Episode 1: Bonjour, Rue de Rivoli! (Part One)
One week later…
The steady hum of the airplane engines filled the cabin as Yeoreum Jung sat by the window, staring at the envelope in her hand. She turned it over for what felt like the hundredth time, her fingers brushing over the neatly printed words: "Total Drama Operation ICON – Le Petit Café, Rue de Rivoli, Paris, France." Beneath it, in bold, was her assigned codename: Phoenix.
She sighed softly, leaning back in her seat. The name felt heavy, like an expectation she wasn't sure she could meet. Her reflection in the window looked back at her, distorted by the streaks of light and shadow.
"Phoenix," she muttered under her breath, testing the word like it was foreign. "A symbol of rebirth. No pressure, huh?"
The older woman seated next to her glanced over, curious. "Excuse me, dear? Did you say something?"
Yeoreum blinked, startled. "Oh, no, sorry. Just… thinking out loud." She smiled politely, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.
The woman smiled back kindly. "First time going to Paris?"
Yeoreum nodded. "Yeah. First time traveling alone too."
"Ah," the woman said, her expression softening. "Paris is beautiful. A good place for new beginnings, if you ask me."
Yeoreum swallowed hard at the words. New beginnings. That's what this was supposed to be, right? A chance to prove she wasn't the person the tabloids painted her to be, to show she had changed. But the doubt lingered. Would anyone believe her? Could she even believe it herself?
She unfolded the letter inside the envelope, reading it over again. The words "Total Drama" jumped out at her, followed by a section emphasizing teamwork and the need for discretion. Teamwork. She winced slightly. She'd burned so many bridges in her past life; trusting and working with others felt like walking on a tightrope. One wrong step and she'd fall all over again.
The flight attendant's voice crackled over the intercom, announcing the plane's descent into Charles de Gaulle Airport. Yeoreum folded the letter neatly and tucked it into her bag, taking a deep breath as she gazed out at the Paris skyline in the distance.
"You'll do fine," she whispered to herself, almost like a mantra. "Just don't mess this up."
The woman next to her patted her arm gently. "Whatever you're going for, I hope you find it in Paris, dear."
Yeoreum managed a small smile. "Thank you."
As the plane touched down, she clutched the phoenix tattoo on her wrist for reassurance. It was a small, silent promise to herself: this time, she would rise.
As Yeoreum stepped out of the bustling terminal, the Parisian air hit her with a cool, crisp freshness. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her mind still racing with thoughts about the competition. She had barely taken two steps toward the taxi stand when— WHAM!
Someone barreled into her, sending her stumbling back a step. Her bag slid off her shoulder, and worst of all—the invitation slipped from her grasp, landing unceremoniously on the tiled floor.
"Oh my gosh! My bad!" The voice was bright, unapologetic, and unmistakably amused. This was Petra Wilder. She was a girl about her height standing in front of her, grinning sheepishly. She had a heart tattoo on her cheek, star-shaped sunglasses perched on her head, and was dressed in a riot of bright colors.
Yeoreum clenched her teeth, forcing herself to smile. "It's… fine. No harm done." Don't snap, Yeoreum. Be nice. You're a phoenix now, not a dragon.
The girl bent down to pick up the fallen invitation, her curiosity immediately piqued by the elegant stationery. "Oh wow, what's this? Le Petit Café? Rue de Rivoli? Codename Phoenix?" She read aloud, her eyes widening in recognition.
Yeoreum snatched it back, still smiling but her jaw was tight. "It's private."
But the girl didn't seem the least bit fazed by Yeoreum's tone. Instead, her grin widened as she dug into her own bag and pulled out an identical letter. "No way! I've got one too! Except mine says Jest. I guess they knew I'm hilarious." She struck a mock superhero pose, her star sunglasses sliding down her nose.
Yeoreum blinked, her carefully maintained composure wavering. "You're… part of this too?"
"Yup! Looks like we're going to be teammates or rivals or something. Super exciting, right? Oh, I'm Petra, by the way." She stuck out her hand, her grin so wide it practically radiated.
Yeoreum hesitated for a moment before shaking it. "Yeoreum. And… yeah. Exciting."
Petra tilted her head, studying Yeoreum's stiff smile. "You don't sound very excited. Don't worry, I'll rub off on you eventually. People say I'm, like, contagious." She paused dramatically, then leaned closer. "Not in a bad way! I swear."
Yeoreum couldn't help the tiniest twitch of her lips, though she quickly hid it behind her hand. "Right. Well, let's just get to this café."
Petra nodded enthusiastically, slipping her sunglasses down over her eyes. "Lead the way, Phoenix! Or wait, do you prefer something shorter, like Fee? Nixie? Hot Wings?"
Yeoreum sighed, dragging her suitcase toward the taxi stand with Petra bouncing along beside her. This is going to be a long trip, she thought, but somewhere deep down, she wasn't entirely dreading it.
Esther Toussaint adjusted her beige turban headband and scanned the row of taxis outside Charles de Gaulle Airport. Her sharp chocolate-brown eyes flicked between the cars, sizing up which driver looked least likely to engage her in small talk. She hated pointless chatter. She sighed, adjusting the strap of her designer duffel bag on her shoulder. The letter in her hand felt heavier than it should have. She unfolded it again, scanning the words:
"Le Petit Café, Rue de Rivoli, Paris, France. Codename: Vanguard."
Her lips curled in a faint smirk. Vanguard. Fitting.
Before she could flag down a taxi, a timid voice behind her interrupted her thoughts.
"Uh, excuse me… I-I'm sorry to bother you, but, um…"
Esther turned sharply, her gaze landing on Kit Sheppard, a tall, lanky figure in a trench coat that looked like it belonged in a thrift store. Kit had a mop of wispy blond hair and a slightly hunched posture, as though they were trying to make themselves smaller. They were fiddling with the hem of their coat, their blue eyes darting everywhere except directly at her.
"Spit it out," Esther said, crossing her arms.
The person flinched slightly but pressed on. "Uh, do you know where Le Petit Café is? I have this… this thing." They fished into their massive coat pocket and produced a letter almost identical to hers.
Esther arched a brow, her eyes narrowing. "You've got one too?"
The blond nodded quickly. "Yeah, uh… says here my codename is, uh… Gear? Which is, y'know, cool, I guess. I mean, not as cool as, uh… Vanguard. That's what yours says, right?" They motioned nervously to the letter in her hand, speaking faster as they went. "Not that I was reading it! I just… saw the corner of it when you turned. I-I wasn't snooping!"
Esther let out a dry laugh, folding her letter and slipping it into her bag. "Relax, Gear. I'm not about to bite your head off."
Kit let out a relieved breath, their shoulders slumping slightly. "Thanks. I'm Kit by the way... I, uh, guess you're heading there too?"
"Obviously," Esther said, waving a hand. "You don't happen to know where it is, do you?"
Kit hesitated, then shook their head. "Not really. I mean, I have a general idea, but Paris is, uh, really big. I just got distracted by how cool the airport is. Did you know there are over—"
Esther raised a hand, cutting them off. "Spare me the trivia. Let's just find a taxi and get this over with."
Kit nodded eagerly. "Oh, yeah, sure. Great idea. Taxis are, uh, great. They move fast. Cars are fast. Did you know that—"
"Kit."
They blinked. "Yeah?"
"Shut up."
Kit's mouth snapped shut, but they didn't seem offended. If anything, they looked grateful for the directive. Esther shook her head, muttering under her breath as she stepped toward the taxi line.
"Of all the people they could've paired me with, I get stuck with a walking jumble of anxiety and junkyard parts," she said.
Kit trailed after her, oblivious to her disdain. "Oh, I don't know if we're paired up. Maybe we're rivals? Or, uh, competitors? Oh, do you think we'll have to—"
Esther shot them a glare over her shoulder. "Kit, if you value your life, you'll stop talking until we get there."
Kit's lips pressed together in a thin line, but a small, sheepish smile tugged at the corners. "Got it."
Esther sighed and waved down a cab, already mentally preparing herself for the chaos she was sure awaited her at Le Petit Café.
The taxi rolled smoothly onto the busy streets of Paris, the sound of honking cars and muffled chatter filtering through the slightly cracked windows. Esther sat stiffly in the backseat, arms crossed, staring out the window at the city. Next to her, Kit fidgeted nervously, their hands busy dismantling a pen they had pulled from their seemingly bottomless coat pocket.
The driver, an older man with a thick accent, glanced at them in the rearview mirror. "Le Petit Café on Rue de Rivoli, yes?"
"Yes," Esther replied.
The driver nodded and merged into traffic. For a few minutes, silence filled the car, broken only by Kit's faint mumbling as they muttered something about the mechanics of the pen spring. Esther tried to tune them out, focusing on the scenery of Paris—the elegant architecture, the lively streets, and the Seine sparkling in the distance.
But after a while, the streets started to look… less familiar.
"Uh, I don't mean to alarm anyone," Kit said, leaning forward slightly, "but this doesn't look like Rue de Rivoli. At least not from the maps I saw online earlier. I mean, I could be wrong, but—"
Esther snapped her attention to the driver. "Excuse me. Are we lost?"
The driver hesitated before responding, his tone sheepish. "Ah… the traffic, it is… difficult today. I think I take a shortcut. But…" He trailed off, glancing uncertainly at the GPS on his dashboard.
Esther groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You think you took a shortcut?"
Kit leaned forward eagerly. "Oh! I can help! I'm really good with directions. Kind of. Well, sometimes. I mean, I've read about directions, so—"
Esther shot them a warning glare. "Not now, Kit."
The driver slowed the car to a near crawl as he attempted to decipher the GPS. Kit, unable to sit still, pulled a crumpled map from their coat pocket and began unfolding it, muttering under their breath.
"Okay, so if we're here… and Rue de Rivoli is here… oh no, this is upside down—wait, no, it's not. Or is it? Uh, Esther?"
Esther looked at Kit, her patience hanging by a thread. "What?"
"Do you think we're, like, here?" They pointed to a random spot on the map, which looked more like a vague doodle than an actual route.
"How would I know?" Esther snapped.
"Well, you seem like the kind of person who knows things," Kit said with a nervous smile.
Esther sighed heavily, leaning back in her seat. "Driver, just pull over and let me look at the GPS myself. Clearly, no one else here is capable of basic navigation."
The driver obliged, stopping the car at the edge of a bustling street. Esther climbed out, her heels clicking against the pavement, and leaned into the driver's side window to inspect the screen.
Kit followed, holding the map out like it was a sacred artifact. "I'm telling you, if we just go left at the next—"
"Gear," Esther said, not even looking at them, "if you say one more word, I will shove that map somewhere it will never see the light of day."
Kit froze, map still in hand, their mouth opening and closing like a fish.
Esther sighed again, straightened up, and glanced around. "Okay, we're not too far off. We just need to double back and—"
A loud honk interrupted her, and she turned to see a street vendor on a bike nearly collide with another car. The commotion sent a stack of baguettes flying into the air, one of which landed unceremoniously in Kit's hands.
"Uh… free bread?" Kit said weakly, holding up the baguette like a trophy.
Esther rolled her eyes. "This day just keeps getting better."
The driver cleared his throat. "So… we go left here, yes?"
"Yes," Esther said firmly, climbing back into the taxi. "And no more 'shortcuts.' Just follow the GPS."
Kit slid into the car after her, still clutching the baguette. "Do you think this will be useful later? Like, for survival or something?"
Esther didn't even dignify that with a response. She simply stared out the window again, silently counting down the minutes until they reached the café—assuming they ever got there.
Jaswinder Lilavati moved through the streets with the ease of someone who had mastered the art of blending in. The only sound that betrayed their presence was the quiet swish of their black jacket as they made their way toward the local market. They had been running a small errand, not an uncommon task for someone like them—familiar with stealth, skilled at navigating both shadows and people.
Unbeknownst to Jaswinder, Lily Henderson, clad in her usual black trench coat and half-sad theater mask, was walking briskly in the opposite direction, her baby blue eyes scanning the streets in a distracted yet focused manner. She had just received a strange message from one of her organization's contacts, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. What could it mean? The words seemed cryptic, and she was mentally running through every possible scenario.
Her attention wavered as she got closer to a street corner, her mind not quite paying attention to the physical world. As she passed, she didn't notice Jaswinder approaching from the opposite side.
And then, bang—a sudden collision.
Lily stumbled back, her half mask slipping slightly askew, and instinctively reached out to steady herself. Jaswinder, too, was thrown off-balance for a moment but regained composure quickly, their expression shifting from surprise to barely concealed annoyance.
"Watch where you're going!" Jaswinder snapped, straightening up and adjusting their jacket. They eyed Lily, who had recovered quickly but was now looking back at them with an apologetic yet somewhat amused expression.
"Hey, no harm done," Lily said, her voice light and friendly despite the slight jolt. "I wasn't exactly paying attention. My bad." She adjusted her mask, the half-sad face staring out at the world with its usual resigned look.
Jaswinder shot a brief glance at the mask, eyebrow raised. "That's… an interesting fashion choice."
Lily tilted her head slightly. "It's part of the whole vibe, y'know? Keeps the mystery alive. I'm sure you understand the power of a good disguise." Her tone was light, but there was a quiet edge to it that hinted at the deeper layer of her personality. "I don't think I've seen you around before, but I'm pretty good at reading people. What's your story?"
Jaswinder narrowed their eyes, calculating. "I don't do stories, just work," they said, a cocky smirk tugging at their lips. They leaned back slightly, their posture relaxed but still defensive, as if constantly on alert. "What about you? You don't seem like the 'casual' type."
Lily smiled, though it was a playful, almost mischievous grin. "You could say that. I'm more of a… cipher for things, I guess." She gave a quick glance around before returning her gaze to Jaswinder, the cheerful demeanor still intact but a glimmer of suspicion flickering beneath the surface. "You, on the other hand, seem like someone who's good at disappearing."
Jaswinder chuckled darkly, amused by the interaction but not entirely sure where this conversation was headed. "If you're implying something about me, you're right, I disappear. It's what I do. Quietly, with grace." Their voice dropped to a more serious tone, revealing a slight challenge in their words.
Lily shrugged, still playful but clearly processing the meaning behind their words. "I like that. Grace is important. But I don't do quiet." Her eyes twinkled with a hint of something more dangerous, more calculated. "I do... well, let's call it strategy."
For a moment, the two of them stood there, sizing each other up, before Lily finally broke the silence. "Look, I'm not here to make enemies, especially not with someone who's clearly got skills. You seem interesting. I'm Lily, by the way. If you're ever looking for a particular opportunity, feel free to let me know."
Jaswinder considered this, then smirked again. "I'll keep that in mind. But let's keep it clear, Lily. If you're not part of the game, you're part of the problem." Their voice was almost a whisper now, an unspoken threat in their words, but there was no malice, just a quiet warning.
Lily's smile didn't fade, but her tone shifted, just a fraction. "Oh, don't worry. I'm always part of the game. And if you're in it, too, we might just have something to talk about."
With a soft chuckle, Jaswinder gave a slight nod, turning to walk away. "We'll see about that."
Lily watched them disappear into the morning crowd, a sense of curiosity lingering. There was more to Jaswinder than just their cocky exterior. But one thing was certain—this was far from the last time they would cross paths.
As Jaswinder started to walk away, Lily paused, her mind racing with the recent exchange. Something about the interaction seemed off, but in an interesting way—there was a hidden depth to this person that she couldn't quite place.
"Hey!" Lily called out, a smile still tugging at her lips as she jogged a couple of steps to catch up with Jaswinder.
Jaswinder stopped and turned, eyes narrowing but not with hostility. It was more of an intrigued curiosity.
"Yeah?" they responded, their voice flat but guarded.
Lily, ever the inquisitive one, leaned in slightly. "So, you don't strike me as the type to be just anyone, especially with that whole... 'disappearing act' vibe you've got going on. You're not, uh, on the Total Drama season, are you?" She raised an eyebrow, the playful tone in her voice returning.
Jaswinder blinked, then let out a short, sharp laugh. "Total Drama?" They shook their head, clearly amused. "I don't know what kind of show you're talking about. But I'm on my own mission, not whatever that circus is." They paused, watching Lily closely, perhaps weighing the question.
Lily's smile never wavered. "Ah, well, you'd be surprised. But maybe I'm wrong about you. You've got that air about you, though. The kind of person who makes things disappear when they don't want to be found. Makes me wonder if we've got more in common than I thought."
Jaswinder's lips quirked into a faint smirk, and they crossed their arms. "I don't know what you're trying to imply, but I'm not here to play games. If we're talking Total Drama, that's just a distraction, right?" They paused again, letting their words sink in before adding, "Actually, now that you mention it, I'm no stranger to codes or cryptic messages. I got a letter with my codename—and it wasn't a coincidence. You ever heard of Specter?"
Lily's eyes lit up with recognition, and her grin grew even wider. "Specter, huh? You are on that weird mission. I guess I've got Cipher for mine. All those codes—makes you wonder what they think we're capable of." She twirled a strand of her blonde hair, clearly enjoying the revelation. "Looks like we're both part of this secretive game, huh?"
Jaswinder's eyes flickered for a moment, studying Lily with a more discerning gaze. "Cipher," they repeated, as if testing the sound of it. "And you think you're in on whatever this is, too?"
Lily shrugged casually, her playful demeanor masking something a bit sharper beneath the surface. "I'm always in on what matters. Just like you. I don't trust things to be handed to me—I go after what I need." She tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "So, Specter, what's your play in this little game? And does it have anything to do with this whole 'Total Drama' nonsense, or is it something bigger?"
Jaswinder let out a low chuckle, eyeing Lily with an amused, almost dismissive gaze. "Who knows? Maybe everything's connected, maybe not. All I know is that I get the job done. I don't need to explain myself." Their tone was cool and direct. "But you? Cipher, huh? I'm guessing you're not just a 'cipher' for nothing, are you?"
Lily's smile flickered, then brightened again. "You'd be surprised," she said, her voice dropping slightly, the playful nature almost gone. "But yeah, I can handle a little challenge. Maybe even work my way into whatever this is. No harm in making connections, right?"
Jaswinder hesitated for just a moment, considering her words, before nodding almost imperceptibly. "We'll see how far those connections take you," they said, turning to walk away once again.
Lily watched them go, intrigued. "Specter, huh? Looks like you and I might have some things in common after all."
As Jaswinder disappeared into the crowd, Lily couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of curiosity. The world they were both a part of was far more complex than she'd realized, but with a codename like Cipher and an encounter like this one, she was ready for whatever came next. She just had to make sure she stayed one step ahead.
Ayame Haruka stood near the airport exit, her dark brown eyes scanning the crowd, overwhelmed by the chaos of the bustling scene around her. The noise of people speaking English, a language she barely understood, made her feel even more out of place. Her slim figure was partially hidden behind the crowd, her loose black ponytail swaying as she shifted nervously from one foot to the other. She was dressed in a soft pink blouse, a light gray cardigan, and a pair of black pants that were tailored to fit her athletic build. Her sneakers were plain but comfortable, a silent reflection of her quiet and practical nature.
The whole situation felt like a blur. The letter in her hand, with the cryptic message inviting her to this strange place, was a mystery she couldn't solve on her own. She had hoped to find someone who could help, but now, standing alone and lost, Ayame realized that she didn't even know where to begin. Her phone, displaying mostly Japanese text, was no help either.
Confusion clouded her mind as she approached a small kiosk, hoping to gather some information, but the English phrases were foreign to her. She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do.
Suddenly, a voice interrupted her thoughts.
"You look lost."
Ayame turned to see a tall man approaching. This was Buford Orion Stevens III, or simply just Bo. His appearance is striking with long black dreadlocks tied up in a ponytail, and a casual yet confident posture. He was dressed in a black zip-up jacket and shorts, his casual clothes blending effortlessly with the airport's crowd. His caramel brown skin stood out in the sun, and his sharp green eyes made it clear he wasn't just any passerby.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind. "You look like you're in need of some help."
Ayame blinked, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks as she hesitated. She didn't speak much English, but his tone was sincere. She managed a shy smile, her soft voice barely audible.
"I... I am lost," she said, her English accented but clear enough. "I do not understand... everything here."
The man raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a keen, assessing eye. "Yeah, I figured. You look like you're trying to figure out the game without knowing the rules." He glanced at her, his expression softening a bit. "What's your name?"
Ayame hesitated. She always used "Iris" when speaking English, a name she had adopted for ease in communicating. It was easier to say and less foreign. She nodded to herself, then lifted her head, speaking more confidently.
"Iris," she said with a small bow, though her eyes stayed mostly downcast. "But... my real name is Ayame. Ayame Haruka."
Bo studied her for a moment, the wheels turning in his mind. "Iris, huh? Alright, Iris, I'm Buford, but you can call me Bo. Or Atlas," he said, a quick smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Not that I'm Atlas or anything, but you get the vibe."
Iris looked puzzled, tilting her head. "Atlas?"
"Yeah," he explained, pulling out a letter from his pocket, much like the one Iris had clutched in her hand. "This thing, right?" He pointed to the envelope with the familiar symbols on it. "Got mine in the mail too. My codename's Atlas. Got no idea what that's about yet, but that's the game we're in."
Iris's… irises widened as she understood. She dug into her bag, pulling out her own letter and handing it to him. "Sakura," she said softly, letting Bo read the codename in her letter.
Bo's eyes scanned the paper quickly, then glanced back at her with raised eyebrows. "Sakura, huh? Now that's a name I can get behind. Sounds like something out of an action movie." He folded the letter back up, handing it back to her. "You know, I'm starting to think we're in the same boat here. Looks like we've both got some strange business to handle."
Iris, still trying to process everything, nodded. "Yes... I do not know what it means yet. I am here, but... it is all so confusing."
Bo chuckled, a low, amused sound. "Yeah, tell me about it. But don't worry, Sakura—you'll figure it out. I can help you get the lay of the land around here. Just stay close."
Iris smiled faintly, her anxiety beginning to ease just a little. "Thank you, Atlas. I... appreciate your help."
"Don't mention it," Bo said, giving a slight shrug. "I'm just keeping it real. Now, let's get you sorted so you're not standing here looking like a deer in headlights." He gestured toward the exit, his posture exuding casual confidence. "I'll show you where the taxis are. First thing's first, we gotta get you somewhere you can figure this out."
Bo led Iris through the bustling airport, occasionally tossing a joking comment her way.
"So, Iris," Bo said with a grin, "you ever been to a place this confusing before? I'm pretty sure I just saw someone get lost in the coffee line."
Iris blinked, trying to process. "People... get lost in coffee?" she asked, unsure if she had misunderstood.
Bo chuckled. "Nah, just messin' with you. But hey, this place can make anyone lose their mind. You sure you're ready for all this?" He motioned to the chaotic airport.
Iris nodded slowly, still a bit confused. "I think so," she said, though she clearly wasn't convinced. "But... I do not drink coffee. It is too... strong for me."
"Yeah, it's like a rocket ship for your brain," Bo teased, "but no worries. I'll make sure you don't get lost in the coffee aisle... or the airport." He winked.
Iris looked at him, completely blank. "Rocket... coffee?"
Bo just shrugged, smiling. "Guess you'll find out eventually."
Iris nodded seriously. "I hope I do not get lost in the rocket coffee."
Bo burst out laughing, shaking his head. "You're killing me, Iris."
Lysander Saigon leaned against the pillar of the bustling train station, his amber eyes scanning the crowd. He noticed a woman nearby, dressed in cool blues, who seemed just a bit out of place. Her stoic expression intrigued him, but he didn't want to make it too obvious he was staring.
He casually approached her. "Hey, you heading to Rue de Rivoli too?" he asked with a friendly smile, his voice smooth and easy, like a well-crafted cocktail.
Martha Katz glanced up, her hazel eyes studying him for a moment before she gave a small nod. "I am," she replied flatly, her voice calm but not unfriendly. "Are you?"
Lysander chuckled softly. "I mean, if you're asking, I might be in the same boat as you. I wouldn't mind getting lost in the city, but I'd rather not do it alone." He gave her a wink, adding, "I'd say we're both in the same drink, just not the same glass yet."
Martha blinked, clearly processing the odd metaphor. "Drink?"
"Yeah, you know," Lysander shrugged, "like a good old fashioned cocktail. You're the gin, I'm the tonic, together we're just... making things work."
Martha took a beat, clearly confused, then replied dryly, "I prefer wine."
Lysander smirked. "Ah, a woman of sophistication. Well, I'm always up for a glass of wine if it helps make the ride less... tedious." He stepped a bit closer, glancing down at his phone. "Looks like we're both waiting for the same tram. Should be an interesting ride."
Martha raised an eyebrow, still not quite catching the vibe, but not uncomfortable either. "Interesting? Why?"
"Because," Lysander grinned, "if we're both heading to Rue de Rivoli, maybe we should make the most of it. You never know what kind of flavor a day can have if you let it."
Martha just gave a small, neutral smile. "I'll let you know if it gets too... mixed."
"Fair enough," Lysander said with a shrug, trying not to laugh. "We'll see who blends in better." Lysander added as he flashed a charismatic grin, his dark brown hair catching the light as he leaned in a little closer.
"By the way," he began, adopting a more mysterious tone, "my codename, based on my Total Drama letter, is Chroma." He made a dramatic pause, letting the name hang in the air as if it was the punchline to a well-rehearsed joke.
Martha blinked at him, a bit confused, then tilted her head slightly. "Chroma? Like... the colors?" she asked, her voice flat but still polite.
"Exactly!" Lysander said, his smile widening as if he'd just won a prize. "I'm all about the shades of life, darling. From vibrant reds to deep blues, I bring the palette to the party."
Martha, unimpressed, nodded slowly. "Right, and my codename is Opal. Based on my Total Drama letter." She said it plainly, like she was stating the time of day.
Lysander raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. "Opal? That's... well, that's like being a gem, right? You're a stone, but with flair."
Martha deadpanned, "Yes. Opal. The gem that gets the job done quietly, without drawing attention."
Lysander paused for a second before grinning widely. "So, you're the opal in the cocktail mix, huh? I'm the vibrant splash of color, you're the subtle shimmer that people only notice when they've had a few too many drinks." He winked dramatically.
Martha raised an eyebrow, almost imperceptibly. "Not sure what that means. But sure, I'll take 'subtle shimmer.' I guess I blend in with the crowd until I need to step in and dazzle them."
Lysander chuckled. "I like that! You know, you might just be the smooth gin to my tonic. The quiet charm and the sparkle... Works perfectly together."
"Maybe," Martha said, giving him a small smirk. "But don't expect me to be the one to handle the hangover."
Lysander grinned mischievously. "Oh, don't worry. I always handle the aftermath." He took a mock bow. "It's the responsibility of someone with a name like Chroma."
Martha's lips shimmied into a slight smile. "I'm sure."
The sun beat down on the skateboard park, where the air was thick with the smell of asphalt, rubber, and a few faint hints of sweat. Sloan Riley McCaffery sat on a bench, earphones in, her focus deeply invested in a Sudoku puzzle she had balanced on her lap. She furiously scribbled in numbers, occasionally pausing to glance at the sky with an almost philosophical expression.
Suddenly, a skateboard whizzed past her, too fast for her to react. It sent a gust of wind and, unexpectedly, knocked her Sudoku puzzle from her lap and onto the pavement. The numbers scattered, the puzzle turned into a mess, and Sloan blinked, looking down at the chaos.
"Well, that's just great," she muttered, tugging the earbuds from her ears.
As she bent to pick up the pieces, a voice rang out from behind her.
"Hold up, I got this," came the voice of Devon Mason Manner, casually strolling over to where the puzzle lay scattered. He was wearing his usual gear—cargo pants, army boots, and a sweatshirt with a cool California flag design on the back.
He bent down and began gathering the pieces, neatly stacking them.
"Thanks, man," Sloan said, still looking at him through the corner of her eye. "I swear, every time I drop something, I think my brain just short-circuits."
Devon chuckled, standing up with the puzzle in hand. "No problem. You know, they say if you can't handle a Sudoku puzzle, it's time to get into a real puzzle... like dealing with a bunch of criminals and rogue skaters on the loose."
Sloan blinked, her brow furrowing as she tried to process that for a second. "Wait, what?"
Devon, totally unaware of her confusion, added, "Yeah, like me. I've been trained for this. I'll catch 'em all." He grinned like he'd just solved a big mystery.
"Uh, right." Sloan stared at him, not quite sure if he was messing with her or if his brain was the one that had short-circuited.
"So, you're, like, into puzzles, huh?" Devon asked, brushing the last few pieces into his hand.
"Yeah, Sudoku. It keeps my brain sharp. Too sharp, sometimes," Sloan said with a slight grin, folding her arms. "Like the time I tried to calculate the best way to win a skating contest while navigating a maze of shopping carts. I was 80% sure I could solve it."
Devon squinted, half-amused, half-baffled. "A maze of shopping carts?" he repeated, clearly still processing the idea.
"Yeah, let me tell you, nothing gets the adrenaline going like avoiding a rogue shopping cart while pulling off a kickflip," Sloan said, with a deadpan look that suggested she was speaking from experience.
Devon just shook his head, laughing. "That's wild. But, hey, I can respect a good challenge. I mean, I'm all about that too. Just... usually it's with a skateboard, not with, uh, puzzles."
"Well, maybe you should try it sometime," Sloan said, nudging the remaining puzzle pieces toward him with a smirk. "It's like skateboarding for your brain. Just don't mess it up like you did earlier."
Devon looked at her, clearly confused. "Mess it up? All I did was rescue a civilian's puzzle from certain death, lady."
Sloan's eyes narrowed playfully. "Uh-huh. And how exactly did you rescue it?"
"Like a knight in shining armor, obviously," he said with dramatic flair, striking a mock pose as he held the completed puzzle.
Sloan rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway as she looked at a certain letter sticking out of his pocket. "You're like the Rook of this park, huh? Just straightening up chaos and saving the day."
Devon blinked and, for a moment, didn't quite get the reference. Then, he shrugged and pulled out his letter from his jacket pocket. "Nah, but my codename's actually Rook. You know, like the chess piece. Strategic. Helpful. A bit of a badass."
Sloan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Rook, huh? Sounds like you're trying to make yourself sound all cool. I'm not buying it."
Sloan then pulled out her own letter from her bag, with a smirk. "My codename's Skylark. You know, like a bird. Flyin' high, always free." She gestured to herself with a slight air of exaggerated elegance.
Devon snickered. "Skylark, huh? So you're telling me you can just swoop in, save the day, and then disappear before anyone even realizes you were there?"
Sloan shot him a look. "If I wanted to disappear, I'd just leave my puzzle on the floor again and let someone else deal with it."
Devon raised his hands defensively, but his grin didn't waver. "Fair enough, Skylark. Fair enough."
"Glad we agree," Sloan said, shoving her letter back into her bag. "So, what's your plan, Rook? You gonna teach me how to 'strategically' win one of those skateboarding contests?"
Devon chuckled, rolling up his sleeves. "First lesson: You need to stop dropping your puzzles, and maybe we can talk about some flips."
Sloan sighed dramatically. "You're no help at all, Rook. But I guess I'll take what I can get."
Devon grinned. "That's the spirit. Let's just hope your puzzle doesn't meet its demise again."
Sloan snickered, eyes glinting with mischief. "Only if you stop running over my brain with your weird cop skills."
Mary Grace Salac stood in line at the train station, adjusting the hem of her vintage floral dress with deliberate care. The bright green and cream tones of her outfit flowed effortlessly, her beige wedges clicking softly against the tiled floor. Her delicate fingers, adorned with rings that matched the understated elegance of her outfit, adjusted her rose-gold-framed glasses. Despite the long line, Mary Grace carried herself with unshakable poise, as if she were the only one there.
Out of nowhere, a flash of blonde hair zipped past her, sending a breeze through her meticulously styled hair. Helena Dellacordova Figueroa, clad in a pink blouse, yellow mini jacket, and a skirt that practically screamed look at me, had cut directly in front of her. The nerve.
"Excuse me, Madame," Mary Grace remarked, her voice cutting through the hum of the crowded station. "The line is back there," she gestured with an exaggerated sweep of her hand. "You might want to try the VIP section of the line next time."
Helena froze and turned back, a sharp glare in her blue eyes as she sized up Mary Grace. Her posture straightened, and her lip curled ever so slightly. "Do you not know who I am?" she asked, her voice dripping with arrogance. "I am Helena Figueroa, the lead star of The Red Carpet Chronicles!"
Mary Grace's brow arched, an elegant yet playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Oh, really?" she said, tilting her head with an air of mock curiosity. "How come I don't know you then? Are you sure you're not starring in some kids' show, like Saturday Morning Fun Hour or something?"
Helena's face flushed, a sharp intake of breath punctuating her rising irritation. "Excuse me?" she snapped. "I'm a legend in the industry! You clearly don't understand the value of my time. I don't need to wait in some measly line. People wait for me."
Mary Grace crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side, looking entirely unbothered. "Yeah, legend, right. But I guess I'm just not in the right crowd to recognize the star of a Saturday morning show. Maybe I missed that episode." She smirked as she casually looked down at her ticket in her hand, as if the entire exchange were beneath her. "Oh, but don't worry, I'm sure the kids at home know who you are."
Helena huffed, her nostrils flaring as she tried to maintain what little composure she had left. She swiped her ticket at the booth without even glancing at the attendant. "You'll regret this when I'm on the cover of every magazine. When I'm winning Oscars—you'll be begging for an autograph. You should be thanking me for allowing you to stand in my presence."
Mary Grace couldn't help herself. She chuckled lightly, the sound dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, sure. I'll get right on that," she said, rolling her eyes with exaggerated elegance. "Maybe I'll even frame the autograph in my house—after I look up who you are."
Helena, unable to resist one last attempt at asserting her superiority, flipped her blonde hair dramatically before turning away. As she did, her letter slipped from her bag and fluttered to the floor unnoticed.
Mary Grace's keen eyes caught the movement, and before Helena could even get a few steps away, she bent down with grace, plucking the letter from the floor. She unfolded it, her gaze flicking over the contents before her lips curled into a slow, amused smile. The codename printed on the letter caught her eye: Prima.
"Well, Prima, I hope you get lost on your way to your next big role," Mary Grace muttered under her breath, slipping the letter into her own bag. She raised an eyebrow, adding, "Honestly, I've seen that jacket before, I'm pretty sure it's her second gig."
Her words hung in the air as she stood up, watching as Helena strutted toward the platform without a care, oblivious to her missing letter. Mary Grace shook her head with a smile, the scent of her own victory sweet. With a flick of her wrist, she bought her ticket to Rue de Rivoli, her posture perfect, her grin still in place.
As she turned toward the gate, she couldn't resist one last quip. "Prima, really? She should've stuck to her kids' show. It's where she belongs."
Meanwhile, Helena, now comfortably seated on the train, settled back into the plush seat with a sigh of relief. She reached into her bag to retrieve her letter—the one that had solidified her place at Total Drama. She knew the competition couldn't touch her; she was destined for greatness. But as her hand searched her bag, her fingers met nothing but air. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Where is it?" she muttered under her breath, her eyes darting wildly across the train compartment. "It was just here. It has to be here."
She scrambled through her belongings with increasing panic, but there was no sign of the letter. No sign of her invitation. Her face contorted with frustration as she turned the bag upside down, dumping its contents onto the seat next to her. "My letter! My precious letter!" she hissed, completely unaware of the chaos she was causing in the train's otherwise quiet atmosphere.
Helena's gaze swept across the other passengers, her sharp blue eyes narrowing as she suspected the worst. "Someone must've taken it," she murmured, looking at the people around her with suspicion. Her lip curled in distaste. "Who would dare steal from me?"
Her mind quickly began to form a list of suspects. The train moved steadily along the tracks, but Helena's thoughts were miles ahead. "If it's that greenie girl in the floral dress..." she mused aloud, her voice tinged with venom. "I'll make sure she never sees another ticket in her life. How dare she think she can outshine me? I'll have her blacklisted from every major event. Her career will be over before it even starts."
A twisted grin spread across Helena's face as she leaned back in her seat. She ran her fingers through her perfectly styled hair, already crafting the sharpest insults in her mind.
"I am Prima indeed," she muttered, shaking her head as she looked out the window. "She'll be begging to even look at my success."
Her thoughts spiraled as the train continued to rumble on, unaware of the small victory Mary Grace had claimed in the station. But one thing was clear: Helena Figueroa would stop at nothing to get what she wanted.
Blake O'Byrne stood on the cobblestone street, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, muttering under his breath. His hazel eyes scanned the nearby signs, none of which seemed to point him toward the elusive Le Petit Café. The buzzing city around him felt like a labyrinth, and while he'd usually enjoy the challenge of finding his way, the pressure of being late for something important was starting to wear on him.
"Le Petit Café, my ass," he grumbled, glancing down at the invitation in his hand. The codename Talon stared back at him in bold letters. "Who in the damn world names a café so fucking small that you can't even find it?"
"Whatcha readin'?" came a voice, thick with a Brooklyn accent, from directly behind him.
Blake stiffened, his instincts kicking in as he turned his head slightly to see who had snuck up on him. Standing there with an annoyingly confident smirk was Andrew James Hanson. Drew's deep blue eyes glinted with mischief as he leaned over Blake's shoulder to peek at the invitation.
"Looks like you're Talon," Drew remarked with a sly grin, the sleeves of his navy button-down shirt casually rolled up to reveal his lean, muscular forearms. "Catchy. What's it supposed to mean? You a bird guy or somethin'?"
Blake turned fully to face him, his posture relaxed but his tone sharp. "Oh, you're in this too, huh? What's yours?"
Drew grinned, leaning back slightly as if savoring the moment. "Velvet," he said, the name rolling off his tongue like he was introducing himself to a room full of swooning admirers.
Blake raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "Velvet? What, did you pick that yourself? Sounds like a nickname you'd give to some fancy couch."
Drew chuckled, undeterred. "Nah, it's the kinda name that sticks, ya know? Smooth, irresistible, and just a little dangerous." He stepped closer, his voice lowering slightly. "Kinda like me."
Blake crossed his arms, unamused but entertained enough to play along. "Dangerous? You? I'm guessing the only danger you've ever been in is running out of hair gel."
Drew's smirk widened, and he gave a mock bow. "Touché, Talon. But at least I've got style. You look like you walked straight outta a motorcycle stunt video. All you're missin' is the helmet."
Blake shrugged, unbothered by the jab. "I don't need a helmet. I've got instincts. Unlike you, sneaking around behind people like some kinda spy."
Drew leaned against a nearby lamppost, folding his arms over his chest. "Hey, I wasn't sneakin'. You were just too busy talkin' to yourself to notice me. What's got you so worked up, anyway? Lost already?"
Blake sighed, glancing down at the invitation again. "I'm lookin' for this café. Le Petit Café or whatever. You'd think with a name like that, it'd be hard to miss."
Drew's smirk grew. "Ah, so the great Talon does have a weakness. Directions." He pushed off the lamppost and began walking ahead, motioning for Blake to follow. "C'mon, I'll help you find it. Can't let you embarrass yourself before the fun even starts."
Blake hesitated for a moment before following, his steps steady and deliberate. "Why would you help me? What's your angle?"
Drew glanced back, his grin now bordering on predatory. "No angle. Just figured I'd keep ya company. Besides, it'll be fun watching you try to keep up."
Blake scoffed but kept pace, his hazel eyes narrowing as he studied Drew's confident stride. "Don't get too comfortable, Velvet. I don't trust anyone who describes themselves as 'smooth.'"
Drew laughed, the sound rich and unapologetic. "Fair enough, Talon. But trust me, you're gonna love havin' me around. I'm the kinda guy who keeps things interesting."
Blake rolled his eyes, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Yeah, interesting. That's one word for it."
The two continued down the bustling streets, their banter crackling like static electricity between them. Neither fully trusted the other, but they both knew one thing for sure: this was going to be one hell of an experience.
Blake and Drew continued walking down the cobblestone street, Drew leading with the swagger of someone who clearly had no idea where he was going. Blake finally noticed this and smirked.
"You don't know where it is either, do you?" Blake said, his voice dry.
Drew shot him a look, one eyebrow raised. "Hey, I've got a sense of direction like a bloodhound."
"Yeah?" Blake replied, biting back a grin. "That why we've passed that bakery twice?"
Drew stopped in his tracks and turned toward Blake, spreading his arms dramatically. "Okay, Mr. Talon, if you're such a genius, why don't you lead the way?"
Blake pointed at a nearby street sign. "Pretty sure it's that way. The arrow literally says Le Petit Café."
Drew turned, squinting at the sign, and then shrugged as if it didn't matter. "See? I was just testin' you. Gotta make sure you've got what it takes to hang with me."
Blake shook his head, chuckling under his breath. "You're unbelievable."
"Unbelievably good company," Drew shot back, grinning as he clapped Blake on the back. "Now let's go. I don't have all day to babysit you."
Blake muttered something under his breath about Drew being the one who needed babysitting, but they both started walking, their banter drawing a few amused looks from passersby. This was going to be interesting, whether they liked it or not.
Dante Accello leaned against a pillar near the train station, his gray button-down untucked as usual, his yellow eyes scanning the crowd with practiced disinterest. He wasn't trying to stand out, but his sharp gaze and neatly styled, gelled gray hair naturally caught attention. He sighed, tugging at his collar slightly. "Here we go again…" he muttered to himself, watching the bustling travelers move around him. He had his letter tucked in his pocket, the word Shadow burning in his mind. He wasn't sure why he'd accepted this invitation. Trouble always seemed to follow him.
"Hey, uh… you okay there?"
Dante glanced up sharply, his instincts ready to push this stranger away like he always did. The voice belonged to a tall guy with electric blue hair that stood out even in the crowded station—Eulen Jaris Princotta, or E.J.
"Do I look like I'm okay?" Dante replied dryly, his arms crossing defensively.
E.J. smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, you kind of look like you're plotting something dramatic, and I figured I'd check before you set off any fire alarms or something."
Dante blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected humor. "Why would I—? Never mind." He waved his hand dismissively. "Go bother someone else."
E.J. didn't move. Instead, he tilted his head curiously. "I saw your letter," he said, pointing at Dante's pocket. "What's your codename? Mine's Aqua. I guess it's supposed to be mysterious or something?"
Dante's eyes narrowed. He didn't like strangers getting into his business, but there was something disarming about E.J.'s calm, curious demeanor. "Shadow," he finally muttered.
E.J. nodded. "Cool. So you're, what? The brooding, loner type? Fits the name, I guess."
"Is this how you introduce yourself to everyone?" Dante shot back, though his tone was more curious than hostile now.
E.J. grinned, a small, nervous laugh escaping. "No, usually I just flail around until someone feels bad enough to say hi. You're actually my first success story."
Despite himself, Dante snorted. "Congratulations. I hope the thrill of victory was worth it."
"Oh, definitely," E.J. said, leaning casually against the same pillar. "And now we're officially train station buddies. Bonded for life."
"Great," Dante muttered, though he didn't move away. For once, someone's company didn't feel like impending doom.
The train's arrival was announced with a loud whistle, and Dante stood, folding his arms as the breeze swept through the platform. Just as he reached into his pocket to retrieve his ticket, a gust of wind snatched it from his hand.
"Are you kidding me?!" Dante groaned, watching the ticket sail onto the tracks below.
E.J., standing beside him, rummaged through his jacket pocket. "Relax, I've got a spare."
Dante frowned as E.J. handed over an identical ticket. "Why'd you buy two?"
E.J. shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "I'm paranoid, okay? What if one gets ruined or lost? Looks like it worked out, huh?"
Dante stared at him for a moment before reluctantly taking the ticket. "Paranoid or just weird… thanks."
They boarded the train, E.J. plopping into the seat across from Dante with a grin. "Guess I'm not completely useless, huh?"
"Jury's still out," Dante muttered.
The train hissed to a stop, the doors sliding open as a crowd of passengers surged forward to exit. André Smith stepped off briskly, his towering frame cutting through the crowd with ease. Just as he was about to clear the platform, he felt a sharp bump on his side.
"Watch it!" André barked, turning to glare at whoever had collided with him.
The offender was a slender man with a dramatic flair, his pompadour bouncing slightly as he turned to face André with an exaggerated gasp.
"Oh, darling, I didn't see you there," Robin Hawkins said, his voice lilting with mock regret. He placed a hand on his chest, as though personally affronted. "Such a large presence, and yet so invisible in the crowd."
André's scowl deepened. "You serious right now? Maybe watch where you're walking next time."
Robin's blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "Maybe if you weren't stomping around like a runaway bull, people could actually avoid you."
The tension thickened as the two men squared off, the bustling crowd moving around them. Finally, André huffed and turned away, muttering, "Not worth it."
As he walked, he pulled out the envelope he'd been given earlier. Opening it, he saw the word "BLAZE" written in big, bold letters. Yes, his was the only letter that was written that way. Maybe to fit his personality. He frowned slightly, stuffing the letter back into his pocket.
Behind him, Robin smirked and discreetly pulled out his own envelope. "Echo," he murmured with a theatrical flair, glancing between the letter and André. "How poetic. Guess I'm destined to make waves."
Noticing André stalking ahead with purpose, Robin tilted his head. "Hmm, big guy seems like he knows where he's going. Guess I'll... follow the leader."
André, oblivious to the shadow trailing him, walked with purpose toward a map posted nearby. Robin kept a safe distance, pretending to check his phone or admire the architecture of the station whenever André glanced over his shoulder.
"This guy better lead me somewhere good," Robin whispered to himself, a grin tugging at his lips. "Because if he doesn't, I'm going to make sure this is going to get very entertaining."
Robin weaved through the bustling crowd, keeping André's broad figure in sight. "Can't lose you now, big guy," he muttered under his breath, sidestepping a distracted couple.
But just as he maneuvered around a group of tourists, a sudden wave of commuters surged between them. Robin blinked, scanning the sea of heads, but André's pink buzzcut was nowhere to be found.
"Oh, come on!" Robin groaned, standing on his tiptoes for a better view. "How does a walking billboard like you just disappear?"
He pushed through the crowd, muttering apologies and trying to catch a glimpse of his target. Still, André was gone.
Robin sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. "Guess it's time to improvise. That guy can run, but Echo's got the voice to find him eventually." He adjusted his shark tooth necklace with a smirk and set off in a random direction, hoping for a lucky break—or a dramatic re-entrance.
The sleek metallic walls of the I.C.O.N. headquarters gleamed under the fluorescent lights as Director Renard stood motionless, his hands clasped behind his back, a picture of poise and patience. Agent Vesper, on the other hand, was pacing back and forth in front of the elevator, her heeled boots clicking sharply against the tiled floor. It had been over an hour, and not a single person had shown up yet.
"This is ridiculous," Vesper huffed, throwing her hands in the air. "We sent the invitations a week ago! What could possibly be taking them so long? Do these people think the world revolves around them?"
Renard raised an eyebrow, his expression as stoic as ever. "Maybe the problem isn't them. Maybe the problem is your directions, Vesper."
"My directions?" Vesper whipped around to face him, her hand resting indignantly on her hip. "What's wrong with my directions? They were perfectly clear."
Renard tilted his head, his calm demeanor unwavering. "Oh, sure. Clear to you, maybe. But let's not forget the part where you casually dropped, 'meet us at Rue de Rivoli,' as if everyone just magically knows where that is."
"Renard," she groaned, dragging her hand down her face. "It's one of the most famous streets in Paris. Everyone knows where Rue de Rivoli is."
"Do they?" Renard replied dryly, his lips twitching like he was suppressing a smirk. "Because judging by the empty elevator in front of us, I'd say… no. Apparently, not everyone."
Vesper threw up her hands. "Okay, fine! Maybe I could've included a map. But they have GPS! It's not my fault if they can't be bothered to Google it!"
Renard finally allowed himself a small, amused smile. "Ah, yes. Because nothing says 'super-secret elite operation' like googling directions to headquarters. Real subtle, Vesper. Real secure."
Vesper narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, and what would you have done, Mr. Perfect? Sent a personal driver to every single one of them?"
Renard shrugged, his expression unbothered. "If it gets them here on time? Maybe."
"Yeah, well, last I checked, you're not the one organizing the invites," Vesper shot back, crossing her arms. "You're just the one standing here looking smug."
Renard glanced at his watch. "Smug or not, I'm the one who predicted this disaster."
Before Vesper could retort, the elevator doors finally dinged open. Both agents turned expectantly, only for a janitor to step out, pushing a mop bucket. He paused, staring at them for a moment.
"...Still waiting?" the janitor asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Not. A. Word," Vesper snapped, pointing a finger at him.
The janitor shrugged, muttering something under his breath about "high-maintenance agents," and rolled his bucket away.
Renard sighed, clasping his hands behind his back again. "Next time, Vesper, maybe just say 'next to the Louvre.'"
"Oh, shut up, Renard."
Cast:
BOYS: André/Blaze, Blake/Talon, Bo/Atlas, Dante/Shadow, Devon/Rook, Drew/Velvet, E.J./Aqua, Lysander/Chroma, Robin/Echo
GIRLS: Esther/Vanguard, Helena/Prima, Iris/Sakura, Lily/Cipher, Martha/Opal, Mary Grace/Ivory, Petra/Jest, Sloan/Skylark, Yeoreum/Phoenix
NB'S/GENDERQUEER: Jaswinder/Specter, Kit/Gear
Thanks for reading part 1 of episode 1, my dear reader! I decided to split this episode up because it's actually a bit… boring to say the least. The action doesn't happen until we get to at least episode 2. You may be wondering why I already have this chapter up. Well you see, after I uploaded the first cast update, I was already starting to write this episode as that was a time when I already had some of the next half of the cast chosen. Also I just type fast in general… haha.
A bit of a quick announcement, after some considerations and receiving some concerns from some of you, I am pleased to announce that this story will remain rated T. The reason why I thought of putting it to M in the first place was due to the violence that will happen with their missions as well as frequent alcohol usage in different scenes. However, all this can easily be toned down, and that is what I will do. These themes will still be heavily used around the story, but do not fret because we are not here to cross boundaries.
In the next part, the cast will finally arrive at the Le Petit Café, and we will be getting a tour around the seven layers of I.C.O.N.'s lair! I do hope your character is portrayed alright in this chapter, but this is only the beginning as there is more room for improvement. Do let me know if you have any concerns! Feel free to leave a review and I will see you all next time! Thank for reading, fellow reader! Au revoir!
