Here we are, The End I, Preparations. The first in what will be wither the three or four or perhaps even five part finale for Secret Agents Wanted, what I consider my most successful fic. I want to thank everyone for all fo the support, and for sticking with me this long. Now, for pacing's sake, I won't be answerign any questions until the final chapter, after it ends. If you have questions after that chapter, I'll just reply with a message.
Now, speaking of questions...
Illyria: Rookie, why do you wear the propeller hat? spyroforeveh wants to know.
Rookie: I think that it's cool. And fun to wear.
Illyria: Okay. Now, I want to thank all fo the wonderful new people who reviewed to the last chapter. I was so excited to hear from new people (not that I don't like the regular people)! I shall now list the people that are my favorites for reviewing (aka all of them): Honeybee4Eva, spyroforeveh, Darth Kyotoa, Hopefully13, emma2679, Xandora, purplee uzumaki, Agent-Cecilia, GaryLover77, Tiger Phantom- I love Toothless, Carpathia Cadmen, S Lila 315. I cannot express how you all ecouraged me to keep writing. I am really grateful.
Disclaimer: I don't own Club Penguin, only Jezzie, Memory, and my version of the Director.
Jezzie woke up early to the sound of Jetpack trying to get his right shoe back from the clutches of Rocky. The black puffle in question had claimed the sneaker and was hunkering down behind Jezzie's dresser, knowing away. Jetpack was trying to reason with him so not to wake Jezzie with the sound of moving the huge piece of furniture. And he failed miserably as Rockafellow growled loudly.
"Rocky." Jezzie snapped her fingers. "Give." The puffle whined but darted out anyway, and dropped a soaking wet half of a shoe into her palm. He then stuck out his tongue at Jetpack and bounced back into his hiding place. Jezzie gave her partner back what was left of his shoe, and he took it with surprisingly little backtalk.
"What's up?" she asked him. He only shook his head and tried to walk out. She stopped him at the door and threw her arms out as a barrier. He could probably get past her before she could blink, but all he did was stand their silently and wait. She couldn't see behind his sunglasses, but she knew him well enough to know that at the moment, he was thinking, hard. So she waited out his thinking process.
Finally, he spoke. "This isn't right."
"I know."
"Everything is falling apart."
"I know."
Jetpack stood still with Jezzie one step ahead of him, a mile apart. She didn't offer any wisdom on how he was supposed to make peace with his mind knowing that the one stable thing in his life was suddenly corrupt and threatening the one person who had made the decision to keep him even after his parents had gone missing. She simply looked him at what she hoped was the eyes, and assured him that "We'll pick up the pieces. We'll figure this out."
He nodded silently, and she led the way out of her room and into the briefing room that G had assigned them for this mission. All of their usable information was spread out on the table, being looked over by Memory and Rookie. They glanced up when the two stragglers came in, and Memory angled a map in Jezzie's direction. "It is about time you two woke up. We were just going over the ball preparations."
Jezzie glanced at the map, and noticed something out of the corner of her eye. "So, the ball's happening at the Night Club?"
"Yes. The PSA has not enough open floor space for a dance floor." He explained, and to emphasize his point he found a floor plan for the PSA, showing off the small, cramped spaces. Jezzie nodded.
"We'll need to station someone there." She decided.
"Rookie." Jetpack said. "He'll fit in with the atmosphere. The PSA uses the Academy brats as waiters. He's a little old, but it'll work."
Rookie nodded. "Yeah, I did that last year."
"Okay. Rookie'll watch the crowd at the ball; guard the Director while they're there. Jetpack, I need you to take to the skies. How's your jetpack?"
Justin let loose a small smile at the anticipation of knocking on the sky again. "Fast."
"It'll ought to be. I want you running surveillance of the PSA, Night Club, and possibly the Cove, Docks, maybe the Lighthouse." Jezzie reeled off, and began marking spots on a map. Jetpack's eyebrows came together over his sunglasses.
"Why those last three?" he asked.
Jezzie shrugged. "Well, if the Director really is off-Island, then we should keep an eye on the major ports, in and out."
Jetpack nodded to himself. It made sense, and he berated himself a bit for not thinking of it in the first place. Jezzie turned to Memory, who snapped to attention.
"Memory, I want you stationed at the HQ Hub. Keep your eyes on the screens." He nodded. The Hub was the main room in the PSA, and had an entire wall of mounted screens that had eyes on the major points of the Island.
"What about you, Jezzie?" Rookie asked. Jezzie smiled grimly.
"I'll be the Director's guide." She said. "I'll stick with them the entire time, try and protect them."
They were all silent for a few moments, contemplating their various assignments. "Well." Jezzie said abruptly, clapping and rubbing her hands together. "Let's get to work."
Rookie was sweating buckets under the hat that hid his tell-tale Rochefeild hair. His glasses slipped a bit down his nose, and he pushed them up with a shaking hand. Lying while out in the field or when in interrogation the Academy encouraged; lying to your fellow operatives, however, was going against rule number one, one being the most important. If there wasn't trust in your team, then it wasn't a team.
But.
According to G, the voice of reason on the Island, the whole PSA was corrupt except for himself and Squad Delta. The very thought that someone walking calmly by him could be a traitor was unfathomable; he knew most of them!
Okay, Tyler, he reminded himself. Just go in, and get fitted for a tux. No big deal. You can do this.
No you can't. A tiny little voice piped up. Just because you wear sunglasses doesn't make you Jetpack.
I don't need to be Jetpack. He countered himself sternly. I just need to keep my cool and get fitted for a tux. He took a shaky breath and turned the corner, walking right into the lion's den- the corner of the PSA dedicated temporarily to outfitting the agents in the correct dress for the PSA Ball. He saw the waiting agent holding up a yellow measuring tape and he halted for a moment, his mind running away and screaming about insurgents and hidden weapons.
Maybe being Jetpack right now isn't such a stupid idea after all. He thought and took his first step forward, straight into the care of the waiting possible assassin.
He gulped down a lump that he didn't think could fit in his neck as the tape striped quickly down his legs and arms. The woman agent measuring him peered down at her quick notes. "You're a tiny little thing, aren't ya?"
Don't freak out, don't freak out, don't freak out, dear Mod she's staring…
"Um." Rookie said stupidly, and she took it as his way of saying "Yes, indeed, I am shorter than the average twelve-year-old."
Ten minutes later he claimed his tux and ran off to the training area for the servers, leaving a stream of confused people in his wake, wonder what had gotten into him to have him almost screaming in fear.
While Rookie was thinking about being Jetpack, Justin was thinking about being anyone else. To add to his killer "my life is a lie" headache, he was probably going to get a nasty sunburn on the back of his neck, bared to the sun while he struggled to comprehend the level of hatred the universe held for him.
The way his jetpack worked was simple to him, but complicated to everyone else. It ran not on gasoline or oil, but any kind of expansive gaseous liquid that he could get into the proper amounts for the stages- takeoff, flight, and landing. Each stage took a specific amount of fuel that was poured into the corresponding chamber that would then be heated when the ignition was activated. The chamber was put under pressure or heat, depending on the energy level in the battery, and the gas in the liquid expanded. When it expanded enough, it was released into a jet of pent-up gasses that could lift him off of the ground or keep him in flight.
Most people had to struggle to grasp this, but to him it was as easy as two plus two equaling four. G had called it a gift when he was just a cadet, blowing machines up in the Academy. But the gift didn't carry over onto the task of separating the right amounts of fuel for the three stages. He could recount the scars he got from the wrong mix of fuel in a matter of hours, even more if he counted the mental ones from falling thirty plus feet into pines trees or roofs.
He was kneeling on the snow of the docks, his jetpack open on the ground in front of him. He had calculated the wind speed and weather for the day and came up with the fact that this would be his optimal takeoff point… if only he could get the asterisked cream soda ready.
Now, was it two parts, four parts, one part; or was it four parts, one part, two parts? He groaned and poured everything back into the bucket of soda he had gotten from the lighthouse. He didn't have any of the special measuring tools he usually used; G had forbade him to take anything other than what he already had, lest his comings of goings with equipment look suspicious.
He tried pouring another part into the smallest cup to measuring it. It overflowed, and he growled, pinching the bridge of his nose and feeling his headache increase.
It wasn't helped by the fact that from behind him, a French accent broke into his thoughts. "Is something wrong, Jetty?"
Jetpack sneered. "Don't call me that." He said angrily.
Memory came around to face him from the front., so that Justin could see him shrug. "Sure thing. Is there anything that I can do to help, Jetpack Guy?"
"You can go away."
Memory pursed his lips in thought, peering at the buckets placed in front of his partner. "I believe that the combination for a limited ten minute flight is four, one, two. Do you wish to fly longer?"
"Shouldn't you be canvassing the PSA?" Jetpack snapped irritably, his headache spreading from the back of his neck to just above his ears.
Memory sat down, Indian-style, and watched as Jetpack filled up his jetpack with the correct amounts of soda. "I was on my way to my house to pick up the right supplies." He said, "And I saw you here, looking mad. And I wanted to know what was wrong."
"This whole mission is wrong." Jetpack grunted, heaving the heavy contraption onto his back and securing the straps. As he stood he swayed, a head rush coming on. Memory thought better of reaching out to steady him, and dug around in his pocket for a moment.
"Here." He said, handing over a small blue pill. "This will help your headache."
"I don't have a headache." Jetpack protested in his Jetpack like way of his, but nonetheless accepted the aspirin. He popped it dry and cringed at the taste. Memory raised a blonde eyebrow and let his fingers nervously check that his hair was still as spiky as ever, thinking over what to say.
"Do not worry." He finally said, just as Jetpack was about to take off. "I am sure that everything will end up fine. We will save the island and be heroes." A small smile flickered onto his face. "Will that not be nice?"
Jetpack let himself have a small apprehensive smile, remembering, faintly, that he had actually been Memory's friend back before he got annoying and his parents had gone missing.
Jetpack hit a switch and jumped into the air, his jetpack roaring to life.
Memory smiled, caught sight and Jezzie and G approaching from the Ski Village, and hurried into Town.
Jezzie stood at the docks alongside G, itchy in her borrowed dress, a must have for the PSA Ball, which the Director would be attending. A sleek black rowboat came through the foamy waves, approaching from the South-West. Jezzie ran her fingers through her blonde bob, which had been straightened out by a barber a few minutes ago, so that the fine hairs barely brushed her shoulders. When she was done with this and the nervous feeling in her stomach still hadn't gone away, she resorted to bending down making sure that her new leg braces weren't loose, and that the hinges by her knees would squeak when she walked. The braces had been G's idea, since her crutches were rather unwieldy. They were a bent silver metal, a bit dull, which G had insisted should match her dress, a stormy dray baby doll that she refused originally to wear. She had been outranked, and her small rebellion was a bright red sash around her middle.
The boat had finally come to the dock and stopped. From behind the wheel a tall, slim woman stood, and on rickety stiletto heels, came on shore. Jezzie had thought multiple times what the Director would look like, but she hadn't expected this.
The woman had unnaturally black skin, as black as tarmac, flat, no luster. Her nails had been done over with black nail polish, blending in with the rest of her fingers. Her hair was short, and slicked down to adhere to the curve of her head, which was rather small when compared to her height and her long neck, encased in the only color on her entire person- a thick, almost Egyptian, silver necklace, so shiny that it look like several diamond-shaped mirrors had been attached. Her dress was also black, and strapless, no ornaments to speak of. It barely brushed the ground when she walked, and Jezzie was beginning to doubt that it had any stitches in it.
The woman stepped up to her and extended her pitch-black hand. "Hello, Jezebel Swan." She had a deep, mannish voice that almost made Jezzie jump. "I am the Director."
Jezzie smiled faintly and returned the handshake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."
"Ma'am?" the deep voice scratched out a laugh. "No, I am not as I appear."
Jezzie's eyebrows came together. "I don't follow."
The not a woman smiled, showing off teeth that were the only white on her/his body, only with the whites of his/her eyes. "I wish to keep my identity a secret, so I had your man G make this for me." She gestured to the necklace. With one pointed finger she touched it, and a wave of black… something seem to ripple under her skin, traveling down her arms and waits, and shivering down her legs, leaving behind a different body shape. Now he/she seemed to be a slim young man… in a dress, however. G smiled proudly as the Director changed back.
"It's my Morpheus Suit 2000." He said. "A shape-changing black suit that responds to the electrical signals in the necklace. Also changes voices."
The Director smiled and took Jezzie's arm, turning her in the direction of the Nightclub. "Shall we?" Jezzie nodded, her head whirling, and walked forward.
It was twelve o'clock. Six hours to go.
Another change to my usual formatting: After each chapter, I'll be antagonizing you with an exerpt from the next chapter. So:
Next week, The End II: The Hunt
Jezzie heard a beeping sound from her pocket, and her dark brown eyes darted around to make sure that no one would catch her answering her phone. he held the slim blue phone to her ear and whispered "Hello?"
"Jezzie!" Rookie's vocie was hard to miss, raised to a scream as it was.
"Rookie?" Jezzie gasped. "Rooks, talk to me! What's your status?"
"He's here!" Rookie shouted, and static overtook his yells for a moment. "He's here, Jezzie! What do I do?"
"Who's there, Rooks?" Jezzie asked in a hushed frantic voice, plugging her other ear so to hear him better. She moved farther away from the dance floor. "Who's there?"
"Herbert-!" Rookie grunted, and she could hear the clack of his phone hitting the floor. Already she was running through the crowd, leaving the Director behind.
"Rookie? ROOKIE!" she shouted once she was outside, bolting to the Gift Shop. Her phone went dead for a few moments before it beeped again. Jezzie answered it breathlessly. "Rookie?"
"Jetpack." his voice was hard to hear, and a sharp whistling was in her ear, from the wind surrounding him in a pocket as he flew. "We have a problem."
"I know that!" Jezzie said, and pushed open the door to the empty Gift Shop, and paused in the doorway to let her eyes adjust.
"I mean that I have a problem." he clarified. "My jetpack's malfunctioning. I'm going down." his vocie was calm, accepting. Jezzie began to detect a bit of a slur on his tongue.
Jezzie had no response, so he continued. "I'll be hitting ground in apporximately one minute, over the Forest. I'm sorry..." his vocie faded, and she could hear the slow, even breathing of sleep. The phone, she could hear, fell through the air and hit the ground with a burst of static chatter and silence.
Her own phone soon followed as she was grabbed and pulled into the darkness.
Her scream was lost as a pill was forced into her mouth, melting away on her tongue, and carrying her away into sleep.
It was four o'clock. Two hours to go.