Diary Log: 2

Date: Unknown

Year: 2013.

Dear Diary,

I don't know what's going on. I don't know where I am, and right now, you're the only thing stopping me from losing my mind. All I have is this notepad they gave me, because I've been in here for days. I don't even know who "they" are! They took me from my home, stealing me away in the night. All I see them as are the people in white. Every time they come and give me meals, they have no face. It's hidden by a mask, so I can't even look into the faces of my kidnappers. Nobody will talk to me, and when I try and ask what's going on, I'm ignored. I don't know how many days it's been. I woke up in here, and all I can describe it as is small room with a single bed. The walls and floor are made of white tile. I keep thinking I have lost my mind. Maybe mom brought me here to help me.

But what for? If she has, where is she? I can't stop thinking about the possibility that my mother has subjected me to a program that will help me. But I'm not crazy? I have anxiety. I suffered from a depressive episode a few months back, but I'm fine now! That's it. There's nothing wrong with me to send me away!

So who took me? Thoughts are plaguing me, Diary. I keep going over my memories of that night. Before everything went blurry. I remember getting ready. I remember my pink dress, the sick feeling in my gut. I remember the heels that I had to squeeze into because of my swollen toes. That night, I was alone. Mom was grocery shopping, getting a Christmas tree. Polly and Chic were with friends. It was just me. I couldn't find you, so I grabbed my laptop and started typing an entry. And then, diary? It goes dark.

So I'm going to bullet point the key factors of that night.

It was before Winter formal. I remember someone grabbing me and yanking me back. I screamed, but something went over my mouth. Something wet and cold. It smelled like chlorine from a pool. It was strong, tangy and nausea inducing. Someone wrapped their arms around my waist. I felt their breath on my neck. It was a guy. I felt him knock me onto my bedroom floor, pressing pressure onto whatever he had over my mouth. I didn't see his face. I didn't see or hear anything, except from his short gasps for breath. And then? I don't know. I don't remember passing out, but I guess I did.

This bastard took me. He took me from my family.

Then I woke up here. In this cold room. There's no heating, and the blanket they gave me is so thin. I shiver at night, and despite my exhausted mind I can't seem to be able to fall asleep. It's been days stuck here. Days. I've counted the tiles on my ceiling and thought up every logical explanation why I'm here. I've been given meals. Mac and cheese for the first night, and then some kind of mystery meat stew for the last three nights. All of my meals are served with a glass of lemonade and a pudding cup, so they're not starving me. Every time I try and think of a reason why I'm here, trapped, a prisoner behind these bland white walls, I cry. I scream. I throw my stupid tray on the floor. But they ignore me. Even when I scream until my throat is raw, until I'm sure I'm going to throw up. Whoever these people are- they let me scream. They let me cry.

So I stopped. I stopped crying, acting like a child. I'm not giving them the satisfaction of knowing they're hurting me. So I stay silent. I eat my meals when they tell me to, and I lay on my bed and try and think of every possible way I can break out of this room.

Did I do something wrong? Right now I'm sitting on the bed, and I'm so cold, it's almost painful. They send in clean pairs of clothes every day. A white t-shirt and pants. but I refuse to change into them. I'm staying in this dress. The dress my mother gave me.

I can't stop shaking, and the pen they gave me is running out, so I need to be quick. I'm going to write in you every single day, because right now, you're the only thing keeping me going crazy. There's a boy in the room next to mine. He's around my age, and he cries a lot. I don't know his name. I don't know why he's here, but I guess he's the same as me. Because he screams for his parents. He screams so loud, Diary, it scares me. I've tried to talk to him, but he just cries. He won't tell me anything about himself, even if I've poured out my life to him. I don't know why I did. He's a stranger. But he's also in the same situation as me. He's scared, like me. he wants his family. Like me.

It's rare when he's quiet. But when he is, I ask him the same questions. His name. His story. If he knows who these people are, and why they're doing this.

But he never answers me. And when he does, he just screams at me. He screams at me, and while I understand that he's scared and upset and angry- I can't help but want to shake him. I want to reach through the walls and grab him. As far as I know, it's only the boy and I. I haven't heard anyone else. We should be working together, figuring how to get out of here. We're stronger together. But he wants nothing to do with me. Part of me understands. I'd be like that too. After all, he doesn't have you to write in. I wonder if he has anything to hold onto. Sometimes when I hear him sobbing, I sit back against the wall facing his room and imagine him on the other side. I talk about everything from my botched date with Jughead Jones at Winter formal, to my excitement for Christmas, which could be over and done with for all I know. It started with attempting to engage conversation with him, but after multiple attempts at trying to get him to talk, it's totally fruitless. I tell him about my family, my struggles with anxiety and depression. Even my friends. I tell him about Katy and Sabrina. Last night I just talked about my favourite TV shows. I've realized that talking makes me feel better. I went through all three seasons of The Walking Dead and highlighted the best and worst characters. And he just listened. The boy didn't make a sound for hours, while I talked until I'd ran out of things to say. It was comforting, knowing he was there listening to me.

Yesterday morning, he woke me up crying for his parents. He said they were dead, that whoever our kidnappers are, killed them. I haven't let the thought even grace my mind that there's a possibility that they did the same to my mom. Because every time I do, my mind goes to a dark place. I pray he's lying, or is delusional. Part of me prays I really am crazy so the boy is too. Which means the things he says are nothing but paranoid delusions. Even if I know I'm wrong. I want to hold onto this possibility for as long as I can. My mom is alive. My beautiful, wonderful mother is at home. She's looking for me, going out of her mind. She'll never stop looking for me until I'm safe in her arms.

My mom is alive.

MY MOM IS ALIVE.

I won't think it. I have to remain positive.

I'm tired now, Diary. I'm going to go to sleep. The boy is silent right now. Hopefully he'll start talking to me soon.

I'll write tomorrow, I promise.

Love,
xxxx

Present.

For Archie, there was only oblivion, accompanied by a low humming noise. Before a voice sliced through, cutting into his swamped thought process. The voice was unfamiliar, but at the same time, it began to slowly lull the agent back to consciousness. There was something about it. It wasn't quite recognition, but Archie could have sworn he'd heard it before. Until then the voice had been behind a barrier in his mind, but as it lit up his ears once again, the barrier started to crumble, but not quite collapsing just yet.

"Now. Shall we begin?"

The world came back to him in a flash, snapping him back into a world that wasn't darkness. The devouring grey that had held him for what felt like a lifetime slowly let go, but he still felt curls of fog wrapped around his mind as he retracted, pulling away from the hungry, starving beast. It was pride and it was vivid, head a whirl of activity with nothing to properly snag onto. Archie jerked involuntarily, his body running on adrenaline, only to find himself immobile. He picked his head up, eyes searching, finding straps pinning his wrists and ankles to the metal table he was laying on. When he blinked the fog from his vision, he glimpsed a man looming over him.

At first it was a faceless figure, a silhouette bathed in light. But as Archie gathered more of himself, tearing his mind from where it had been enveloped in candy floss, the figure became more prominent, bleeding into reality. For a moment, he stared at the man through heavy lidded eyes, his mind already kicking itself into gear as his training kicked in. Archie didn't get kidnapped a lot, but when he did, on those rare occasions he was able to stay calm and assess the situation. His head was spinning, body aching. His vision wasn't great, but he could tolerate it for now. Going down the mental checklist, he checked himself over.

Physical injuries? No.

Pain? Yes.

Brain injury/modification? No. But his memories were fuzzy.

Unable to resist a groan, Archie tugged on the restraints. Velcro straps. Not easy to get out of, but possible. It would take some stalling, and a hell of a lot of squirming. His body seemed to mold into the table, as if it had been specially structured for him. He was mostly naked, except from his boxer shorts. A cool white linen sheet had been thrown over his bottom half, but he still felt exposed. When he struggled again, his bare back flopped helplessly on the icy slab, and he came to the grim conclusion that he was well and truly stuck. The straps pinning his wrists and ankles weren't the usual velcro ones he was used to. These ones were far more sturdy and strict, slicing into his skin when he struggled too much. They held him in place no matter how hard he strained against them.

So he wasn't escaping anytime soon.

Archie swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper. His head throbbed. The pain felt like someone had taken a knife to his skull. The last thing he remembered was briefing Hiram on his and Veronica's progress in the assignment. He'd ended the call, about to text Jughead an update. After all, the boy got freaked out when he left on assignment without telling him. He'd gotten through half of the text, before something hard had slammed into the back of his head, sending him to his knees. That explained the headache. Though what had he been hit with? It felt like the curve of a fist. His phone had slipped from his hands, and before he knew it, he was falling into the dark.

Which was a first. Archie didn't lose fights with anyone. Period. He was one of the Agency's best fighters, so being knocked out from behind was almost child's play. Normally he was on top of his game, so it didn't make sense that he'd be put down so quickly. Hiram had told him to make sure to mask his identity and not do anything to compromise the mission, but it was basic self defense. Some asshole had come in, somehow without getting his attention, and knocked him out. He hadn't even heard the door open. Could he have been inebriated?

As soon as the thought graced his mind, he ran his tongue over his teeth, sweeping it along the back of his mouth in fluid motions. If he'd been drugged, there would still be excess fluid in the back of his throat. A bitter taste lingering. But he tasted nothing.

"I said, are you ready to begin?"

The gruff voice snapped Archie's attention back to his main problem.

The man standing over him looked to be in his mid forties, with short greying hair and a clean shaven beard. His eyes were grey and droopy, a sure sign that he barely slept, if the dark eye-bags weren't obvious enough. Though it was like a second personality took over. The sudden look on his face was manic, especially when Archie blinked at him. It was like he'd just downed three pints of coffee, grey eyes blowing open with excitement, a chesire cat grin splitting his lips apart, as if the look of discomfort on the boys face was bringing him copious amounts of joy. From first impressions, he resembled a Doctor, blue hospital like-scrubs clinging to a wiry frame, a bleached white lab-coat thrown over the top. Though it wasn't clean. There were very noticeable scarlet smears decorating the front. Archie could identify the colour of blood from a mile away.

It was a cardinal colour, meaning it was old. He didn't get scared easily, but knowing this crazy bastard was covered in blood, hiding under the seemingly perfect facade of an Arts academy sent shivers down his spine. Was this where the missing agents were? He let out a shuddery breath, twisting his head to take in his surroundings.

The place he'd found himself in had a sterile smell to it that tingled in his nose. It was built like a mad scientists laboratory; bright, far too bright for Archie's eyes. Everything seemed to be lit up in smoldering golden light. Every surface was glass and metal, test tubes and beakers glistening on steel surfaces.

There were screens dotting the perimeter displaying readings he couldn't make sense of.

Yep. Archie swallowed a groan. Definitely a mad scientist's laboratory. What was this? Was Stonewall experimenting on its students?

When Archie turned his head, there was a line of metal slabs either side of him. Beside each one, including his, was a futuristic looking machine which was the source of the humming noise, growing louder, like a swarm of wasps were nestling inside his skull. He narrowed his eyes, and fuck, that was painful.

Every time he so much as slitted his eyes, a dull throbbing pounded in the forefront of his socket. But he'd been taught to repress pain. Especially during a mission.

What were the machines for?

They reminded him of television screens. But instead of a screen, there were only buttons and dials in lines of ten, wires attached to the top and bottom. They didn't look threatening, but everything else did. The place screamed some kind of experimentation room, what with the beds, the lines of silver instruments glinting on every surface. Stonewall were doing something to their students, as well agents that came in undercover and went missing.

But what were they doing to them?

Archie's eyes swivelled back to the strange man, who was practically vibrating with elation, his fingers gripping the steel sides of the bed, knuckles turning white. The almost childlike expression on the man's face was very quickly overshadowed by a look of triumph. Jekyll and Hyde, Archie thought dizzily. This man was a living embodiment. He was seeing childish joy on his face, which broke into a stony exterior that almost took his breath away. The Strange Case Of Dr Jekyll And Mr Hyde was one of Jughead's favourite books. He half wondered if his friend would cater better in his position. After all, Jug was fascinated by the concept of the novel; two personalities existing in the same body. But instead of good and evil, he only saw joy and exhaustion. A child and a merciless man.

The Doctor leaned forward, eyebrows waggling. "Do I have your attention, Agent?"

For a moment, he was confused enough to give himself away, but before he could utter a word, Archie bit his tongue. His eyes widened, lips twisting in terror. It was usually easy to slip back into the role of his alias, but with a foggy head, it took him a few moments to fully grasp it. "What's going on?" he whimpered, yanking at the restraints. He lifted his head, blinking rapidly. Calm. He had to stay calm. This was the most helpless he'd ever been. Hell, he felt like Jughead. Since his best friend had a track record for getting himself captured. Even if he'd already surveyed his surroundings and gotten a good picture of where he was, Archie still had to play his role. His voice was a croak that he didn't have to fake, a barely comprehensible rasp. "Where am I?"

The Doctor chuckled. He leaned closer, brushing strands of Archie's hair from his eyes. He trembled at the man's touch, his icy fingertips sending shivers rattling down his spine. "It's funny," he murmured. "Hiram Lodge truly does send his best, doesn't he? Though you're not as smart as you think you are, Agent." his fingers tiptoed across Archie's forehead before carding through his hair, grasping hold of his scalp, crimson curls bleeding through his knuckles. He tugged violently and Archie had to bite back a scream. His breath tickled the boys cheeks when he laughed. "That is a terrible Australian accent, Agent. Did you really think I'd believe that you were this..." he trailed off, pulling something from his coat pocket. Archie winced. It was the fake passport he'd used to get in, along with his personal statement. "Chai London." the man read out, raising a brow. "It says here you're an Australian exchange student whose passion is singing, and the guitar. You scored a perfect 4.0 in your SAT's."

Archie nodded eagerly. "Yes!" he hissed out, squirming in the restraints. "So, what's this, huh? Do you do this to every kid who comes here?"

The Doctor didn't reply. But he did slip something out of his other pocket, and Archie recognised it automatically. It melded perfectly into the man's hand, sleek metal sticking to his palm. It was his gun. Before he could say anything, the man was dangling something over his face, it tickled his cheek. The wire he'd been wearing to keep in contact with the agency. The man's smile only broadened. "let's be straight with each other, Agent Andrews," he said. "Can you do that for me? I don't care for liars."

Archie glared at the man, dropping the alias. He gritted his teeth. "How do you know my name?" he dropped the accent automatically, and the doctor clapped his hands together.

"That's it! See, I knew you could do it, boy." he said. "My name is Dr. Forsythe Pendleton Jones, and you, Agent Andrews, are going to join my school."

"I'm good," Archie gritted out. "I graduated last year, so I'm done with school. Besides, I won't fit in. I suck at math, and, uh- I've never been able to understand chem."

FP was buzzing around him, making sure the linen sheet was covering his bottom half, prodding his forehead, and grabbing silver instruments, holding each one to the light. It felt like he was in a cartoon, and this man was truly a mad scientist. Jughead would be both thrilled and horrified. "Nonsense, boy! We recruit our kids on their unique abilities, and you've proved to be quite the asset. We only take special children."

Children?! Was this asshole serious?

Archie scoffed. His patience was beginning to wear thin, and the likelihood of escaping was crumbling with every attempt he made at the restraints. He wasn't one to lose his cool. Betty and Jughead were the hothead's, managing to lose it on assignments and give into their emotions. But he was able to keep his mind clear, his objective in clarity. But there was something about the gleam in the doctor's eye that was sending his heart into his throat. "I'm not even a kid! Are you kidding me? I turn twenty next year!"

Struggling was fruitless. The restraints were too tight. Despite his racing heart, Archie forced himself to stay calm. Even when every few seconds his gaze flittered to the blood stains on Dr. Pendleton's coat, before landing on each metal bed complete with restraints. He didn't hesitate. If he was going to end up like the missing agents, then he had to dig for intel before it was too late. "Ten agents have gone missing while going undercover at this school," he said calmly. "What have you done to them?"

"All in good time, agent." FP said. He straightened up, his gaze taking all of the boy in. He almost looked proud. And it was that look of pride, happiness, that made Archie's gut twist. "You'll make a fine addition to my student body." He said, before turning and facing the machine next to the bed. His fingers danced across each button with confidence, before a whirring noise sounded. Archie looked up to see a small TV screen being lowered in front of him. It reminded him of a portable TV he'd find on an airplane or the back of a fancy Uber. The screen was black. But the green light on the side indicated that soon enough, it would be switched on. Archie tried to turn away from the screen, but the man was suddenly grasping his temples, forcing him to face forwards, towards the screen. Panic ignited inside of him, but no matter how much he struggled, he couldn't move his head. FP held him in a vice grip, pressing harder when he cried out. It was agony spiking in his temples, the type of pain he couldn't endure.

"Now, Archie Andrews, you may not remember me," FP hummed. "But, hell, do I remember you. How could I miss that red hair?"

The Doctor's words sent Archie's thoughts into a tailspin. His mind was suddenly a surging perplexity. He let go of the cool exterior he'd been hiding behind, making way for what he really was. Terrified. "What?" he managed to utter. He tried to sit up, tried to shake his head from the man's grip, but the doctor only tightened his grip. "Get off me, asshole!" he finally snapped, tears stinging his eyes. It was one thing to know his Agent name, but his full name?

"How do you know my name?" And when he didn't answer, the boy let out a sharp cry, grappling with the restraints. "Answer me! How do you know-"

"All will be revealed, Archie. Now listen very carefully." Dr. Pendleton's voice was in his ear. "You will comply with this procedure. I need you to think clear thoughts, or this won't work. If you refuse to follow these basic instructions I'm going to give you, then I'm afraid you'll end up like your dear companion Miss Lodge."

Fear spiked his chest. His voice shook. "What did you do to her?"

"See for yourself." The Doctor forced his head to turn away from the screen, and Archie glimpsed a section of the laboratory he hadn't seen yet. There were mostly tables with piles of paperwork and filing cabinets, but on table much like his own, was Agent Lodge. Veronica. Her bed was at an angle, as if Dr. Pendleton had left her mid-procedure. She could be identified through an explosion of sleek black curls spread around her in a halo. Veronica too was covered in a linen sheet, but it was splattered crimson. The girls eyes were closed, the bottom half of her face a horror show. There was blood everywhere, staining her lips, nose and ears. Archie could see she was still breathing from the shallow rise and fall of her chest, but only just. He could only gape at the girl, before the doctor forced him to look back at the screen, and the motion send his head spinning.

"She didn't see the dots," Dr. Pendleton said gravely. "So we had to dig deep, Agent Andrews. But don't worry. Miss Lodge found them in the end."

"Dots?" Archie whispered. "What are you talking about, what dots?"

The doctor cleared his throat. "That would be spoiling things, Agent. Now, I want you to look at the screen. You'll feel an uncomfortable sensation, but I just want you to find three dots for me. Can you do that?"

He didn't have a choice. The TV was switched on, and Archie squinted. The humming got louder in his ears. "I don't see anything." He managed to choke out.

But as soon as his gaze landed on the screen, on the static, it suddenly felt like phantom hands were wrapping themselves around him, tugging him closer. When he blinked, the static wasn't just on the screen, it was in his vision, becoming much more prominent. He wanted to turn away, to shut his eyes. But something stopped him. Something was drowning out the cry in the back of his head. Archie relaxed in the restraints, his thoughts going blank. The humming was edging closer, burying itself into his brain. But it no longer bothered him. "The dots, Agent." Dr. Pendleton's voice, compared to everything else, was in morbid clarity. "Do you see them?"

"No." the word slipped from his mouth so suddenly. The humming rose to a high pitched squeak, then a screech. The static wavered. Archie squinted as shapes began to slowly materialise through the fuzz. Something warm slipped from his nose. Then his ears. Dr. Pendleton cursed under his breath and the high pitched noise only got higher, while blood slipped through his lips and dribbled down his chin in scarlet streams. "How about now?" the doctor's voice sounded like it was underwater. "Tell me now, Archie. Do you see them?"

The static was getting smaller, while the shapes grew bigger. The overhead light blew out, but the Doctor paid no attention, digging deeper. "Now?"

"No." This time spoken through a mouthful of blood, the boy began to shake erratically, his arms and legs spasming while blood pooled from every orifice. His eyelids flickered, but failed to stray from the screen. But there was nothing. No dots.

"Fuck," the man's voice was in his ears, but it made no sense to him. The high pitched noise reached its climax and all the while Archie was delving through the static, the command only getting louder, forcing him to dig deeper. He coughed, choking out a breath, blood spattering the linen cough. Dr. Pendleton began to hiss in frustration. The line of beakers on the other side of the room blew up, glass showering the air. Doctor Pendleton cursed, trembling hands going to the machine, twisting every dial, flicking every switch. The high pitched noise wavered, becoming a whistling, then a shrieking, before collapsing into nothing. At least to the doctor's ears.

Archie could still hear it. A barely coherent ringing which as still there, rooted inside of him, burying itself deeper.

Another beaker exploded.

"Try harder, boy!"

He was trying. He was pushing through the pain, every logical thought being burned through, singed by that very command spoken minutes ago. The boy began to sag, lips trying and failing to cry for help. Cry out for his parents. Though it was that silent scream which was what knocked his unresponsive mind into fruition. They were there suddenly, appearing one after the other. Three pulsating dots dancing in the static. Dr. Pendleton turned and twisted a dial on the machine to maximum. The ringing noise collapsed into a screech. Archie's mouth opened, but no scream came out. There was only blood, slipping from his lips. Even when his brain felt like it was bursting, his voice wouldn't come. There were only the dots. They were all he could focus on. "Archie, do you see them now?"

The boy stopped shaking, flopping back down on the steel slab. Though his eyes were open, warm browns still glued to the screen. "Yes." He whispered, unblinking.

"I see them."

"Very good. Stay still." The Doctor heaved out an excited breath.

Archie didn't need to be told twice. He stared at the pulsing dots, watched them spin and dance around him, bulging in and out of the screen. Though it wasn't just the dots that he was focusing on. Through them, he was seeing words. They stood out to him, almost as clearly as the dots;

Paul Briarwood. 457 Sunnydale lane.

Samantha Collins. 89 Maple wood Avenue.

Christopher Conrad. 56 Horsewell Drive.

Jennifer Matchwood. 100 Scar Lane.

The names didn't mean anything to Archie, but he continued to stare at them as they flickered across the screen, while the dots danced around him, pulsating green, orange and yellow. They glowed brighter, multiplying into fives and tens, then crumbling back to threes. The names disappeared suddenly, but it didn't faze him. He went back to watching the dots. He was barely conscious of something sharp being stuck into the back of his head. It didn't hurt. The agony was quickly masked, and all he felt was the sudden intrusion. "Keep looking at the dots, Agent." Dr Pendleton's voice was clear again.

He did. The sensation of something sharp prodding around his skull barely bothered him, and Archie only focused on the dots. "You're doing incredibly well, Archie."

The boy didn't move. He didn't blink. He only stared at the dots.

So, Indigo definitely wasn't her colour.

Frowning at the mirror, Betty didn't like what she saw. The fact that the public bathroom mirrors were cracked and covered in lipstick stains, as well the pathetic light only just managing to light up the din, might have been factors to why she looked so awful. But after several poses, and an attempt at making the uniform look at least semi-presentable, Betty had come to the conclusion that nothing could save it. Stonewall Academy's uniform was perhaps the most unflattering thing she'd ever seen.

Her eyes narrowed at her reflection split in two. The skirt was far too short. It was pleated, just about reaching above her knees, while white socks were pulled up her legs, like stockings. The white shirt was fitted and far too small for her, and she was sure the cardigan had been swamped in fire ants before she'd picked it up. Betty let her blonde hair hang loose for once, and did an awkward twirl, yanking her skirt lower. She looked noticeably younger. Stonewall Academy accepted students all the way till they were 22, but she still felt weird. It felt like stepping back into High school. But her memories of school were mostly blurry, swamped in mystery. Apparently she'd suppressed most of it.

Tugging at the cardigan, Betty scowled at herself. After receiving the news that Archie and Veronica were missing, she'd jumped at the opportunity to go in after them. But since Jughead Jones was Hiram's best agent, it appeared that she'd be getting a companion.

Judging from how she looked in the uniform, Betty had no doubt the boy would start his relentless teasing. But she would swallow the urge to actually break his nose this time, and rise above his childishness. After one last look at herself, Betty grabbed her bag, stuffing her usual work clothes into it, and pushing through the door, back into the early November chill. The temperature had dropped noticeably in the past few days, but the onset of rain and a northern wind had made it icy. With no break in the greyness above the chance of a let up was slim to zero. It was going to be a rainy day and no amount of pleading with the gods was going to change that.

Betty wished she'd brought a jacket. Her skirt flittered in the building breeze, and she fought back a squeak.

Now would be the time when Archie would make a joke, laughing at how ridiculous she looked. Betty's heart ached. Her best friend was god knows where, stuck inside some prestigious academy which was known for swallowing agents. Betty hadn't even known about it, or the disappearances, until the series of meetings and briefings she'd been in this morning. Stonewall Academy was responsible for the vanishings of ten agents over the past year, with Andrews and Lodge taking the number to twelve.

The place, according to Hiram, was a fortress. Nobody got in without a full scholarship and ID check. Her and Agent Jones's infiltration was a last resort. If they fell too, he would storm it himself. Though Hiram's words confused her. Why would he sent more of his agents in, despite so many suffering the same fate?

Shaking the thought from her mind, Betty focused on the present. She had to concentrate.

The town square was packed with the afternoon commute and it took Betty a few moments to pull him out of the crowd, fighting to see through the whirlwind of blonde as the wind took hold of her hair. Agent Jones stood with his back against the window of a Starbucks which was lit up in the drizzle. There was something so safe, so relaxing about a coffee shop illuminating the haze. Jughead had changed into the uniform too, but somehow, of course he suited it. The splash of indigo contrasted with his raven hair, which was eye catching. He wore the same colour sweater with the school crest and black pants. Jones looked seventeen again.

The boy was battling with his own hair, struggling to keep it tucked under his beanie. Once his hair was tamed, he leaned back and tipped his head back, closing his eyes.

Was he seriously tuning out in the middle of an assignment?

Huffing out a breath, Betty started forwards, spitting her spiralling hair from her mouth. She strode over to him, and it was only when she was clicking her fingers in front of his face when he blinked, looking up at her. Confusion made way for amusement, his lips curving into a smirk. He whistled. "Looking good, Cooper."

She narrowed her eyes. "The uniform looks stupid. Yeah, I get it. I've seen it, Jones."

The boy straightened up, his blue eyes sweeping over every inch of her. He folded his arms. "Hey, I didn't say it looked bad," he teased. "You look like a naughty school girl."

Betty felt her cheeks flush. She couldn't help it, punching him in the shoulder.

"Ow!" Jughead's expression crumpled. "I was being nice!"

Betty wanted to say more, explain to him that she already felt like an idiot, walking around in a school uniform which looked like it had been plagiarised from some crude Anime. The skirt was ridiculously short and she hated it. Instead, she shook her head. "Hiram says we're all set. I have our fake paperwork in my bag, so we should go. It's a half hour drive to the Academy and we're meeting a driver down the block."

Jughead nodded. "Right. But first I need coffee, or I'm going to pass out."

Betty bit her lip. "Archie and Veronica are missing, and you want a latte?"

The boy held her gaze, his lip curling. It began to rain, cold slithers sliding down her back. She shivered, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her. "It's a coffee, Cooper. Arch is my brother. Believe me, all I want to do is find him," his eyes grew dark, and it was then when Betty realised how much Archie's disappearance had affected him. "He always comes for me when I'm kidnapped, so you can bet I'm saving his and Lodge's ass." He shrugged with a small smile.

"But I'm not going to be much use without a caffeine fix."

"You wouldn't be any use with a caffeine fix." Betty grumbled, ducking her head in the shower.

The rain was only dampening her already sour mood. She missed Archie and Veronica. Jones was goddamn insufferable. She expected more snipe. though Jughead only laughed which infuriated her further. He gestured to the coffee shop, and her mouth watered. She had barely eaten anything all day. A cream cheese pastry and mocha hot chocolate sounded so good right now. "What do you want?" His blue eyes twinkled with that familiar tease, pressing his lips together in a smirk. "Sailor Moon."

Betty glared. "I've met rocks funnier than you."

"I'm flattered." the boy pushed away from the wall, pulling out his wallet. "Last chance, Cooper." he waved a twenty. "I'll treat you to a coffee that's a whole dollar."

Betty felt like grabbing the note out of his hand and ripping it to pieces. Insults burned on her tongue, but she held them back. She would be the better person, and prove to Hiram that she was a far more superior agent. "I'll have a hot chocolate."

Jughead headed towards the door, skipping over a puddle. "Hot chocolate it is. Cream and Marshmallows, partner?"

Her lips pursed. "We're not partners. If anything, you're an annoying toddler I have to bring to work, since your usual babysitter is MIA."

The boy pouted. "You kill me, Cooper. Seriously, though. Cream and marshmallows?"

Betty pulled her best fake smile, complete with teeth. "Sure. Go crazy."

"If you say so!" He shot her a smile before bounding into the Starbucks, leaving her to bare the brunt of the brewing storm. Betty found mediocre shelter under a dry cleaners roof opposite the Starbucks. The chill was biting and she bent over herself, her fingers nestled in the creases of her skirt, stopping it from flying up. It was only when she looked up, blinking through the haze that had settled in the air, did she notice something flapping in the wind. The movement caught her eye. When she squinted, Betty realized it was a poster stuck to a street light with ancient sticky tape.

The corners of the poster were curled and yellowing with age, most of the colour faded. But the words MISSING GIRL jumped out at her in bold. The name was was blanked out with age, but the photograph was still clear; an unsmiling girl, around fifteen or sixteen. She had pale skin, blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, and dark eyes. Betty squinted at the poster, trying to make sense of the name, but the girl's name was completely rubbed out, save for smudges of black marker pen. Betty stared. There was something about the young girl that sent pangs in her chest. She had half a mind to rip it off the street light and properly study it. But that was stupid, right? It was just a missing poster.

So why was her heart aching?

"Looks like I'm not the only one who needs a coffee, Cooper."

Betty blinked. Jughead was standing in front of her, his dark hair an array of curls spilling from his beanie, blue eyes glinting in the din, his usual teasing smile spread across his lips. Betty staggered a little, letting go of a breath. It was like coming out of a trance. She could feel the rain dancing across her cheeks, the wind playing with her skirt. it took her a moment to realise she'd walked halfway across the town square. She was inches from the missing poster. Jughead was frowning, holding two Starbucks cups.

The boy cocked his head, following her lingering gaze. "Whatcha looking at?"

"Nothing." Shaking her head, Betty tore her gaze from the poster, and took the drink gratefully, nursing her hands around it. When she took an experimental sip, there was only the bitter taste of black coffee. Normally, she would spit it out and pour the damn thing over his head, but the bitterness of the coffee was a distraction from the missing poster, which she couldn't seem to shake. Fixing the boy with a steel stare, Betty gestured to her drink. "You can't even get a simple coffee order right."

"What?" Jughead stopped sipping his coffee. "You said go crazy!"

She couldn't help it. "I said hot chocolate. How is that anywhere close to a black coffee?" and then the words were slipping out before she could help them. "We've known each other two years, and you still don't know my Starbucks order?"

He folded his arms. "We're not exactly close."

"We share friends, which makes us mutuals. Every time we go out, you take unnecessary attention of my order, so why is now that you're messing up?"

Jughead shrugged. "I'm forgetful." he pouted. "Be grateful I even spent money on you. You nearly broke my nose."

Betty swallowed a scream. "I didn't break your nose, you fucking moron," she gritted out. "I barely touched you."

The boy's lip curled. "Archie says there was blood everywhere."

She folded her arms. The rain was thinning, but the damage was already done. Her hair hung in damp rat tails, her cardigan practically glued to her skin. "Archie is scared of blood," she couldn't help spitting at the boy. "He freaked when I got a paper cut, and nearly passed out. He thinks a smidge of the stuff is a lot."

Jughead's eyes flashed. "Why can't you just admit that you hurt me?"

Betty huffed. "Hurt you? Are the goddamn twelve?" she bit back the rest, taking a deep breath. "As fun as arguing with you is, we need to start the assignment," she hissed. "So pull your head out of your ass, stop trying to be funny, and act professional. The only way we're going to find Lodge, Andrews and the other agents is to keep a clear head."

"Professional?" He laughed harshly. "Please. You're the least professional person I know."

"Oh, really?" her blood was boiling. "Maybe if you actually did your job properly, and weren't kidnapped for the thousandth goddamn time, then maybe," she let out a laugh which struck her chest. "Maybe Archie and Veronica might have been able to concentrate on their Stonewall assignment? But no, Jones! They were worrying about you! Why do you think they went missing, huh? Because they spent a whole day prior looking for you!"

She wasn't making sense, but the words came thick and fast, pouring out of her before she could stop them. The words were cruel and cutting, meant to hurt. But Betty knew when she stepped over the line. Jughead looked like he'd been slapped, his eyes flashing with hurt. The worst thing she could have done was bring up his best friend. Betty knew the two of them were close, it wasn't her place to drag Andrews into it. She was wrong. The assignment to retrieve Jughead had nothing to do with Lodge and Andrews going missing, and she wanted to tell him that. But when she tried, her throat choked up. Betty took a haphazard gulp of her coffee, wincing at the burn on her tongue. But it was better than trying to apologize. It was the first time in a while that he didn't have a comeback.

"We should go." Jughead said after a moment of silence. Before Betty could speak, he was fashioning his usual smile, but his eyes were dark. He turned on his heel, clearing his throat. But Betty wasn't a stranger to hiding a sob. His voice was gruff, and she suddenly wanted to grab his hand and squeeze it. Betty wanted to tell the boy not to worry about their friends, she wanted to smile reassuringly and bump his shoulder.

But Betty didn't do any of those things. She cast her eyes to the ground, her grip on her coffee tightening, until the cup cracked under pressure. Jughead let out a shaky laugh, turning to her, that dumb smile once again teasing the edges of his lips.

"What are you waiting for?" he murmured, grabbing her arm. But his grasp was gentle. Betty didn't have the heart to pull away.

"Lets go, Sailor Moon."

Stonewall Academy would be Betty's dream school if she wasn't a spy.

It rose from behind the trees like a mountain, ominous and foreboding. Dark brick with ornate details inlaid in the cement and mortar, twisting vines crawling up the sides, like the ground itself was trying to pull it downward. But no matter how chilling and dreadful it looked, it actually looked ... beautiful. The architecture was old and worn with age, wrought iron fencing melding with the pretty bricks. Flowers and trees grew wild, but were tamed into lots, bursts of colour and fragrance as you walked by.

Stonewall might have looked pretty on a Summer's day, but underneath a grey sky, the school resembled a Gothic mansion from a timely movie or TV show. Betty focused on ivy wrapped around each building, twisting up and down redbrick. The grounds themselves were pretty, surrounded by a large patch of grass. A path of smooth red stone cut through the lawn. Betty walked slowly, her heart in her throat. Their argument from earlier was still ringing in her ears. Jughead hadn't spoken for most of the car ride. He'd spent the first twenty minutes trying sleep against the window, and after shuffling uncomfortably, tossing and turning, he attempted to make broken conversion with the driver. Which went as she'd expected. Jughead cracked jokes, and the Uber laughed along, while discreetly cracking up the station he was listening to.

No doubt to block Jones out.

"Nice school." Jughead's voice brought her out of it. He kicked through a pile of leaves, his usual smile plastered on his lips. He let out a sigh, looking content.

"This would be my first choice school if I hadn't become a spy."

Betty couldn't help herself. "You would have been better here," she sent him a smirk. "Obviously, if the school was normal, and wasn't kidnapping Agents."

She expected him to snap something back, but he shrugged, chuckling. "And you'd rescue me, right?"

Betty scoffed, pulling her damp cardigan around her. The early evening breeze was chilling her to the core. "It's my job, idiot."

"Are you cold?"

Betty shook her head, even when yes, she was freezing to death. "I'm okay."

"Sure?" He whistled. "This Stonewall sweater is nice and toasty."

Betty shook her head stubbornly. "I said I'm fine."

It had stopped raining. The day was bleeding into nightfall, the sky was darkening, milky white clouds streaked across the horizon, chasing the first glints of sunset. Betty was scanning the grounds, glimpsing the famous school colours, a blur of indigo. Stonewall's grounds were mostly empty, bar straggling students in the school colours. Betty couldn't help notice they moved as one, swarms of boys and girls with their heads down. She glanced down at her uniform, wincing at her skirt. At least they blended in. While she looked like a drowned rat, Jones had managed to stay dry. Jughead followed her gaze. "That's not weird at all." he muttered, leaning closer to her.

"Maybe they're all really good friends?"

"That close?" Betty mused. "They're practically stuck together."

Her gaze strayed on a particular group of students. None of them were talking, or laughing. They weren't even holding books, or had backpacks. "What type of school is this?" she nodded at the cluster of Stonewall kids. "They don't even have bags."

To her irritation, Jughead laughed. As usual, he wasn't taking the assignment seriously. Which wasn't surprising. "That's reaching, Cooper."

Betty sent the boy a scowl. "You don't think it's the least bit weird that none of them have bags? Look at them, they're stumbling around like Walkers."

Jughead cocked his head. "Walkers?"

Letting out a hiss of frustration, she turned on the boy. "The Walking Dead?"

When the boys eyebrows dipped in confusion, Betty rolled her eyes. "Are you absolutely sure you weren't born in a laboratory?" She quickened her pace down the pathway, her gaze straying on the kids moving across the grounds. Jughead followed her, grabbing her arm. "We need to settle on an alias," he murmured. "I figured Mr Lodge would give us them with the paperwork, but he says everything is taken care of. When I asked about our names, he said, and I quote, "You've got an imagination, haven't you? Think of one yourself."

Betty frowned. "Wait, won't our new names be on the paperwork?"

"That's what I said." Jughead scuffed his shoes on the gravel. "But he ignored me."

"Sounds like Hiram," Betty sent him a pointed look, cocking a brow. "But this time he did it to you? His Golden Boy?"

Jughead ignored her. He tipped his head back. "Names." he said. "We need to make up an alias, so we don't get caught. Nothing close to our actual names."

No shit!

"Lizzie," she said, without thinking. "Lizzie Carpenter."

Jughead hummed. "Nice. You sound like a fifty-five year old recluse with nine cats."

Ignore him, Betty told herself.

"How about you?"

"Will Faraday."

Sending him a look, Betty held the boys gaze. "You sound like a pretentious YA protagonist."

That might have been the point Jughead would snap something back, but he'd stopped kicking his way through multicoloured leaves strewn across the path. Betty skidded to a halt too, glancing at the raven-head. "Jones?" her chest clenched at his expression. His eyes had grown turbulent, lips twisting. He'd stiffened completely, icy eyes settling on something in the distance. Betty followed the boy's gaze. At first, she saw nothing. Only the foreboding gate that led into the school's reception.

There were a line of picnic benches, still glistening from the rainfall, trees loomed over each one, skeletal of leaves. But then she saw it. The familiar blur of red, those crimson curls that stood out in a crowd. They could only be one person, and Betty felt the breath leave her lungs.

"Archie."

Jughead was taking off running before she could fully wrap her head around the situation. Betty had no choice to follow him, but her legs were shaking. When she caught up to her partner, Betty lost her breath. Neither of them were seeing things. Agent Andrews was in front of her, and it was Archie. All of him. Every piece of him the two of them loved, was here. His red hair ruffled under a blue beanie, freckled pale cheeks and a confused smile curved on his lips. He wore the Stonewall colours, the same dark blue sweater as Jughead. The boy was sitting on the bench table, legs crossed, a guitar held expertly. He was plucking it, nodding his head to the melody.

Betty was speechless. She wasn't expecting...this. Agent Andrews hadn't reported back in three days, so she expected foul play. But the boy seemed better than ever. His cheeks were bright, warm mocha browns blinking at the two of them.

Jughead was first to speak. "What the actual fuck is this?" he spat. "Do you know how worried we've been?" his voice was choking up, and Betty didn't blame the boy. "Cooper and I have been worried sick, and you're sitting here playing fucking Wonderwall?"

Archie cocked his head, and a shiver slithered down Betty's spine. There was something in the boys eyes, a glint she didn't recognise. Without thinking, she reached out for the boys hand, but Jughead wrenched it away. He was seething, his cheeks blossoming scarlet.

"Jones," Betty took a step backward. It felt like her heart had been wrenched out of chest. At first glance, she had seen Archie. She had seen her best friend. But when she looked closer, everything she'd known was gone. It was subtle. So subtle. His smile was the same, friendly eyes turning her insides out as usual. But something was wrong.

God, she had to stay professional. Betty had to keep herself together. Maybe Jones's emotions were affecting her, because her eyes were stinging, vomit searing her throat.

"Jughead." Betty finally managed to choke out. "Jughead, stop."

But the boy wasn't listening. "You could have contacted us, Archie!"

"Jones. Listen to me, " Betty gritted out again, but her next words choked at the back of her throat when Archie finally spoke. Betty couldn't tear her gaze from the boys eyes. "I'm sorry," the boys expression creased with confusion. He shuffled uncomfortably, his fingers nervously running over the guitars strings. "Do I know you guys?"

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