"I'll have you know that I'm highkey not hyped about this," Alfred muttered to the Chief as he checked in. Not even a Parks and Rec Paunch Burger "child size" coffee could fix his mood, or his messy hair and the dark circles under his eyes. He had been awake since three that morning looking out for another of Ivan's phone calls, but with no avail. It was almost like Ivan knew he was watching and had taken preventative measures. Or like Alfred was beginning to get paranoid.

"What was that?" asked Kirkland, looking up from his ever-present clipboard. The office was sleepy and slow-moving in its early hours, and there were no new missing members.

"I said good mornin', sir." Alfred coughed and collapsed at his desk with so much dedication the wheels on his wheely chair shrieked in surprise.

Also—apparently Ivan's sisters were now visiting? What was up with that? Alfred would have to search his files of notes, for in this state at least he only remembered Ivan vaguely having a family back in Russia. It was whack. The way Ivan had talked to him last night gave Alfred worries, too. Was their relationship ready for a "meet the family" visit? No. No it was not. Alfred had some work to do.

He didn't reach for the file cabinets, however. He didn't report the news to Arthur. He didn't even get out his computer. He shed his glasses, rested his head in his folded arms, and fell asleep.

Alfred dreamed he was playing STARSCRAPERZ! with Matthew, but all of the attacking aliens had Ivan's face. They lost on the first wave.

It was afternoon, and Ivan had a new assignment. The hacker circle's orders were short and sweet: obtain a select handful of confidential files from the US government-protected Federal Bureau of Investigation.

For once he was excited. Not because the files would be near-impossible to get ahold of, not because he would add a couple more life sentences to his record if he was caught, and not even because if he performed the operation successfully and wasn't caught, his debt to the circle would decrease marginally. He was excited because he was hacking the FBI, and he had never done anything near that caliber before, and the FBI obsession deep down in his starved brain was lighting up like a beacon. He had even been given an insider's hinting of traps to avoid in the email. How courteous.

"I'm coming for you, Mr. FBI!" he whispered to himself as he pruned a shrub. Dead leaves were swept away into a bag. His obsession was to the point where Ivan could only allow himself to think about his dark web misdeeds when his phone wasn't in his sight. (He still didn't believe the meme, of course, and was sure to remind himself of this every day.) "I won't hesitate, bitch."

Another thing Ivan forced out of his mind was Alfred, who hadn't showed up for lunch in two days now. A few hours ago Ivan had waited patiently under that darned giant obelisk and hadn't seen either Alfred or the Wok & Roll truck. Their Tuesday meeting must have been a chance fluke, so Ivan told himself to get over it for the time being; Alfred was only a guilty distraction. Ivan could remember him when he was done with this next task. The "businessman's" image had already become blurred in his head. Ivan even forgot that Alfred knew Ivan's name.

He snapped another dead stalk out of his way, now up to his elbows in milkweed and tithonia. Just like his worn overalls and boots, Ivan's hands would be covered in dead plant matter and beetle juice if not for his trusty rubber gloves. They were a bright cheery yellow, the exact shade of the sunflower in Ivan's windowsill. He noticed that more people smiled and waved back at him when he wore them, which made him very happy. Across the garden was another groundskeeper, whom Ivan directed a wave now. The teenager was too wrapped up in her earbuds to take notice. Ivan frowned sadly.

He was stationed in the butterfly pollinator gardens again, which was a two-way upside to his day. First, he loved working around the butterflies and the bugs. Second, he was near the National Museum of Natural History, in a position that would be helpful later on. One couldn't simply hack the FBI. Ivan needed a special gateway to their database, a gateway that could only be found using other US government software, if he knew his tech. If he didn't and this didn't work, he was screwed.

Usually, Ivan could hack the Smithsonian by hooking up to maintenance with a special cable he had acquired from an anonymous delivery source on the street a couple weeks after he had arrived in DC. Conveniently, Ivan also had full range and access to maintenance. But sometimes things were harder, and he had to actually go in and do it the manual way. Luckily, no one suspected the gardener. Museum staff just thought it was weird that the gardener was in the computer room. And since it was easier to get caught than it was to get intel, today would be a "hack in and get the hell out" kind of endeavor. And his shift was almost up.

Ivan's knees protested when he stretched up out of his squat to move his bucket and tools down the line. He froze when a squadron of flying insects zipped past him, recognizing them instantly as Russian honey bees (or Apis mellifera, not to be confused with the other popular Italian bee species Apis mellifera ligustica; you could quickly differentiate species from their informational placards when you were the one polishing the placards and working around enthusiastic pollinator people all year). Ivan wasn't skittish around the monarch butterflies or even the hyperactive hummingbirds that frequented the garden because he saw all the creatures as his friends. But, according to all known laws of aviation, any bee that could survive the harsh Russian winters should be left alone. He knew firsthand.

Ivan tightened his scarf as he crouched back down. He had begun to sweat even more—not all the bees' fault or the excessive heat and humidity. He didn't have to retrieve his phone from his bag in the maintenance shed to know that it was almost four o'clock, almost the end of his shift. The teenager with the earbuds was already dusting off her jeans and heading out. Ivan kept a close eye on who else approached down the pathway. These next few minutes would be difficult.

After a moment's hesitation, Ivan too gathered his things. He waved farewell to the butterflies and the flowers and slowly strolled away, whistling to himself and sweating harder. He stored the bucket and tools, and as he reached for his work bag, he finally allowed further distraction to break the floodgates in his mind. He checked his phone before crossing the street, just glancing quickly at his meme page for the follower and like count. They had both gone stagnant; Ivan hadn't posted anything in a day, which was unlike him. He wiped the hair out of his eyes and powered his phone all the way down, wrapping it in a spare T-shirt and tossing it back into his bag. This way, if Mr. FBI could still hack into Ivan's phone if it was all the way off, he would only see dark fabric.

I am not a criminal about to throw himself into a very compromising position, Ivan thought to himself. I am a simple plant man, so smol, so pure.

He started up the steps to the Museum of Natural History. Just a mere block north were actual FBI headquarters. It was ninety degrees, yet Ivan felt like shivering.

He smiled at security as he approached. The entrance line was short, and Ivan was not apprehensive about being caught here. He hadn't needed to bring his cable or computer, and there were a lot of smelly clothes in his bag to conceal what he had brought, anyway. A cop prodded the clothes with a stick, ushered him through a metal detector, and just like that he was in.

The afternoon was growing late, so the crowds weren't thick, the staff was lax, and Ivan could navigate around easily. He pretended to oogle the giant elephant display for a minute or two, trying not to think about the people at the information desk some feet away. When Ivan moved in deeper, he felt eyes on his back. He slowly and innocently moved away, finding the button for an elevator.

He breathed in; he breathed out. Pictured Alfred's smile.

Ding! Ivan stepped into the elevator and pressed the "close doors" button.

"Excuse me!" Ivan's eyes zipped to find the source of the distress call. Someone was power-walking toward him, extending an arm. At this sight, Ivan reflexively stuck a hand in the path of the closing doors to keep them open, and immediately cursed himself.

An Asian-looking man wearing a museum worker's uniform and badge gratefully stepped into the elevator. "Thank you!" said he. "It takes forever to get one to come back."

Ivan smiled. "It is no problem!" He moved aside so the man could choose his floor.

"Ah, my apologies." Just before hitting the button, the man lurched back. "You were here first; you choose first."

"No, it is fine." Ivan took another step to the side and bumped into the wall. "Where you were going is just fine."

The man stared for a second, then recovered. "Oh. Um, thank you. Okay." He gently pushed the button, and the elevator responded. The man then moved to stand on the other side of the elevator, as far away from Ivan as possible.

Ivan's fingers clenched his bag tighter and tighter. If Mr. FBI was watching, he would most definitely be laughing at the awkwardness. Ivan had planned on taking a random floor to scope the place out, but now that an actual worker had arrived, maybe Ivan could just follow him and pretend to be a worker, too. Radical.

The man cleared his throat; Ivan looked over. The man was staring straight up ahead, watching the numbers change. His hands were folded professionally behind his back, allowing the nametag on his chest to be visible. Ivan squinted. H-O-N—

—Ding! The doors opened, and the man marched quickly out. Like a disoriented cat, Ivan followed.

Sure enough, the man swung straight into a door marked STAFF ACCESS ONLY. Ivan caught a glimpse of the interior and sighed internally. Success. Now he just had to pretend to look at exhibits until the man left.

The words on the wall were drowned out by the pounding in his ears. Ivan had only done this a few times before. H*ck, I have only been to the Museum of Natural History few times before. He knew that there were others, however, who did this kind of stuff much more regularly. Once, Ivan had caught glimpses of someone shadowing him in disguise, and had been so sure it was security, but had later caught them typing away at the same computer he had just hacked. Ivan therefore suspected that he wasn't the only member of the circle here in Washington. Maybe right now some spy was lurking around, waiting for Ivan to move so they could sail in, cover him, and fix any mistakes he had made. The notion gave him a false sense of security—minding the pun, of course.

Ivan caught his reflection in the glass. With his contemplative, hollow expression, he looked pretty ominous. He wondered if Mr. FBI thought that. He wondered what Mr. FBI thought at all about him, before Ivan remembered that Mr. FBI wasn't real, and Ivan only developed the character as a sad way to cope with being alone, and that the museum worker from the elevator had just walked out the staff access door and around the corner out of sight and the door was now swinging shut…

His chance! Ivan swiveled and put a hand up to stop the door from closing, like stopping doors was his job. He didn't even check the hall to see if anyone had seen him. Ivan meant to leave no record except for his image on the cameras, which either would be passed over by security or edited by Ivan if he had the time and skill. But he had little of either as far as hacking security systems went, so he made a beeline for the closest computer and went straight to work.

The mouse was warm—good. This had to be the one the elevator man had just used. Ivan took a minute to brute-force the login, and then accessed the system. He let his mind ramble and his fingers fly. If the elevator man had already logged out then he probably wasn't planning on coming back here any time soon, but Ivan couldn't be sure. He typed faster.

Ivan broke through the network in short time. Knowing he was inside of the US government was terrifying, and it was an even stronger leap to get to the FBI. Their codes were lazer-tripped, but due to the info from the email, he knew the pathway. Ivan sweated harder than he had in the garden. I've got you now, Mr. FBI.

And there they were. Plain as day. A handful of personnel files, wrapped in code. Ivan didn't have time to inspect them, or—god forbid—translate them. He took his eyes off the screen for the first time he had since entering the room to reach into his work bag. Buried beneath his yellow gloves and extra clothes was a tiny USB flash drive-like device. When Ivan stole information, he put it onto this and transferred it back to his laptop at home, then cleared all data so the drive could be used again. Wasting no time, he plugged the sucker into the computer and ran a loop to copy the files.

Now Ivan just had to wait. He stretched out his hands and popped the pains in his neck. He had kept the lights off in the room, and now it was hurting his eyes. He couldn't tell if he was being watched by camera, since there were many red lights amongst all the machinery in the small room. Cables bound in zip-ties traversed the ceiling, and the blinking black boxes that lined the walls looked alien. If he listened over the hum of hardware, he could hear distant sounds coming from the museum. Any of them could be a SWAT team on their way to take him out.

When all the files had been copied and transferred onto the drive, Ivan closed out. He hastily unplugged the USB and chucked it into his bag, then spent time making sure he left no trace of himself before logging out. The computer was just shutting down when the staff access door to the room swung open and light flooded in.

It was the elevator man. He looked surprised to see Ivan sitting at the computer, like anyone would have looked. It was extremely hard for Ivan to hold back from screaming, "Please! Don't tell MOoOoOoOM!"

Instead, he rose from the chair, shouldered his bag, and offered the short man a friendly smile. "Hello again!" He walked fast toward him, and this intimidation tactic worked, for the man backed up confusedly, allowing Ivan to shoulder past him and out the hall. "Have a good afternoon!"

"Uh…" Ivan felt the man's eyes on him as he retreated briskly down the hall. "Good-Goodbye…"

He walked. And walked. And only when he had reached the elevator did he allow himself to glance back. Must look casual. The man had to believe Ivan was just a part of the museum. The man wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Ivan exhaled carefully through his nose and pressed the button. The elevator ride was the loneliest and longest of his life. He made sure not to look at the camera, just in case the museum employee was watching him through it and recording his appearance. Once he had reached the first floor, Ivan stepped out of the elevator doors as soon as they had opened broad enough to fit his broad body. He became cautious of his fast walking pace and the red blush that was most likely creeping across his cheeks and told himself to calm down. Just think of Alfred. Alfred would be horrified by him. Pretend to be wearing Alfred's sunglasses, and that no one can see. Secret lives destroy lives.

Ivan was outside, standing on the steps underneath the giant banners stretched between the massive columns. He could hear his heartbeat over the wind tunnel, but he had done it.

The subway ride home allowed Ivan some time to calm down, as it was easy to lose himself among the hordes of busy travelers. He sat in a slightly sticky seat by the doors and breathed slowly into his scarf. He almost reached into his bag for his phone and earbuds, but decided to wait until home to open his phone. After all, it was possible that the data he had stolen contained Mr. FBI's own information. Ivan allowed himself a delirious giggle. He had really done it.

And now came the fun part—he couldn't say anything to anyone. He unlocked his apartment and went straight to the bathroom, transferring the intel to his secret computer and sending it to the circle. Then Ivan took a shower, pushed everything out of his mind, and turned on his phone to play music while he made dinner.

"Good evening," was the first thing he said to Mr. FBI. "I am sorry I am late."

Alfred adjusted his glasses and squinted his eyes at the screen to hear better. "Late, my donkey! Where were you?"

Ivan was right there, at the stove, frying meat or something. He was wearing a different scarf than the one he had left with that morning, but Ivan changed his scarves regularly after showers. He looked clean and happy and wasn't covered in someone's blood or lugging giant bags of money like Alfred had begun to suspect. "I had to work late, and then I took the wrong train home. I hope you did not miss me."

Alfred slapped his desk. "Of course I missed you! You've been down for an hour! Location empty! No warning! Visuals gone...you could have dropped your phone in boiling pasta! You could have been murdering someone! Wait till the Chief hears about this…"

Ivan smiled that classic innocent smile directly at the camera. A water droplet slid off of one of his still-wet bangs. "I hope you will not report me over such a silly mistake."

Alfred froze. Lowered his voice. "You—You can't hear me, can you?"

"Soon my sisters will be here, and they will be very sad if I am not here to say hello with them." Ivan went back to prodding the meat with a fork.

"Well, come on. I wasn't actually going to report you, you walnut," Alfred jeered. "Duh."

Ivan didn't look back or respond. He was staring into his supper like it held all the secrets of the universe. Alfred fancied Ivan was troubled, which made him feel uneasy as well. Then Ivan slowly shook his head, and didn't speak to his phone again for the rest of the night.

So Alfred just watched. Late into the night he hovered over the laptop screen, occasionally readjusting himself or taking a bite of the donuts someone had brought. The mood in Ivan's house grew more and more somber by the hour. Alfred didn't like the somber. It made him feel antsy and want to actually say something to Ivan, but he couldn't right now, so he had to resign once more to boredom. Alfred texted his brother, played Fortnite mobile on his own phone, and right around the time when Ivan was in the bathroom getting ready for bed was when Alfred received a call.

He was dragged out of the game when his screen was replaced with the incoming contact. Alfred was confused at first, then delighted. He pressed answer. "Hey! What's up?"

"Hello, Alfred," said Kiku Honda. "It has been a while. Something strange happened to me today. Would you like to talk?"

roulette - katy

Disclaimer: I've never hacked the US government before, nor would I know of any way to do so. For the purpose of this story, though, it's apparently pretty easy...um. Please don't alert the authorities. ;)(;