Angels Don't Wear Pantsuits
She clung on to the piece of driftwood, praying for daylight. Milla gasped as her beaten body was ravaged by the current. She hacked up dirty water and saliva back into the dark depths. Willing herself to stay awake, she felt her bright red mascara slipping down her cheeks. Grunting, she ripped her free arm from the water, grateful to find her suitcase still clasped shut only for the wind's pull to drag her limb back, testing her white-knuckled grip.
She twisted her neck and tried to gather her surroundings, but the waves knocked her around like a broken ragdoll. The wind shoved her from behind, almost making her grasp on the driftwood slip. Milla grit her teeth and squinted through the darkness only for another wave to slam into her face. A yelp escaped her, quickly silenced by a mouthful of water and plastic, and she spat it all out, her heaving breaths pounding in her ears, her lungs working overtime.
She couldn't go down like this, not in some nameless river in Europe. She had been on her first solo mission was tasked with retrieving the stolen brain of the Swedish ambassador to Denmark. It had been going smoothly. Sneaking into the function with her best dress, doing reconnaissance of the enemy during their dinner party, locating the brain in the booby-trapped infested cellar, and swiping it back and putting the jar in her suitcase, she hadn't made a single error.
But she had become careless. She hadn't thought about hidden security cameras, ones so small they could fit between the crevices of bricks and tiles. It sounded improbable when she had realized it, but she knew she should have suspected something strange. The enemy's guards had pounced on her, forcing her to flee into the woods surrounding the mansion with the suitcase clutched to her chest. She had tried teleporting back to the Motherlobe like Ford had taught her, but when smoke filled her nostrils, she found herself staring at burning ruins of the orphanage.
She hadn't seen the guards setting fire to the trees around her. All she had understood were the faces of her dear children, screaming, melting, their skin bubbling away to reveal white bones. She had screamed until she was hoarse, and her limbs moved without a rational thought guiding them, her memory of what had happened between the fire and the river gone when she came to in the current.
Milla's enemies were no longer in sight. She heard only her deep breathing and the panicked whisperings she picked up on from the ambassador's brain. She felt her dress cling to her skin, the velvet material weighing her down. The straps of her high heels had come undone when she kicked against the waves, leaving her with only one. The sharp branch pricked her palms when she tried guiding it towards what she hoped was the edge of the river. Another wave crushed her, forcing her body to flip over, but she never lost her grip around the driftwood or her suitcase.
Coming up for air, she gasped and stared at the sky. Not a single star could be found, and the moon shone too brightly for her weary eyes. The current flung her forward, and she felt weightless, her tether to the driftwood loosening. She spotted the distorted reflection of the moon in the water before it was ripped apart by the waves, a bleak reality which seemed to be coming for her.
Is this really it? Milla thought, the waves devouring her, dragging her down more and more. Her grip on the driftwood grew weaker, her pinky and ring fingers pushed back. The ambassador begged to know what was happening. She felt a school of fish brushing against her legs, some of them nibbling on her ankles. Am I really going to end up as...as fish food?
That's a wrong assessment of your situation, Agent Vodello.
Her eyes shot open as something snatched her fingers, turning the tips bright red. She felt her body rise, the air assaulting her more than the waves. As she rose, her limp, damp curls blinded her. All she could make out was a...white pantsuit in the sky?
"Do you have the ambassador's brain?" asked her savior, tugging the suitcase away from her. They flicked it open, checked its contents, and closed it. "Mission accomplished. Excellent work for your first solo mission."
"Who-who are-?" She coughed, her chest heaving. Levitation should have come naturally, but she couldn't think of a single happy thought. She surrendered herself to the care of the stranger as they telekinetically held her up by the scruff of her neck.
They brushed Milla's hair out of her eyes. Clicking their tongue against the roof of their mouth, they said, "How surprising that you don't recognize the Second Head of the Psychonauts. Are you that addled?"
Heat flushed her cheeks, and she snapped to attention. The Lesser Head of the Psychonauts? Here? Saving her? In the middle of nowhere?
Hollis glanced at her up and down. "It seems you've had trouble on your own."
"I, er-" She searched for the right word and shifted her gaze at the thrashing water yards below them. "-may have...miscalculated. You see-"
"What matters is the outcome," Hollis interjected, levitating Milla's suitcase back to her, "and you succeeded. Just don't make the same mistake."
The corners of her lips quirked upwards but quickly fell. Exhaustion seized her, and she felt her eyes closing again. Her limbs felt heavy and lethargic, and her head drooped to the side, a groan escaping her.
"Rest, Agent Vodello," Hollis said, setting two fingers to her temple. "I'll take us to HQ."
"How did...you find me?" Milla crooned, her consciousness slipping again.
Hollis cupped Milla's chin, a smirk playing on her lips as she wiped away the splotches of mascara and water. "Call me your one-time guardian angel, and we'll leave it at that."
