Two adults reside inside an empty room, full of whirring computers and screens. A man stands dressed in a slick, dark suit, his arms properly folded behind his back. He stares at the screen before him, his eyes scanning the code that travels up and down the monitor. A woman sits at a table, a table with a map of the globe neatly strewn across it. She sighs, pulling a constricting band out of her hair. It releases the tight bun that had begun to give her a head ache, her midnight locks freely falling around her face.
"The only reason I agreed to join you," she mumbles, breaking the silence that had been filled only with the slight beeping of the technology, "was because you promised she would never be hurt."
He smirks faintly, with the glowing binary on the screen illuminating his stressed features. "She's not dead, is she?"
She groans. Her stomach churns slightly at the snide comment, but she's become far too accustomed to his behavior at this point and simply brushes it off. "I thought you said she had disappeared." Her words are soft and stale. They are not angry nor sad, but certainly not cheerful.
"I did. We were all sure that she had. She just…popped out of nowhere one day."
"That doesn't make sense." She hangs her head, rubbing her fingers against her throbbing temples. A spark of optimism enters her mind, though. "Does this mean…that he…?"
"I would assume so," the man spins around to face her, cutting her off abruptly. "And have you noticed something else, Ava?"
"What?"
"She is still twelve years old." Her eyes broaden and she re-directs her attention.
It's true, she is. The woman ponders inside of her aching head. And she was born in 1982, which means at this point… she should be twenty two at least. "That's… impossible." Her fingers dig into her own palms at the pang of both bewilderment and distress.
"You ought to tell me exactly what it is that second rate magician was up to," the man demands. "For your own good, that is."
"I've told you countless times, Zlo. I've told you everything I know."
He grunts at the pathetic comment, but feels it's no use looking for the answers in the defensive woman that sits lazily at the table. There is another source that now catches his devotion, but he'll deal with her later. "Ava," he asks. "What does Lyoko mean?"
Again, Ava groans. She is tired of the same, redundant questions, answers she simply doesn't have. "I don't know. I told you that. I don't know about anything he did after Project Carthage."
He scratches his chin in suspicious, whirling back to read the various screens that outline the room.
"Can I see her?" The woman stands up as she pulls her raven hair back into another bun.
"What?" Zlo turns around once more.
"Can I see her," she repeats herself, less enthusiastic this time. Her pale skin shimmers almost completely white under the luminescent lighting of the room, and her eyes beg him to let her go. But softness of her face is washed away by the evil in his.
"Certainly not." His answer doesn't surprise her in the least, but she had figured it was at least worth a shot. "We don't need you screwing anything up. Why should I trust you, hmm? After all, you liked to play games when we were looking for Waldo."
"You play just as many games, Agent Zlo."
He chuckles at her response. Daring and also sassy, as always. A trait he can almost admire. "I will, however, let you watch through the mirror when I take her to the interrogation room later."
"Alright, then."
She trails behind him as they walk through the darkness of the corridor, their footsteps echoing throughout the cold, musty atmosphere. Water trickles from the ceiling and collects in puddles, the only light being that of dimly lit torches that line the dirt walls. Shivers run up her spine with each step closer to the bunker that seals away the one thing she had craved most for the past seventeen years. Usually the frigid temperature didn't bother her against the black trench coat that dragged along the ground behind her, but today, for some reason, the icy air was piercing her porcelain skin. She hugged herself tightly, rubbing her hands up and down her own arms in an attempt to produce warmth.
The two agents approach the right door, and Ava doesn't even have to look at the number to know that this is the one. It's as if the girl tucked away inside emits a vibe that alerts Ava of her presence.
Agent Zlo nods at her, urging her to walk away quickly and unlock the questioning room they are about to use for another session of endless interrogation. Ava scuttles down the hallway, disappearing into the darkness. The door before Zlo creaks open, and the light from the outside slowly shines into the bland concrete, casting upon Aelita's brittle frame. She lies against the floor, staring aimlessly at the ceiling.
"Come," he orders, patting the side of his leg as if she were a dog. She weakly forces herself off of the ground, groaning as she holds her head that throbs with agony. Her tongue and throat are far too dry for her to speak, but she has no words to say anyways. She realizes fighting has become useless, and that resisting would only make her situation worse.
Out of all the times to ever be weak, Aelita, she ridicules inside of her head. Now is not the time.
Finally, she gets a view of her surroundings; a taste of where she had been locked away and what it really looks like. Her bare feet patter against the dusty ground, the darkness slightly tanned with the faint orange glow of the numerous flames aligning the wall. There is nothing but shades of grey and brown from mud and concrete, and the air is stagnant and cold. Sounds are muffled against the surface, and she finds it almost impossible to breathe. Wherever she is, she knows it's underground. And if it's underground, she wonders how Jeremie and the others will ever possibly find her.
But the area does not remain the same as they continue the mysterious journey. Soon enough the moldy ground fades away into solid, laminate flooring and the hallway brightens up with the presence of vivid, white walls. Now it feels as if she is inside a hospital. That was a place she'd much rather be, if anything.
They stop before another door, sealed away with a thick padlock and a space of buttons, waiting for code to be entered. He shoves her out of the way, scowling at her as she steps back, a conceptual demand for her to look away and not glance at the pin that he enters. There is a slight beeping, and a green light flashes on the doors handle before he pushes it open. He stands in the frame of the door, extending his arm and waiting for her to take the first steps. She obliges.
The room is empty and dark. That must be the theme of the entire building, she thinks. Nothing but emptiness and darkness. A long table sits in the very center, with a humming, fluorescent light dangling above that almost blinds her compared to the black void she had grown used to. Suspiciously enough, there is a giant mirror pinned against the wall on the reverse side of the table. She glances at it, shocked to see what she has become. Her hair is a tangled mess, her face bruised and her eyes sunken. Her lips are chapped, with sores crusted against the corners of her dry mouth. She hesitantly touches her fingertips against her cheeks. They're cold and dry, and she can almost feel the dead skin flaking off with each gentle brush. When she glances down at her fingers, she is just as horrified. They're skinny and look like prunes, as if she had been soaking in a tub for several hours. Weight has been lost, and she's beginning to look like a skeleton. The chairs sit on the horizontal edges of the table, rather than vertical. Aelita takes a seat on the edge against the wall, while the suspicious man perches himself across from her against the door. The entire time, she makes sure to look away from the mirror.
On the other side of the room, the woman stands with her fingers resting against her lips. She nervously chews at her nails, but at the same time almost bursts with excitement like a giddy child. She feels emotions of happiness and relief, but also despair and fear. As she gazes upon Aelita and the battered mess she has become, she feels her heart sink inside her chest when she flashes back to the finals moments she had last seen her. She remembers the way her chubby, rosy cheeks once looked as they flushed against the cold, and the way her pink hair sparkled underneath sunlight. The way her small, dainty hands had to grab at everything they possibly could, and the way she would grin and giggle so much she would complain about her face hurting. Such memories made her drowning heart fill with subtle warmth, but such warmth was quickly replaced with a cold sting.
"Mommy, no!" The words echo into her ears as if she had just heard them a minute ago.
Ava shuts her eyes and forces herself to refrain from letting tears sneak out. In the presence of possible danger, she has to remain strong. One wrong move, and there's no telling what he may or may not do next.
The man in solid black taps his fingers against the table impatiently, waiting for Aelita to say something. He smirks the same way he usually does, realizing that perhaps she would be just like Ava in terms of sassiness and bravery. It would prove to be a challenge for him, but a challenge he was more than willing to take on. A little game could prove to be fun.
Aelita scowls at the irritating, consistent tapping that fills the complete silence of the room.
"What's your name?" she curiously asks, releasing the first question that pops into her head just so that he will stop tapping.
"What?" The man leans back in the wooden chair, folding his arms.
"Your name. You know mine, and I don't know yours."
He snickers lightly; pleased at the amount of nerve she shows as to ask for something as personal as his name. All the while, though; he figures, why not? "They call me Agent Zlo," he replies.
Aelita pauses, her arms dropping to her sides. "You're Croatian?"
"Why, yes. I am. You're very smart."
"Zlo means evil."
Again, he chuckles. "Quite fitting, don't you think?"
His sense of humor makes Aelita's stomach spin. Behind the mirror, Ava's is doing the same. She continues to stare harshly at the girl that painfully sits against the hard, wooden chair; daydreaming of the way she used to smile and the way she used to feel tucked against her arms.
"Aelita!" she cries out to her daughter, watching her hopelessly chase after the van she had been brutally thrown into. Her heart pounds inside her chest and she claws against the glass, but she falls back as the vehicle hits a bump and she sighs heavily, knowing there is no use.
She is thrown into a dark room, an old bunker of sorts, lights flashing against her.
"Tell us what you know."
"Everything. What your freak of a husband was up to, what he was plotting."
"We know he wants to exploit us."
"We know he's in on Project Carthage."
"What was the purpose of that weapon?"
It didn't matter how many times she cried out that she didn't know, that she truly was never informed as to what her husband did in his free time at work. It was a part of his life he kept mostly secret, and whatever he did tell she never understood anyways. But every desperate plea went unheard, and each tear shed result in another lashing until she was left numb.
"I've got an offer for you."
"What."
"You could become one of us. With your brains and your daring nature, you'd give us a better lead than any of the others."
"You want me to help you track down my own husband so you can destroy him? No."
"If you join us, I can promise you this. Aelita will never be hurt."
"Never?"
"We are men of our word."
"Fine."
"We need to get rid of that pink hair. And from now on, you'll be known as Agent Ava. It means desired. Fitting, isn't it? You're certainly quite the catch."
"Who's on the other side of that mirror?" Aelita asks, forcing herself to turn towards the shining metal. As she turns towards the mirror, she feels as if she's peering directly at whoever lies on the opposite side of the wall. She doesn't know who it is or why they're watching her, but she can sense that there's someone there. As if they give off a certain vibe that draws her to them.
As Aelita's emerald eyes unknowingly gaze directly towards Ava, she rubs her fingertips against the solid, stony glass.
"Aelita," she murmurs.
"You really are smart," Zlo mentions as she watches her gape at the mirror. He begins to think that a young girl with her level of intelligence might prove to cause some trouble. "There's a reward waiting for you on the other side."
"A reward?" Aelita snaps back towards the menacing man. "What kind of reward?"
He sneers. "You only get it if you spill the beans, little lady."
"I don't know what you want me to tell you."
Zlo scoffs, shoving himself out of the chair and turning to face towards the mirror. He folds his hands behind his back, straightening his posture as he makes straight eye contact with Ava on the other side.
"You know, Ms. Schaeffer. I really hate lying…" he trails off, glancing over his shoulder. "And as such, I won't allow myself to lie, either."
Aelita relaxes in the chair, crossing her fragile arms and raising an eyebrow as she contemplates where Zlo could possibly be going with this statement.
"And so I should tell you, that my real name isn't Zlo."
"I was wondering why any parent would name their child something that means evil," she retorts facetiously with a minor grin crawling onto her face.
"My name is Vucković," he confirms. "Or Vuk, for short." Glowering at Aelita, he leisurely goes to face her, watching her bright eyes widen with fear and sudden shock. He can feel the terror sweeping across her body. He can hear her heart skipping a beat. He can see her legs trembling.
"Wolf," she barely whispers.