The bodies of everyone on the dance floor thronged, throbbed, and bounced. Green and pink lights shot out in rays and spun, creating flickering strobes across the dance floor. Marielle was in the center, jumping and grinding with everyone else. She didn’t know a single person, although she recognized some faces. Spring Break was like that for most of the students.
Marielle paused when the song died down and melted into another techno dance mix. Everyone cheered upon recognizing it. Her eyes scanned the throbbing crowd. She’d come here with Sabine, but where was she?
She spotted Sabine alone at the bar wearing a giant “don’t even try” poster on her cold shoulder. Not ten feet away sat a couple she was actively avoiding looking at as they plastered themselves together, lips and tongues swirling.
Marielle pushed through the crowd and approached her as Sabine threw back another shot of tequila. “Come on!” she cried over the music. “Get out there with me!” It wasn’t until Marielle was standing before her that she remembered Sabine was actually wearing a black shirt with emerald-green lettering that read, “Don’t even try.”
Sabine didn’t look at her. “I’d rather rot where I am.”
Marielle sighed and took the seat next to her, fanning herself to cool the sweat running down her face. “What happened?” she asked breathlessly.
A brief pause. “I failed the test.”
“And it won’t be the last time!” Marielle shouted over the music. “You’re human, not infallible.”
“Yeah, well…” Sabine nodded at the male bartender. He was cute. He brought over another shot. “They’re going to let me take it again.”
“And I’m sure you’ll do fine. You just have to get out of this funk. Now come on and dance with me!” Marielle was already halfway up and out of her chair.
Sabine snarled. “What’s the point?”
Marielle shrugged one shoulder. “Find some guy to mack on.”
“Ew.” She coughed, throwing back another shot that the bartender, Jack, had set in front of her, then finally turned to look her friend over. She leaned back, her elbows slack over the chair, and gestured to Marielle up and down. “Marielle, you’ve got…”
“What?” Marielle chuckled, her flushed cheeks getting redder. Noticing for the first time the stark contrast between what she and her friend were wearing, she glanced down at the sweaty tank top clinging to her curves and the shorts that were riding up a little too much. Her boots covered more skin than anything else, while Sabine wore a formfitting T-shirt, long black pants, and black sneakers. Nothing about her appearance said that she was trying to get a date.
Marielle had rarely seen Sabine let her guard down, so her vulnerability in this moment always stood out in her mind. “Masin, I’m not…” Her voice trailed off.
“What are you talking about? You’re gorgeous! I’d kill for those hips!” Sabine couldn’t stifle a laugh. “And what is this commentary on your looks? Everyone thinks we’re sisters! If you think I’m hot, you have to admit you are, too.”
Sabine pursed her lips in thought. “I just don’t have… the charm?”
“Oh, please! Come on, you could be them.” Marielle gestured to the couple still making out.
Sabine gagged. “Ugh. No one can hold their breath forever.”
Marielle tossed her head back in sincere delight at her comment. “Come on.” She tugged at Sabine’s shirt one final time.
Sabine rolled her eyes but gave Marielle a smirk of agreement, then went to the dance floor with her. The two let themselves go into the music, waves of bodies slamming against them from all sides. Sweat and adrenaline fueled them long enough to be on the floor for at least twenty minutes before needing a break. Dripping, they both went back to the empty seats at the bar.
“Get a room,” Marielle barked at the couple who were still playing tonsil hockey. They didn’t respond in the slightest—not that she had expected them to.
Between the liquor and the bouncing, Sabine was spent. “Need…water…” She coughed.
The bartender was at the other end taking orders from a row of people. “Think you’ll survive?” Marielle asked with a smirk.
Sabine put her head down and waved her away dismissively.
Marielle went to wait in line, throwing Sabine a glance every so often. She was probably asleep, but Marielle wasn’t concerned; that was the safer position to be in. She waited for a few minutes, then was startled to hear a voice addressing her.
“Hey,” it said pleasantly, but loud enough to be heard over the music.
She turned around and saw a tall, handsome man with dark hair and eyes, and just enough facial hair to be attractive without giving off a homeless, hick, or creepy vibe. He had one silver hoop earring in his left ear, which Marielle found appealing, and was wearing an emerald-green shirt and tie. The tie seemed misplaced in this setting, but she found it oddly enchanting.
“Hi,” she replied, pushing her matted hair back from her face.
“I’m Morgan.” He extended a hand.
She took it and shook firmly. He had a nice handshake. “Marielle.”
“I noticed you two out there. Is your friend okay?” He gestured toward the dance floor briefly with a shot of something in his right hand.
“I think she just had a bit too much to drink, but she’ll be fine. This is a pretty normal Saturday night for us.” Marielle stifled a chuckle, a heavy bass providing the background to her reply.
He took a small sip of whatever hard liquor he was drinking. “Yeah? Are you with E.U.?” He meant the college.
“Yeah, both of us.”
“I haven’t seen either of you around.”
“Well, I’m in the criminology department, and the hunk of dead flesh over there is in biochemistry.”
“Ah, a field I know well,” he said with a slight smile. “What’s she like?”
“Sabine?” She paused, fanning herself again. “Withdrawn?” He glanced over at her, disappointment flooding his face. Marielle panicked—she hadn’t meant to make Sabine seem uninteresting. “But, uh, she’s deep. There are a lot of layers to her for sure.”
Morgan glanced down at her. There was a brief pause. “What about you?” he asked.
***
The elevator dinged, bringing Marielle back to the present with a jolt. She dashed for the closing doors and got off just in time before the elevator started for the next floor. She straightened the bottom of her tank top and made her way down the hall to the meeting room, noting the people seated around the large oval table when she entered.
Liam’s agent name was Brimstone, but no one called him that. The bearded redhead was the father figure at headquarters, and his heart was as big as his muscles. If Marielle squinted, Liam reminded her of a young Arnold Schwarzenegger. He specialized in things like grenade launchers and tactical planning, but mostly he taught the younger and newer agents like Jamie, Mateo, Tala, and Marielle herself, opening his arms and his heart to all of them.
Liam’s past was sad. No one knew much about it, but he’d lost his daughter, Molly, and his wife in a fire. Marielle thought he blamed himself for their deaths since he had once been a fireman. After that, he had spent some time leading a group in the military, although Marielle didn’t know much more than that. Even though it was her job to counsel everyone, she never pushed them about things they didn’t want to discuss, and Liam didn’t want to talk about his past, even though he always wore a rust-colored army beret.
To his immediate right sat Sabine, who threw a disgusted glance her way before looking down. Her agent name was Viper, and it suited her well: although she was a good chemist, she had a bad personality. Marielle remembered when they had been close. Not anymore. In fact, very few could get close to Sabine because her formerly occasional bitterness had become a permanent part of her personality shortly after the accident. But Marielle wouldn’t think about that right now. It was too difficult. Sabine created poisonous gases which she used through personalized gloves Klara had made for her. They emitted deadly smoke that, when inhaled, caused extreme damage. Some of them were also acidic and could eat through clothing, armor, and skin.
Marielle didn’t recognize the older blonde woman who sat across the oval table directly across from Liam. She appeared to be just shy of fifty years old, still beautiful, if stern in the face. She wore a blue-gray suit and a loose-fitting eggshell blouse. Her hair was cut in bangs that rested just above her eyebrows, and her blue eyes glinted at Marielle as she gestured to a chair next to Sabine.
“What’s this about?” Marielle asked, slipping into the chair and leaning in the opposite direction.
Liam took a deep breath, lifted a hand, and gestured across the table. “Marielle Chaenes, this is Barbara Hammond.”
Barbara took over from there. “Hello, Marielle. It’s nice to finally meet you.” She extended her hand over the table.
Marielle stood reflexively, took it, and grasped it firmly as they shook hands. She zoned in on her abilities. This woman wasn’t trying to put on an air of superiority or pretense; she was strong both inside and out. Still, something about her didn’t sit right with Marielle. Marielle couldn’t detect what it was, but she had a difficult time trusting the government, so perhaps it was her own prejudice messing with her.
Marielle noted from Barbara’s almost undetectable pronunciation that she was from the East Coast, probably Tennessee or Kentucky, although she had not lived there for at least forty years now. She could also determine that the older woman was an only child, probably due to the death of an older sibling; the need to make something of herself was strong but genuine.
“I’m from”—she tried to hide a diminutive smile—“the higher-ups.”
“You mean the government?” Marielle asked, but it came out as more of a statement.
Barbara smirked. “Yes, I mean the government.”
Marielle glanced at Liam, but he was looking down.
“I’ve been sent in to manage things.”
“But… we’re well managed.”
“That doesn’t really matter, Ms. Chaenes. You didn’t think we would let an operation like this go on for so long without any supervision or direction, now did you?”
Marielle noticed the slight twitch in Barbara’s fingers as she curled them into her palm. She was upset, but controlling it well. “Operation? We’ve… we’ve done nothing but help people.”
“That”—Barbara adjusted her collar—“is debatable.” There was a brief silence. “Ms. Chaenes, you have people in this facility from all over the world. The United States government has no files on some of them—or public records, for that matter.”
Marielle swallowed. That was true enough. She briefly wondered about John. What would the United States government do if they knew about his existence and what had happened to him? It was true that none of them truly knew what had occurred to make him… whatever he was now, but that was their business, not a third party’s.
“You have people from South Korea, Russia, Germany…” Another pause. “Do you see how this can get a little… tricky?”
“Is ‘tricky’ the word you really wanted to use?” Marielle asked.
Barbara said nothing, but another soft smile crossed her thin lips. Marielle saw a hint of pride in that one—not for herself, but for Marielle. She knew then that Barbara either admired her personally or appreciated her ability to read people. Was this a test?
“Dangerous,” Barbara corrected. “Unknown. Again, there are people here who have powers and abilities, not all of them documented, and some as mysterious as the people who possess them. I’ve even heard that you yourself are something of a mystery, Ms. Chaenes.”
Marielle looked down morosely. “Yeah. I have some kind of ability, although I’ve never fully understood it.”
Barbara took a deep breath. She was becoming more difficult to read the longer she spoke. “All of this requires checks and balances. As a result, we will be coming in for the next few weeks to interview, document, and review each agent. My associate, another senior profiler, Austin Rancor, will be here to interview you in a few days.” For some reason, Barbara seemed disappointed about this.
“What does any of this have to do with me?” Marielle looked to Sabine, but she was staring at the table.
“Up until now, we—that is, the United States government—have let all of this go due to the fact that Valorant has indeed helped people.” Barbara leaned forward and interlocked her fingers in front of her on the table. “However, now things are changing.” She pointed a finger at the folder Jamie had given Marielle.
Marielle’s eyes moved around the room, looking for clues, then dropped to the folder. “What’s the problem?”
“He’s sitting in the next room,” Sabine seethed, her eyes meeting Marielle’s for the first time, blazing and full of disdain.
“What does this have to do with me?” Marielle repeated.
“You’re French,” Sabine explained.
“And?” Marielle pressed.
“So is he.”