Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - The Suit
"Think you can bring the heat, Agent Devineaux?"
A devilish smile curled along Chase's half-shaven face. Hearing his name alongside agent once again reignited the burning passion snubbed out by paperwork and 5 days stranded on an island. Before he was given time to answer, the other end went dead. A low beep from his phone slowly faded away as he lowered it from his ear. He glanced triumphantly at his partly woolly appearance in the mirror before almost throwing his phone across the tiles with excitement.
"HA HA! YES!"
He slapped the side of his sink, sending hair filled shaving cream up into the air.
"I will be the one to find you Carmen Sandiego. ME!"
Chase pointed to himself in the mirror before spinning around skidding out of the bathroom. He emerged out into his living space, strewn with an embarrassingly gigantic, but organised, mess that amounted to being nothing more than a colossal waste of time and resources. Bits of red string, articles, documents, notes, pins and forms littered the space one could call home if you squinted hard enough.
Striding to the dining table he turned into a work desk, Chase planted his palms down, looking up at his failed attempt at a solo investigation. He pressed his fingertips into the wood, forcing himself to look at the mess he created sternly.
"Me."
Chase murmured as if the papers openly whispered between themselves, mocking him. They flapped lightly in response, it merely the breeze coming in from the window.
This was his chance to regain what he had lost. His belief in himself that he was good enough had been too long left uncertain. Recognition for his work was on the horizon, like he once had, years ago. The pursuit of such fantasies made him desperate, impulsive and angry.
He ripped each paper down one by one, throwing them in a pile on the desk. With the papers now scattered on the table, Chase dragged his arm across, everything collapsing messily to the floor, his way of cleaning the slate.
The map was now blank except for a red circle in marker surrounding the island. As if in a rage-filled haze, he gritted his teeth. Slamming his fist against the corkboard, ripping the map down in shreds. He went next for the red string attached to the board, hacking it violently off the walls in disgust at such a ridiculous failure. Within what felt like seconds, Chase had stripped all surrounding walls of all red, only a few sticky notes and documents remaining, dotting the grey walls of his apartment in white and yellow.
He felt like he hadn't moved an inch but it was clear he'd scrambled around the room in a daze. Chase stepped back, instinctively sitting down in the single dining chair he had always placed to the side, defeated. He looked up at the now blank corkboard listening to his heart pounding in his ears. Running a hand through his hair he leaned back, slowing moving it down to feel his cheek, the one still unshaven. He was beside himself at his choices. Disjointed at the steps he took. Ashamed at what was once before, what occurred now, yet knowing it was unavoidable. Chase was vividly aware that it was all he was capable of. A certainty of fate. It would be a waste of time expecting a different outcome when the path to it was always the same.
It was 11.18 pm in Poitiers. The moon was full, night air wonderfully crisp in comparison to the stuffy apartment Devineaux returned to early that evening. The second he walked through the door after claiming the spare key from his landlord, was a God awful smell.
On the counter remained the untouched shopping he did the afternoon before he left for what he thought was Carmen's/VILE'S HQ. The food was rotten and soft. Its stench filled every crevice of his home meaning he was forced to open every window he could. Everything was covered in an even thickener film of dust, which when disturbed danced merrily through the single beam of light that shone up at the wall. It was produced by the last working light source in the entire living room. His desk lamp, which he forcibly migrated out from his bedroom once every normal switch light decided to die on him. He was a busy man who had no time to replace globes.
As an added insult to injury, Chase had also once again lost his favourite brown coat, the one lined with on the red inside. He was going to try and by another, again, but he felt it had officially lost its charm. It wasn't special to him anymore, especially since Julia so nicely pointed out its lack of luck as a little jab at his expense. Although deserved, it still stung.
The moment he was carted back to civilisation he was thrown into the hospital, to his dismay. Chase was forced to waste 2 miserable days of his life there. Every doctor and nurse around took ample samples of his blood to make sure he hadn't contracted some contagious island disease. Not that he cared at the time. At that point, he would have been glad to have been afflicted and even die of some obscure virus. At least then he'd be known for something interesting. Other than being the idiot Frenchman who was found burning down an island off the coast of East Africa with no explanation to being there other than 'because he felt like it'. As Chase not so delicately put it.
A muffled hum of an overly loud vibration ringtone broke him from his thoughts. The sound beckoned from the bathroom as he stood to meet it. Facedown on the black tiles was his phone. It rumbling as he plucked it off the floor, not remembering leaving it there.
Unknown. It read, still vibrating in his hand.
He answered it. A monotone male voice spoke in broken, horribly jarring French the moment he accepted the call.
"Agent Devineaux. Tomorrow morning at 6.45am you will receive you're ACME issued suit and relevant equipment. Further intrusions will follow upon collection."
The call cut off leaving him again with a low beep. He was finally getting his ACME suit. Chase shoved his phone into his back pocket gripping the sink. It was officially happening. He smiled down into the sink, the grin quickly disappearing. The razor he threw in there earlier could be seen poking out of the water that was covered in a coating of shaving cream. Carefully, he pulled it out with two fingers inspecting it then gazing up at his reflection. It was his last razor. He cupped his unshaven cheek and sighed.
"ACME better give me a good discount on an electric razor."
Chase grumbled to himself in his native tongue as he angrily washed it clean, trying not to slice his fingers.
He didn't sleep at all that night. He never really slept like a normal adult would conventionally. Not that he could. He had extended naps at best, often in the early hours of the morning until dawn.
Chase sat on the edge of his made compactly bed in the dark, brooding of sorts. The only light streaming in through his bedroom floor to ceiling windows from the early morning sun that begun to spill over the parallel buildings. He had his elbows on his knees clasping his hands together. Back arched, his head an inch from his thumb staring between his feet as a few strands of freshly cut and washed hair bounced with him, still stuck together like a crispy branch. Chase shook his heel as one does as a nervous diversion. The movement vibrated his entire body, distracting him with nice soothing rhythm.
After finishing shaving his face, Chase knew he couldn't show up with a mop of hair atop his head. Luckily there was quite a bit of nightlife during the summer nights in Poitiers. Thanks to it being the tourist season. Thus finding a barber was relatively easy, even during the middle of the night. He had it cut short back and sides, leaving the top longer and layered like he always did. After another shower to wash all the hair away and waste some time he got redressed in a formal shirt, pants and shoes. By then it was only 12.47am. There was no point putting on his work attire if he was getting his ACME suit.
Taking his medication at 4.30am meant he couldn't drink immediately before or after, despite wanting to terribly. Chase would have killed for a pure room temperature scotch. Or anything at that matter. He couldn't even eat a mint to suppress his cravings for a cigarette as he had none left. So he had to just wait, watching the time tick along from his phone. At least he felt slightly better, very slightly.
The Zoloft he was prescribed years earlier worked in mysterious ways and often left him with headaches. He was told it would help him sleep if needed but it never did, in fact, it did the opposite. Chase no longer cared about that fact. He continued to keep his prescription as they gave him energy and a heightened level of confidence in the wake of particular events.
Ever since he was shipped down to Poitiers from Paris 3 years ago, he continued to maintain his prescription without prompt. At first, it was hard to adjust. But after a period of constant use, he was familiar with the side effects, them becoming a normal part of his solitary life.
Chase twisted his head to the side where his phone sat. The basic display was on, showing the time of 6.43am. 2 minutes to go. Chase huffed angrily, cursing in French under his breath snatching up his phone. His patience had fully eroded down to the bone by 1 am, standing up and heading for the front door.
The living room was bright thanks to him leaving the curtains open. The morning sun shone straight through and into the hall kitchen. He leant his lower back against the counter and held his phone in his hands. The key to his front door sat beside him ready for action.
6.44am
He wasn't nervous per se, just, excited, elated even. Motivated and ripe with the anticipation of what was to come.
6.45am
Chase almost dropped his phone, instead, sliding it onto the kitchen counter replacing it with the key. He stared at the door, waiting.
Nothing.
Chase felt his temper boil deep in his stomach, thumb pressing on the length of the key.
They said 6.45 and yet it is 6.45 and they are not here. What kind of fool do they take me for?
Chase shouted to himself within the confines of his mind.
Just as the time changed to 6.46, two decisive knocks rattled his front door. As if startled, Chase managed to accidentally bend the key with his thumb in response. Chase swore loudly beginning to scramble to bend it back and unlock the door. He was always the bane of his own existence. Shoving the half-bent key into the lock he flung open the door dramatically for no real reason.
"I was told 6.45 and it is now 6.46 what is the point of giving me a specific time if you can not even abide by it yourself?!"
Chase's loud lecture on punctuality echoed down the empty staircase that separated each apartment. The suited man he yelled at simply remained still. The space between them turned to a cold judging silence until he frowned. He moved his arms out towards Chase revealing what he was holding, keeping his brows furrowed with displeasure. In one hand was a long black zippered garment bag and a briefcase in the other.
"Further instructions are inside."
His voice was the same as the one who called him the night before except this time his tone resembled someone who was clearly annoyed. Chase quickly grabbed the handles of each, curling the garment bag around his arm. The agent said nothing, turned and walked away before down the stairs until out of sight.
Shuffling back inside, he couldn't shut the door fast enough. As if his life depended upon it Chase made his way back to the bedroom dropping the briefcase off on the table as he went classifying it unimportant for now. Chase placed the bag onto his bed, straightening it out. Its weight pushing itself into the soft coverlet. Without hesitation, he unzipped it.
Inside was a perfectly dark navy, almost black well-cut suit along with a tie, a belt, gloves and shoes. Each piece hung on its own staggering hanger, explaining the weight. Removing each layer from the bag and setting it aside, all that was left was the suit. Carefully, Chase scooped it out of its protector, lifting it up to bask in the morning light as if revelling in the sight of his newborn child. He giggled breathlessly, enjoying the sheer quality of material that blessed his touch. It was everything he had hoped for and more.
Chase began to undress as fast as he could, throwing his 'everyday citizens' clothes into a pile on the floor as if to shame them. By the time it hit 6.50 he was fully dressed in his ACME issued suit and affects. He made sure to admire himself in the full-length mirror in his room for a good while absolutely impressed. He couldn't get over how perfectly everything fit. The gloves alone were a marvel. How they were able to make some big enough for his hands without being too long in the fingers or too tight in the palms were beyond him. He curled his fingers into a fist, the leather squeaking as he clenched, it was euphoric. Chase felt like he'd never looked better, that nothing could take this feeling away.
Chase entered his living room to open the briefcase after it finally popped back up in his thoughts. It sat, waiting for him on the table he had pushed up against the wall. Pressing his thumbs to the metal buttons, the lid popped. Inside was a neat, packed in black foam display of his new hardware and a small thick white piece of paper resting on top. For now, he was more interested in the items than the note, placing it to the side.
Packed safely within were a few familiar gadgets like the pen and key card but it also had some new additions. Adding to the assortment of goodies was a silver-rimmed watch, glasses and a gas gun. The watch instantly caught his eye. He'd always wanted a fancy watch but never was able to afford one. Wrapping it around his wrist he inspected it, noticing that it wasn't any ordinary watch. Its face resembled a typical analog style but the glass above it was thicker, clearly a touch screen.
Chase tapped it a few times, hoping he was right, and he was. The clock face faded away into black, before displaying a small message in white that slid across the screen:
Hello, Agent Devineaux.
Chase was positivity beside himself, utterly wrapped at his new gadget, it even knew his name.
Amazing.
Before he went too deep playing with his new watch, he managed to snap himself back onto task. He slipped his pen and card into his front shirt pocket, leaving the gun where it was for now and picked up the paper. The front-facing side was blank but when flipping it oversaw an inscription that simply read:
Hôtel de Ville, Poitiers, France, June 29th, 10am
Chase scoffed.
"THAT tourist attraction AND in summer? They must be joking!"
He flicked the paper in disgust talking out loud to himself.
"At least they didn't send me to St.Pierre Cathedral, that place is littered with Americans this time of year."
His accent thickened the angrier he became. As he went to throw it down in repugnance, the paper suddenly burst into a quick hot flame. Startled he dropped it, causing it to spin as it brunt completely, dissolved by the time it hit the floor.
Chase huffed, shoving the tip of his new shoes into the ash now further dirtying his carpet.
"As if I didn't already haVE ENOUGH TO CLEAN AROUND HERE? WHY MUST YOU BURN IT? YOU COMMUNICATE WITH HOLOGRAMS FOR GOD'S SAKE! WHY USE PAPER AND FIRE?"
Chase screamed at the ceiling above in pure anguish as a loud thump answered back.
"Tais-toi Devineaux, putain d'idiot!"
His neighbour yelled back with just as much gusto, stomping on what was their floor, to his ceiling. Chase screwed up his face, a second away from punching through the ceiling and strangling his long-time neighbour.
"Pourquoi tu ne viens pas me dire ça en face plutôt qu'à travers le sol, espèce de lâche!"
He bellowed back. Chase waited for a response but heard nothing. Feeling as if he had won, he adjusted his jacket before running a gloved hand through his hair.
He sighed dramatically shutting the case, leaving the gun inside. He desperately needed a drink. Looking back at his watch he surveyed the time, it was 6.58am, 4 hours and 2 minutes before he was to meet, whoever he was at the city hall. It was also past the 2 hour mark since he had his medication meaning he could drink.
This wasn't based upon a proper medical professionals opinion but just his own self researched diagnosis after much trial and error. What he took didn't mix well with liquor. It took 2 hours minimum for any alcohol consumption to not send him into a stupor or an early death once he has taken his medication.
Sauntering into the kitchen, Chase opened a top cupboard reaching up to grab the neck of a bottle. Without looking, he pulled it down knowing exactly what it was going to be; a mostly empty bottle of Ardbeg Uigeadail, a strong scotch he enjoyed quite a lot. He kept it up high so it stayed at room temperature, exactly how he liked to drink it. Next to it was a small glass, placed there as if the two were made for one another.
He poured himself a generous serving and went back to sit in the living room. Settled, he checked the time once more. 7.02am. Chase took a sip from his glass, the drink bubbling on his tongue then sliding down his throat wonderfully. Glancing out the window at the sunrise, he swirled the golden liquor up to the lip of the glass.
He ready to wait until it was time to begin his search for Carmen Sandiego.