Fordross Base
Mission:
- Contact Agent D7 (Completed)
10:35
Agent D7: “Do they know you escaped yet?”
I shook my head—then realized I didn’t even know why I looked at September while doing it. I just did. Her eyebrows twitched the second my eyes landed on her, like she was trying to calculate the safest answer without actually saying it.
Agent D7: “Do they…?”
“Oh—no, no, no,” I corrected fast. “Actually… yeah. They do. They know.”
There was a beat of silence on the line, like he was reworking the whole board in his head.
Agent D7: “So they do know you escaped. Good. That gives us a lever.”
September’s posture tightened beside me. She didn’t speak, but I could feel her bracing.
Agent D7: “It’s going to sound crazy. You’re going to call out Mari and give her a location. A meet. Something specific.”
“Excuse me?” September and I blurted at the exact same time—two different tones of disbelief, same exact word.
Agent D7: “Mari might come whether she thinks it’s a trap or not. Because either way, Connor is missing, and she needs to bring him back.”
“That’s exactly why this is a horrible idea,” I snapped. “If she shows up, she shows up loaded.”
Agent D7: “She will. Backup, contingency, exit routes. The whole menu. But that’s also how we trap her. Otherwise she vanishes and we’re chasing smoke until the end of time.”
My stomach sank. Even hearing it said out loud made it feel real—like the truth was a weight you could actually pick up and drop on your own foot.
“But why would we do that?” I pressed. “What if we get finished?”
Agent D7: “I don’t love it either. But there isn’t a clean way to apprehend her without bait. Not without backup. Not without giving her a reason to show her face.”
I dragged a hand down my face, eyes burning. “How long until we can send news to Mr. Drails?”
Agent D7: “Mr—You mean Director?”
“I thought that was only—” I cut myself off. “Whatever. Director Drails. Captain Drails. Firelord Drails. How long until we can tell him I’m still alive?”
I heard a muffled exhale—half sigh, half laugh—like he couldn’t decide whether to correct me or just accept defeat.
Agent D7: “We’re still rebuilding comms. Estimate: two days. Maybe more before we even get a response. By then, we should be ready to implement a plan. Or at least have something that resembles one.”
“Two days?” I repeated, like saying it would make it smaller.
Agent D7: “Two days. But you’re at Fordross Base. You should be safe there. Just don’t go outside at any point, because they’re definitely searching hard and deep.”
I stared at the phone. “What… bro.”
September’s lips twitched.
“You couldn’t have used any other words?” I muttered.
September snorted—one sharp sound that cracked the tension like a twig.
Agent D7: “That was not on purpose.”
“It sounded on purpose,” I said.
Agent D7: “It wasn’t. Stay inside. Heal up. Don’t do anything heroic without a plan, and Connor?”
“Yeah?”
Agent D7: “Good work staying alive.”
The line clicked. Call ended.
For a second, the room felt too quiet—like the air itself had been holding its breath and finally let go.
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“Was that on purpose?” I asked September, nodding toward the phone like it had personally offended me.
“That was definitely not on purpose,” she said, and this time she actually laughed—real, loose, like she’d found a tiny crack in the chaos and decided to live there for a second.
It made me break too. I chuckled, small at first, then bigger—until it hurt my ribs and reminded me I was still a mess wrapped in a jersey.
September stepped closer, eyes sharp but not cold, and bumped her shoulder into mine like she was trying to jolt me back to functioning.
“Come on,” she said, lighter than usual. “Brighten up. Don’t let this stiffen you.”
“I mean… what else am I supposed to do?” I asked. “This isn’t exactly my greatest week.”
“Trust me, I know,” she replied. “Sometimes gaslighting yourself into happiness is the only thing that keeps you from slipping into the deep end.”
“That’s… oddly honest.”
“That’s me,” she said simply, then slid her hands to my shoulders and gave them a quick, steady squeeze—more grounding than affectionate, like she was reminding my body it still belonged to me.
Before I could respond, the door opened.
Director Chavez stepped in, looking like he’d changed modes completely. Gym clothes now—sleeveless black shirt hanging low over his shorts, black Jordans, a mask resting under his chin like he’d forgotten it was even there. For someone who walked like authority, he sure dressed like a guy who’d just finished a night shift at a warehouse.
Beside him stood a woman who made the room feel narrower just by existing in it—tall, poised, brown hair straightened to mid-back, tight suit, tight skirt, heels that wrapped her ankles like a warning. She was actually taller than Chavez, and he looked completely unbothered by it, which somehow made her even more intimidating.
“Fun call,” Chavez said, like he’d been listening the whole time. “I’ll have someone coordinate with him when comms stabilize.” He nodded toward the woman. “Meanwhile, she’ll take you to the leisure areas and the temporary rooms.”
September glanced at me. I glanced at September. Then both of us looked at the woman.
September’s grin widened like she already knew the punchline.
The woman’s expression softened into recognition.
And the second Chavez stepped out of the doorway, September and the woman lunged into each other like magnets—tight embrace, laughter, the kind that sounded like relief dressed up as joy. Screaming, half-laughing, almost crying too.
I froze. Then, slowly, I sat down like my legs had filed a complaint.
“It’s so good to see you!”
“Oh, you have no idea how much I missed you!”
September pulled back first, then snapped her head toward me. Her eyes dimmed into that familiar command look.
Stand up.
I stood up.
“This is Stephanie,” September said, and she actually looked proud saying it. “We were like this—” she crossed her fingers so tight it looked painful “—before she graduated from the academy.”
“You knew her before then?” I asked.
“Yeah,” September said, and her smile was… normal. Human. “She was basically my twin.”
Stephanie laughed. “She’s being dramatic.”
“She’s not,” September replied, then smiled wider—like she was daring the world to argue with her.
It was the most comfortable I’d ever seen September. Usually she moved like she was always counting exits, always listening for footsteps that weren’t there. Even when she helped, it was quiet—like she didn’t want the universe to notice.
Here, with Stephanie, she looked like she could actually breathe.
And somehow, without permission, it made me grin too.
Stephanie clapped her hands once. “You already know where we’re going.”
September nodded immediately. “Break areas first.”
“Then temporary rooms,” Stephanie confirmed. “Quick.”
We headed back to the elevator. Stephanie tapped the panel and hit -7.
The doors slid open on a floor that didn’t feel like a base at all—more like somebody had tried to recreate “fun” from a textbook description.
In one corner: pool table and a bar. On another side: a door leading to an actual pool. Farther down: a bowling alley stretching toward the back like a fever dream.
“Oh my…” I muttered before I could stop myself. “Break time must be sensational.”
“It depends,” Stephanie said, leading us through like a tour guide. “Each floor breaks at different times, which means different cultures. Two floors overlap, so sometimes it turns into conflict.”
“Conflict over… pool?” I asked.
Stephanie snorted. “Movies.”
“There’s a theater?” I said, halfway offended I hadn’t been told sooner.
“Yeah,” she said. “And every night it’s the same battle. Guys with girlfriends who want romance, and groups of dudes who want to watch something with swords, blood, and dramatic monologues.”
“That sounds accurate,” I muttered.
“But if you’re still here after most shifts end,” she continued, “you get the whole theater to yourself.”
September glanced at me, searching for a reaction like she was testing whether I was still alive inside.
I stared back blankly.
She rolled her eyes. “Temporary rooms. Follow.”
The elevator moved again. It passed -8, and I pointed before the doors could open. “What’s on eight?”
“Insulation,” Stephanie answered immediately.
“…That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
When the doors finally opened, I expected something hotel-like.
It was not.
It looked more like a cabin that had lost a fight with a budget. Blue walls—an aggressive, miserable shade. Grungy carpet. Wooden platforms with numbers. Open doors revealing bunk beds in tight rooms like somebody decided privacy was a privilege and none of us had earned it.
Stephanie gestured like she was presenting a masterpiece. “Here you go.”
September nodded like it was completely normal.
I blinked. “Is… is this how the rooms always look?”
September shrugged. “This is how it’s always been.”
“That’s… fine,” I lied, because my eyes were still begging for a hidden upgrade.
We stepped into one of the rooms. Two bunk beds, one on each side of the wall. The whole room was maybe twenty feet wide, which meant if you sneezed too hard you’d probably hit something.
“Top or bottom?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“Bottom,” September said instantly. “Just in case anything happens.”
“If anything happens,” I argued, “wouldn’t this base have an emergency protocol?”
“Fair,” she said. “Still. I don’t like sleeping up top.”
“Okay,” I muttered, because apparently my opinion had been voted off the island.
September turned to me, suddenly serious again. The softness from earlier tightened back into something sharper.
“If anything happens,” she said, pointing at me like she was sealing it into my skull, “find me. Alright?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
She held the stare a second longer to make sure it stuck, then left—door closing behind her—probably headed back to Stephanie and whatever “break culture” existed down on -7.
The light in the room was neutral, bright enough to make the place feel like afternoon even though my body swore it was still recovering from ten disasters in a row.
And the second my head hit the mattress, my body finally gave up pretending it could keep going.
My eyes blurred.
My thoughts slowed.
Then, without asking permission, sleep pulled me under like a tide.