance and his face nearly planted into her shoulder, she laughed and finally slowed down for him to catch up.

She loosened the arm around his waist, putting a bit of distance between them so he could see her steps more clearly. Then she took a simple step to the left and nodded at him encouragingly. He followed her lead and scrunched his brows in concentration as he tried and failed to discern a pattern in the movement.

"How the fuck do you remember these things?" he asked as she grabbed his hand and leaned back with a toss of her head, before pulling herself toward him again.

She smirked, putting a hand on his shoulder again. "I don't. I'm more of an improviser."

Then she told him to hold on to her hand, and she twirled outwards. He tugged, and she spun back. He caught her with a swift arm around her waist.

"See, you're getting it." She winked.

He grinned as the music was drawing to an end. He looked down at her feet, then up at her face, his head bobbing back and forth as he tried to figure out what to do next. But his own footsteps came a bit more easily now, filling the space around hers. Call it muscle memory.

Felix nearly collapsed into Dani when the song stopped, but he forced himself to stay upright and flash her a smile.

"Dios mío, it's hot in here," she said as they walked off and another pair took their place.

She fanned the air into her neck with her hands and let out a deep exhale. Her forehead shimmered under the layer of sweat, making her glow in the dim blue lights of the bar. He watched her grab the black silk scarf she used as a cardigan and flap it against her back to cool herself down, while he put the borrowed suit jacket back on, wishing he'd brought something more fitting.

"You want a drink?" she asked, hooking her arm around his casually.

He simply nodded. For once in his life, he didn't know what to say.

After the bartender brought them their drinks, she downed her first shot with a toss of her head, loosening her bun. Locks of black hair fell on the sides of her face, framing her pointy chin. He downed his shot and looked back, giving her a thumbs-up when she raised an eyebrow, impressed.

Their conversation started with small talks. It was a force of habit he'd picked up after his routine trips to the bars and clubs at night. Wolfie-the-stoic was never going to initiate conversation, and Felix had to get the ladies to chat so they could both walk away with a score every night. He liked hearing people talk about themselves, and he'd always made himself approachable with compliments and silly grins.

That was how he'd found out about the diamond from Mumbai—Steiner had drunkenly boasted about his plan after Felix appealed to his ego and challenged him to a drinking game. He pushed the memory away.

Dani talked to him about her days in college in San Diego. He laughed when she mentioned the pranks she and her sorority sisters used to pull. She'd celebrated every success in the way he and Wolfie used to celebrate after heists: with dancing and booze. They clinked their glasses and down another shot after finding that in common.

When she was excited, the left corner of her mouth would quirk up a second before the right, and he found that delightful.

Her dress was somewhat see-through and happened to be in a shade that matched her lipstick, but he knew that from memory, and not from glancing down her neckline as she spoke. Over the past few days, he'd gotten used to looking into her eyes. He'd also gotten acquainted with the signature tick of her right eyebrow, a gesture that could convey a dozen different things depending on the context, but usually meant she was teasing.

She finished listing all her best pranks, and her sharp brown eyes softened as she moved on to talk about her escapades with Lito and Hernando. My boys, she'd called them.

Dani was an actress before she became Lito's agent—she'd told Felix that three nights ago during a drinking game, where he'd found himself admitting defeat for the first time since the Great Stolichnaya Incident of 2003, something Wolfie had sworn to never speak of again. But he didn't know until tonight that her best Christmas memory was from last year, the one she'd spent with her boys and Lito's mom. He wondered how she'd spent her holidays before.

Meanwhile, Mavis sat near them, looking around the room, still pretending to jot down notes as her other hand fiddled with a handmade red and blue bracelet that stuck out like a sore thumb from her sophisticated evening outfit-costume. She gave Felix a slight nod when he looked back to check that nothing was amiss.

And then a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a dark blue suit slipped into the stool between Dani and Mavis. The man ordered a cocktail with an Italian accent, and Felix saw Mavis scratch the tip of her nose, the cue they'd agreed on. Mavis turned to the man, nodded in greeting, and initiated small talk. Felix and Dani took turns glancing around the room to make sure no one was fixating on them for an unnecessarily long time.

They heard Mavis tell the man she was planning to travel to Rome with her roommate, and ask for restaurant recommendations, handing him the notepad. After writing down a few words, he finished his drink and excused himself as he left for the restroom. Mavis turned back to talk some more with the bartender as Dani and Felix stood up. They had arranged to meet in front of the fish and chips place two blocks away.

When they got out, it was past midnight, and the street was bustling with excited chatter as groups of giggling friends walked past them. They prepared to cross the street per Mavis' instruction, but before Felix could take a step, Dani swore under her breath and put a hand on his shoulder, turning them back.

"What?"

"We can't cross here," her voice shook. "Let's go left first, cross over there."

"Why?" Felix whispered.

"Why the hell is he here," she muttered instead, ignoring his question.

Felix turned to her. Who the fuck is he? he mouthed.

She shook her head frantically, gesturing for him to be quiet as she guided them away down the sidewalk. He threw her a questioning glance before sneaking a glance behind him.

A man was leaning on the wall of the closed key shop across the street, smoking a cigar. He wore a brown leather jacket despite the heat, and a big golden pendant dangled in front of his chest. It was too dark to make out the man's exact features, but Felix could see black hair and tattoos on his neck.

Felix recoiled as he turned back, and quickened his pace. The tattooed man's mannerism gave him a shudder. He looked at Dani when he caught up with her and saw that her hand was shaking as she clutched her purse extra tight. And the look in her eyes? It was the same look Wolfgang wore when he cowered under his father's gaze.

"Yeah, let's move," he said hoarsely and asked no more questions.

They ducked their heads low and didn't stop walking until they arrived at the fish and chips place to find Mavis waiting. She waved her purse with the notepad inside triumphantly as Capheus rounded the corner in a different car, waving at them from the open window.


Kareem growled madly when he saw Karl enter the interrogation room, and the Headhunter had to resist the urge to pummel his prisoner in the chest. Instead, he slipped the EEG cap over Kareem's head and waited for the Traceworks machine to detect the brain waves. From the pocket of his leather jacket, he took out a syringe with a light green liquid inside.

"Spooky color," Kareem said with a whistle.

Karl wiped down the needle with antiseptics, taking his time so Kareem could get a good look at the way the liquid sloshed around and foams gathered around the top.

"Hoping to turn me into a mutant?"

"No, hardly," Karl finally responded as he turned to look at his prisoner in the eye. The corners of his mouth twisted into a grin, distorting the scar that ran down the left side of his face. "This"—he brought the syringe forward so the prisoner could take a better look—"will turn you into one of us."

Kareem sneered. "I will never be one of you."

"You won't have a choice."

Before the prisoner could gather his thoughts and give him a snarky retort, Karl pushed the needle into his neck. Kareem spasmed in his recliner, the leather straps threatening to snap. Then his muscles went lax, and he leaned his head back and let out a sigh, unaware that his mental walls were collapsing under his newfound lack of inhibition.

Karl used the second before Kareem closed his eyes to gaze into his dilating pupils and latch on to the sensation of utter bliss that reverberated through both their minds.

When he first became acquainted with his powers after his rebirth, Milton had told him eye contacts weren't the only way one could connect to other Sensates, though it was by far the easiest. The alternative was an Empathetic Connection, where one's intense feelings seep through the Psycellium to make connections with other Sensates who were experiencing the same emotions. This method had always been challenging for Headhunters; to genuinely experience these emotions would make them too vulnerable.

But if the Reciphorum proved itself effective in this trial, it could be revolutionary to the way they Hunted.

So he concentrated on the echoes of the Egyptian's bliss, hoping the distribution of the drug across California would yield significant results.

He could make out seven different voices, all mumbling incoherently. Karl visualized the voices as flickering lights inside a dense gray fog, and he drifted towards the closest one. The space below him swayed like he was on a turbulent sea, a sign of Kareem's consciousness resisting, but the movement was futile as Kareem's muddled mind struggled against the force of the invasion.

Karl found himself colliding with the first flicker as he moved forward, ignoring the waves underneath. An image of a man in dreadlocks sitting at a dim-lit bar came into view. As he tried to move the man's arm, he felt a buzzing in his head—the Blocker this man had taken was trying to shut off the Reciphorum-induced bliss that slipped through the cracks of the barriers around his mind. The hand that extracted the ID from the man's back pocket was shaky, but Karl forced his own consciousness into the man's body and detected the name and address on the man's driver's license.

He repeated the information he'd gathered to himself before he closed his eyes and concentrated on finding the swaying ocean with the lights again. Then once more Karl collided with one of the flickers and found himself in a back alley, surrounded by a gang of dealers towering over him. He located an ID in the person's jacket pocket and gathered the name and address. On he went until the last flickering light ebbed away, and he found himself in the fog again, the swaying growing still.

Concentrate. Karl concentrated on feeling the tense muscles of his own body from standing still for what he presumed to be a long time. As the sensation of aching in his back and legs returned, he found his consciousness back in the room with the white fluorescent light, the Traceworks machine beeping nearby to show a decrease in Kareem's brain waves.

The prisoner in question lay on the stretcher, eyes still closed, mumbling as his mind drifted into nothingness.

"Danke, Herr Asghar," Karl whispered into the now-unconscious man's ears, pulling out a notepad to jot down the names and addresses of the Sensates he'd seen in his visions as he grinned madly. "You have been very helpful."


As Riley fell asleep on the mattress near the couch, Will stepped over duffle bags and loaded suitcases to join Mavis on the first shift of the night. They were planning to travel to the new hideout tomorrow, but everyone was prepared to grab the emergency kits they kept by their pillow and escape from the window should someone come bursting through the front door. Lucky this hideout was on the second floor.

The younger woman was gazing to her right as she talked under her breath, her hand fiddling with the bracelet she never seemed to take off. When Will sat down next to her, she didn't stir, but merely acknowledged him with a nod and turned back to talk to the empty space with a smile. She was speaking in a language he didn't understand, but he thought he could detect a few familiar words.

"It's Portuguese," she answered when she heard him wondering. She reached out towards the visiting Sensate on her right to say goodnight, before turning her full attention to Will.

She opened her mouth again before he could say something in reply. "By the way, can I have my knife back? My boot's feeling very lonely without it."

He took out the switchblade he'd confiscated from her from the side pocket of his duffle bag but stopped before he could lay it on her outstretched hand.

"Why do you need this so much?"

She smirked. "Let me guess, bad cop habits?"

"I'll make you a deal," he told her. "Answer my next question, and I'll give this back."

She shrugged.

"Why do you have two passports?"

"Oh, don't tell me I'm the only one with fake IDs in this place." She took out the passports in question and waved them tauntingly in front of Will.

"Which one's real?"

She shoved the American one into his hand and snatched the switchblade back before he could close his fist. He opened it.

Date of Birth: Jun 06, 1996.

6/6/96. He nearly snorted. 8/8/88 was their birthday, and Lito used to say it must have been destiny at work due to the size of their Cluster.

"Is there six of you?"

A flash of pain echoed through their connection, and Will apologized when he realized what it meant. She turned from him and looked down at her hands, fiddling with the bracelet around her wrist. He put a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to look at him again. "BPO?" he asked softly.

She nodded.

Then she shared a memory with him, of pummeling fists and the musky smell of the damp walls where a few boys bunked in a room overlooking the courtyard. The window was barred from the inside. Will saw a long-haired teenager with a muscular build sitting on a bottom bunk, wearing a set of gray overalls like the others. The boy made a move to punch the wall again, but Mavis grabbed his wrist.

"Oh, punching your way out of here? Fantastic idea," she remarked with a roll of her eyes.

She sat next to the boy on the bed, donned in a nightgown, but none of the other boys appeared to know she was there. Will noticed she had longer hair back then. She wore the same smirk that made a single dimple appear on her right cheek, but the edge to her voice was more playful, less defensive.

"I'm not trying to get out, Mavis, that's not gonna fucking happen anyway," the boy seethed, keeping his volume down.

"But I know you want to," Mavis singsonged. The boy turned and glared at her.

"Look, maybe you should join them." She nodded at the window. He got up and went to look down at the courtyard, where other boys in gray overalls played rugby against a team wearing private school jerseys. "Could be a good outlet for when you get a little punchy."

He frowned and thought about it.

"I know you wanna go home to your sister," Mavis prompted again. "But they're not gonna let you out if you keep being, well—"she gestured to all of him.

He crossed his arms and glowered.

"Good boy." She patted him on the shoulder. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go back to bed."

Then the memory faded, and another scene flashed by in Will's mind. The same boy was struggling against the binds on a stretcher in a surgery room as Mavis and her four other Cluster-mates shouted at him and at each other in total panic. One of his arms escaped the binds and grabbed a scalpel on a tray that lay nearby, which he jabbed at the doctor who towered over him, trying to slip an EEG cap on his head.

But he'd missed his doctor's temple, and instead, the blade cut across his cheek. The doctor, who Will recognized as Pelzer, howled in pain as his blood slid from the jagged wound. Then two more guards rushed into the room to push the boy down, but before they could restrain his loose arm, he'd grabbed a pistol one of them kept hooked on their belt and aimed it into his mouth—

There was the sound of a gunshot as the memory faded.

Then another scene unfolded around Will. He saw Mavis standing in front of a desk in a study. The man sitting on the other side was looking up at her, frowning. "Absolutely not—"

"So what, I should keep hiding out here like a sitting duck?!" she shouted back as tears streamed down her face. "Morgan's dead. And I can't—"

"It won't happen again," the man tried to reassure her as he moved his gaze away from her face and looked down. "We'll make sure—"

She snorted. "They're hackers, not magicians."

The man sighed deeply and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

"Stop treating me like a child, dad," she continued, crossing her arms. "I know what I'm doing."

"I know you do," Mr. Fowler said quietly, before lifted his head to look at her again. "I was just praying this day would never come."

She looked surprised. "You knew I'd want to—"

"You're a lot like your father," he said, thinking of his deceased friend. "I don't want to lose you too."

Mavis' gaze softened. She let herself smirk a little. "Alright, I'll try not to die," she said. Her stepdad smiled wistfully.

Then Will found his consciousness launched back into his own body. He turned to Mavis, who was biting her lip as she twiddled her thumbs, trying not to cry at the reminder of her Cluster-mate's death. He put a hand over hers in comfort.

"Sorry if I'm overstepping. You don't have to answer," Will said softly, "but what—"

"What happened to my father? BPO happened. It's always them."

"He was a Sensate? But I thought before 9-11—"

"There's always been people in the know who wanted us gone. 9-11 just pushed the other BPO Sapiens over the edge. That's when we moved from Beijing."

Of course. Nomi had located a major BPO facility there.

Mavis flipped through her British passport absentmindedly, and Will could make out visas and travel stamps on a couple pages. "My stepdad had this made when mom and I moved in with him. An escape plan. But—"

"You were tired of running," he finished for her. He thought back to his own Cluster, how they'd decided to stand up against BPO despite the odds. It comforted him to know they weren't the only ones.

"Yang was the name my birth father gave me," she told him. "I'm using it to finish what he started. Fitting, isn't it?"

She was spinning the switchblade with her fingers now. She pulled out the blade and examined it, turning the handle so the sharp edge glinted under the ray of moonlight that crept in from between the drawn curtains.

"Our Mother used to say that if we get caught, we have to do whatever it takes to protect our Cluster." She pushed the blade into the slot on the side of the handle again. "But I wish we could have found another way."

"Why do you carry this, then?"

She smiled dangerously, eyes cutting through the dim moonlit room like scalpels. When she spoke again, the edge was back in her voice.

"I'm not planning to use this on myself."


Later that night, Will drifted out of a dream where he and Riley were climbing atop that volcano with the name he couldn't pronounce. He found himself staring into the face of a man with a demented glint in his eyes and forceful hands that yanked at his hair.

But he was seeing through someone else's eyes.

The man in the memory pulled the woman, the woman whose body Will was inhabiting, into a corner of the bedroom and thrashed her about with his hands on her shoulder. She put up her arms to protect her face and chest, but her bones threatened to break under the impact. Spots danced around her vision.

Please, Xanthus, please, please.

Her voice quivered as she pleaded in a foreign language through split lips. Will felt the pain as if he were her, and the speech sounded like English to his ears. A feeling of dread plagued through the dream—no, memory—and Will was frozen on the spot near the corner where she crouched.

Then there was a chilling presence in the back of his mind, and Will found himself bound by tendrils as cold as ice before he was yanked out of the scene.

And he was back at the hospital room where he'd watched the life drain out of his father. He was speaking through Riley, but he couldn't hear any of the words they'd said. All he could hear was the voice that haunted his dreams.

I was right, Will, Whispers said. You don't really care for him.

You don't know me! Will shouted at the voice. Leave me alone! You don't—

You fought harder for Wolfgang than you ever did for him. Did he really mean that little to you?

Fuck off. Will seethed, trying to reassure himself that Whispers was doing this on purpose to get a reaction. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

How heartless of you to let your father die alone. He could almost see Whispers shaking his head in disapproval. And really, it's your fault he died at all. If you hadn't left Chicago -

You have no fucking right -

Oh, come now, Will, Whisper's voice was pitiful. You and I both know it's the truth.

No!

He jolted out of his dream and rolled off the mattress with a thump. Sun was by his side in a second, hands on his shoulders, eyes glancing around the room for potential signs of danger. Capheus stood from the couch and raised his fists, feet spread apart in a defensive stance.

"No, no, no…" he kept muttering as he sat on the ground and rocked back and forth in a fetal position with his head on his knees, suppressing his sob. Sun let go of him as Riley came over and embraced him from behind, smoothing his hair with her hand.

"Will, Will, listen to me," she said quietly, not wanting to wake Felix snoring nearby.

She reached out to his mind, a shivering presence in their shared consciousness, and imagined her hand smoothing over his doubts, letting the warmth of her presence seep inside and drive the cold whispers away.

She brought forth the memory of her mother stroking her hair when she'd woken from a nightmare. She recalled the sensation of careful fingers brushing against her, tingling her senses until she'd smiled contently and closed her eyes. She'd listened as her mother's voice hummed her favorite lullaby until she'd fallen asleep, and she repeated the song to Will now, hoping it would do the same for him. She felt his shaking come to a halt.

"'M sorry," he mumbled as he let her guide him back onto their shared mattress. "Dad, dad, don't go, I-I'm sorry."

When she lay down next to him again, she put her arms around him, hoping to shield him from his doubts. He woke at the touch, his eyes opening.

"What happened, Will?"

He buried his head in the crook of her neck and sniffled, sending forth both visions from Whispers' mind. She gasped, then sighed.

"He doesn't know you," she said as she rubbed circles on his back, shaking her head at the way he crumbled under his remorse. "You may not see it now, but next time he tries to tell you who you are, remember to look in here"—she tapped a finger against his forehead with her other hand.

He turned a little so he could look her in the eye.

"—and here." She tapped her finger against where his heart was. "You'll see what I see, not what he sees."

Humming, he felt the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile.

His breaths evened out after a few more minutes. When he tried to breathe, he crinkled his nose in annoyance, realizing it was stuffed. Riley took out a pack of tissue paper from the side pocket of a duffle bag nearby and pinched his nose, grinning when he gruntled in protest like a petulant child with a cold.

When Riley tossed the tissue away and settled back down next to him, he pulled her close, inching his head forward so that their noses bopped against each other.

Love you, he said in their shared mind.

"I love you too, Will."


Glossary:

Reciphorum = A drug that brings the user into a state of reciphoria. And yes, I made that word up. It's like a combo of "reciprocal" and "euphoria".

Danke = Thank you.