"Something's not right."

I pressed the button connected to my microphone, resolving to speak to Wash only as much as I needed.

"Hey, Eleven, I was just going to contact you," said Wash in my ear. "I just saw your guys here. The Reds and Blues. You know anything about this?"

I glanced at the dance floor and saw Donut and Caboose dancing crazily to the now-upbeat song, crashing into other guests. I rolled my eyes.

"No. I was just as surprised as you are to see them here. But I think they could help with the mission. They've been through crap before—you of all people know that—so why don't we get them connected with a couple of earpieces so they can talk to us too?"

"Sounds like a plan. It's a bit unorthodox, but what the hell. I don't want it on our hands if Hale gets nuked and there could have been others around here to help."

I clicked off the earpiece and turned to Tucker, who was watching me curiously.

"We're going to get you guys to help us out. There's been a rumored assassin for James Hale and we're on the patrol. So we'll get you and the rest of the group hooked up to these walkie-talkie things so you can communicate with us. Can you go round up the other Blues? I need to find the Reds."

Tucker nodded soberly and departed, while I slowly found the Reds. It wasn't easy. I had to continuously remind myself not to look for shades of red, but actual faces. Donut was the easiest, sticking out in his wild checkerboard suit. I then tracked down Sarge, who was rather bored and drinking a cup of gin with gusto, though it was the first time I had ever seen him… clean. I finally found Simmons later, standing sullenly next to the musicians. I dragged him away from the music.

"What the hell, Eleven…" he gasped as I brought him back over to the bar area.

"Come on, we need to take care of a couple things."

He frowned and resisted. "No way. You just, like, rejected me. Why should I do anything you say?"

I stopped, looking back at him incredulously. "Seriously, Simmons? You're acting like a damn four-year-old. This is business."

"I don't care."

I sighed in resignation. Was this really the way it was going to be? "Simmons, we really need your help with this… I really need your help."

He looked back at me, eyes wide. "Fine, fine, fine. But only because it's you."

I preferred not to read into this comment as we reached the bar area. All the soldiers were present, including Wash.

"All right, everyone, listen up," I said as Wash handed out the earpieces. "Use these and their remotes to communicate with us. Watch out for any suspicious movement, especially around Hale. Someone might be planning on attacking him. Just be wary."

The earpieces were placed in correctly (after a few tries from Caboose) and they set off in different directions. I sighed and sank back into a chair near the bar. These heels were going to kill me.

"Eleven," said Sarge, approaching me. "I was gonna go and watch Hale from the dance floor, but it would look awkward as hell without a dance partner. Why don't ya come with me so we can just blend in? It's like fancy camouflage."

I laughed. "Good idea, Sarge. I was just doing that with Donut and Simmons. Seemed to work out well… ish. Though I must say I don't think you're quite the ballroom-dancing type."

"Guess we're about to find out."
We rocked slowly back and forth on the dance floor—nothing complicated, or we would have both made fools of ourselves—and took to watching the other guests.

Nothing really seemed out of the ordinary. The throng of black and white spun slowly, every woman's skirt swooshing with a rustle. The music played. Gentle laughter rippled around the room as glasses clinked. Hale was dancing contentedly with who I supposed was his wife, a tall, mousy-haired lady wearing an elegant white dress.

"You see Hale?" I asked quietly as they danced behind me.

Sarge peered discreetly over my shoulder. "Yeah."

"Doesn't he look comfortable? Not at all suspecting of a murder."

"Yeah, I know. It's not normal."

The dancers flew in faster and faster circles to the music, dizzying me. It all seemed so surreal. After days of adjusting my eyes to the various shades of red and blue, the monotony of the blacks and whites didn't seem right. Didn't feel right.

As the dance continued, I realized just what a predicament I had gotten myself into. I was being pinched and squeezed in a corset, dancing with a drill Sargeant in a colorless sea of classical music. There was no end to the madness. No wonder I had been jumpy.

"I don't know…" I thought aloud after a few minutes of silence. Nothing seemed out of order, for the situation, at least. "This really seems to be a pretty tranquil party. I don't understand what made Wash and the others think that Hale would be in such danger. I think I'm going to let him know everything's fine."

I reached into my pocket and clicked the remote.

"Hey, Wash, nothing's wrong here. Have you seen anything?"

Silence.

"Wash?"

I brought my finger to my ear and realized the earpiece had fallen out.

"Shit," I muttered, glancing down at the dance floor. "Sarge, my earpiece fell out. Do you see it? Maybe you should call Wash."

I looked toward the ground again, expecting an answer from the Red.

None came.

"Sarge…" I glanced back over at his face, and my stomach clenched in shock. His eyes were glazed over with terror, his mouth forming words, though no sounds came out. "Sarge?"

I spun around to see what he was staring at and my heart stopped as a flash of white ran toward me at full speed. I gasped and stumbled out of the way, missing the streak by inches. I thought the person might turn around and head back for me and Sarge, but it continued straight, hurtling toward the regal couple that had just been behind us.

"HALE!" I screamed. The head of the CIA had only one second to look up before the white figure leaped on top of him, bringing him down to the floor. The group of dancers scattered confusedly, skittering out of the way and crashing into the musicians. The attacker knelt down at Hale and struck violently, punching him over and over again. Hale's face streamed blood and the attacker paused, bringing a gun out of his belt and clicking it menacingly at his victim.

"Get out of the way!" I yelled, kicking off my heels and running at the duo. I lunged at the assassin, rolling him off Hale as a sickening bang resounded from the gun. I heard the bullet stick in the ceiling with a sharp crack, but before I could breathe the sigh of relief, the assassin rotated away, crawling on his hands and knees toward the confused crowd of dancers.

"Oh no you don't," I growled, grabbing his ankle. The figure stopped and turned, throwing a punch at the side of my head as he did so, smacking me dead on. I fell back to the ground with my vision popping stars, but before I could get back to the attacker, he kneeled on top of me, reloading the gun, and I saw his face for the first time though my sparkling vision.

I would have recognized the once-again bloodied scar running like a crescent moon beneath his eye anywhere.

It was Tucker.