MIKE
It had been a week since Dereck’s funeral, and though time moved forward, my mind hadn’t. His face still lingered in my thoughts, his voice echoing in the quiet. But this morning, at exactly 7:00 a.m., a sharp buzz from my phone pulled me out of that spiral.
Director Leo:
“All field agents are required to attend a general assembly meeting in an hour. No exceptions.”
The message was short, cold, and straight to the point. I didn’t waste any time. I got dressed quickly—standard black uniform, badge clipped to my belt—and made my way to headquarters.
By the time I arrived, the building was already buzzing. Agents were filing in from all directions, some looking half-awake, others already alert and ready for whatever this was about. I spotted Freya and Patrick first—Patrick leaning against a pillar, arms crossed; Freya standing upright, scanning the crowd until she caught sight of me.
She waved me over. I weaved through the gathering agents and joined them, giving a brief nod.
“Morning,” I said, voice low.
“You look like you didn’t sleep again,” Patrick commented, eyebrow raised.
Before I could reply, Alfred’s team stepped up beside us—Alfred, ever the calm leader, gave me a nod. Behind him were Janna, El, Kian, and Kath, each wearing varying degrees of curiosity and exhaustion on their faces.
Agent Janna didn’t bother with pleasantries.
“This better not be another briefing about Siren,” she muttered, folding her arms. “We’ve heard the same story for three days straight. If they don’t have anything new, what’s the point?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but was cut off by the sound of a microphone screeching to life.
Harold—Director Leo’s longtime secretary—stepped up to the small stage in front of the assembly, holding a microphone
“Good morning, agents,” Harold began, his voice echoing through the hall, pulling everyone’s attention.
“Thank you for arriving on short notice. We ask that you settle down quickly. We are about to begin.”
And just like that, the room quieted. The low murmurs among agents quickly faded the moment the side door creaked open—just a few inches from the stage.
Every head turned.
Director Leo walked in, sharp and composed as ever. But what caught my attention wasn’t him—it was the two people walking behind him. A woman and a man, both in their early fifties, both wearing composed but unreadable expressions. I didn’t recognize them. That alone made me wary. They didn’t say a word, just followed Leo until they reached the front row. With quiet poise, they took their seats while Director Leo climbed the steps up to the stage.
He paused for a second, scanning the crowd. His gaze lingered for a fraction longer on me and my team before he finally spoke into the mic.
"Good morning, agents. I know it's been a difficult few weeks. But the agency must continue to move forward. With that in mind, allow me to introduce someone important to our evolving leadership."
He gestured toward the woman.
"This is Marsha Torres—our new Deputy Director."
There was a pause. No applause. Just tension.
The woman stood up, shoulders squared, and turned to face us. She had the presence of someone who had been in command rooms her whole life, the kind of person who didn’t need to raise their voice to be heard. Her dark suit was crisp, and there was something in her eyes—a mix of calculation and experience—that immediately made me feel like I was being sized up. Without waiting for an invitation, she strode to the stage with quiet authority and stood beside Director Leo.
Patrick leaned in slightly, whispering under his breath.
“New Deputy Director out of nowhere? That’s not normal.”
Freya nodded stiffly, her eyes never leaving the stage.
Ms. Marsha Torres stood tall at the center of the stage, fingers lightly resting on the sides of the podium as she scanned the room of agents in front of her. The air felt stiff, and her gaze alone made it colder.
Then, she spoke—her voice calm, clear, and sharp enough to slice through the silence.
"I must say... it's a pleasure to finally meet the so-called finest field agents of the AI Agency."
Her words echoed with a tone that was far from warm. There was something in her voice—mockery, almost. It didn’t take much to tell she wasn’t here to pat backs or hand out praise.
"I've read your records. Watched your performance tapes. Witnessed your chaos these past few weeks. So believe me when I say this…"
She gave a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
"I fully expect you to be the best of the best. Especially after all the wonderful decisions your teams have made recently. Lives lost. Missions compromised. Secrets spilled."
Her gaze landed on me. Direct. Unblinking.
Freya shifted beside me. Patrick muttered something under his breath that I didn’t catch. But I felt it too—that sting of her words hitting far too close to home.
"I’ll be watching closely. From now on, mediocrity is not an option. For any of you."
She stepped back slightly and folded her arms, nodding once as if her point had been made.
Just as the room was starting to process her biting sarcasm, Ms. Marsha Torres turned slightly—her eyes shifting toward Director Leo, who stood at the edge of the stage, hands behind his back, expression unreadable.
She didn't even need to speak. One glance was enough. Director Leo gave her a small nod. Permission granted.
And just like that, she stepped back up to the microphone, this time with a practiced smile that somehow felt more ominous than her earlier sarcasm.
"Now, for some good news..." she said, her voice lighter—too light.
But something about the way she said it made every nerve in me tighten.
"Effective immediately, the AI Agency will be moving forward with a new structure. As your new Deputy Director, I am officially abolishing all internal faction ranks—Alpha, Beta, Delta, and Gamma."
The room collectively stiffened. I looked at Patrick. His eyebrows shot up in disbelief.
Freya's lips parted like she was about to speak but couldn't find the words.
"There will be no more divisions. No more pride in your group names. From now on, all field agents will operate under a single unit. Teams will be assembled based on skill and mission requirement—not loyalty to a rank or title."
Murmurs rippled through the room like a wave.
No more Alphas. No more distinction. No more identity that we've bled for.
"We are one force. No room for ego, hierarchy, or competition. This is the future of this agency—uniform, united, and unquestioning."
Patrick leaned toward me, whispering, "They’re dismantling us..."
I nodded slightly, eyes locked on Ms. Marsha.
We trained as Alphas.
We fought like Alphas.
And now, they’re telling us we’re just… another body in the system.
My fists clenched under the table.
Ms. Marsha remained on the stage, her eyes drifting across the sea of silent agents, as if she were observing a room full of pawns on a chessboard. Her lips curled again—not quite a smile, more like mock appreciation disguised as charm.
"Now, before any of you start crying over your dissolved ranks," she said, voice thick with sarcasm, "let me be clear—your individual excellence hasn’t gone unnoticed."
Patrick scoffed under his breath beside me. Freya crossed her arms, jaw tight. I could feel the heat rising in my own chest.
"I’ve done my homework. Every file, every mission, every commendation—you’ve all performed adequately." She emphasized the word adequately like it was an insult wrapped in a compliment. "Rest assured, your efforts will be acknowledged. We will credit everything you've done."
Everything we’ve done?
All the blood, sacrifice, pain—reduced to a neatly filed report and a pat on the head?
She gave us one final glance—unbothered, smug, like she had just cleaned house and expected a round of applause.
"Regards."
With that, she stepped down from the stage, heels clicking against the polished floor, and took her seat in the front row without another word.
A second of tense silence followed before Director Leo moved forward again, his expression unreadable. His hands gripped the microphone, but I didn’t hear his next words immediately.
My mind was still echoing with hers.
“Adequate.”
“Credited.”
“One unit.”
What the hell are they planning?