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Twilight’s wrists and ankles were bound to the back of a chair in iron cuffs, looped around several times over in thick metal chains. The chair itself was metal as well, the legs smooth, leaving no room for splintering wood giving any semblance of an advantage. He sat isolated in the middle of the empty warehouse, far from any walls or scrap that could be utilized as weapons. A thin stream of blood trickled down his temple from where he’d been struck on the head and taken out.
Even Twilight couldn’t get out of this one. This was a fact that one smug Zachary Deich knew well.
Zachary had unwittingly struck gold earlier that evening when one of his men discovered the infamous spy, Twilight, rifling through his office during the time Zachary was at work. For such a well known spy, the man was an idiot. He was bare faced and so absorbed in looking for—Zachary assumed—the financial ledgers about seizing Westalian citizens’ assets that he didn’t even notice the ambush coming from behind until he was knocked out cold. And besides, what reasonable politician kept volatile documents like that in their main office? Zachary almost couldn’t believe that the underwhelming man he caught was
the
Twilight, but he knew he wasn’t mistaken. He’d wasted no time in leaving work, getting the spy transported to a remote location, divesting him of his guns, and tying him down.
He wasn’t going to let this kind of golden opportunity slip.
“Hey.” He patted Twilight’s cheek twice, none too lightly, before slapping him outright. Twilight coughed and slowly pried his eyes open. “Rise and shine. Oh, wait. That kinda goes against your whole ‘twilight’ schtick, doesn’t it? My bad.”
Twilight said nothing, only glared, drawing a chuckle from Zachary. “I guess you’re not a man of many words. Not to worry. We have all the time in the world to get into conversation.” Zachary slowly paced around Twilight, circling like a predator did prey. “All the tales about you had me expecting…more. You’re not as big as I thought you’d be.” He slapped the side of Twilight’s head—the side matted with blood—snickering with delight. “Not as smart or tough, either. All it takes to catch the best Westalian spy is to sneak up from behind with a lead pipe, huh?”
Twilight maintained his silence. This time Zachary’s jaw ticked in annoyance. “You won’t be so keen to bite your tongue when my guys get in here.” He leaned in close, musty breath washing over Twilight’s ear. “There are lots of people that want you dead out there. Not me. I want you alive. Just barely enough that you’ll wish you were dead and beg within an inch of your life. Maybe, just maybe if you do everything I ask, I’ll let your sorry ass live.”
With calculated slowness, Twilight opened his mouth. His voice was far gone, nothing more than a throaty rasp. “You’re pretty confident.”
“Huh?!” Zachary straightened up before bursting into full-bellied laughter. “Hey! You should be a comedian instead. What the hell is that? Confident? You’re the confident one, spewing that shit while you’re tied in chains!” His laughter echoed throughout the empty warehouse before receding into an annoyed growl. He consulted the expensive watch on his wrist. “Dammit. Where are those bastards?”
As if on cue, one of the big doors to the warehouse creaked open, letting in watery moonlight. A group of 6 men walked in, carrying two large crates between them. Dubious instruments with a variety of spikes, prongs, and sharp edges poked out of the boxes.
“Finally. What took so long?” Zachary asked.
“Sorry, boss.” The man at the front, Eddie—the same one that had knocked Twilight out—apologetically rubbed his head. “Got caught up with the truck. Engine gave out.”
“Whatever. Just get over here.” Zachary eagerly rubbed his hands together. “The fun’s about to begin.”
“You wanted to seize Westalian assets,” Twilight suddenly said. His voice was less raspy, but still off. “Not just any assets, but those belonging to civilians. Innocents.”
“No such thing as innocent Westalians,” Zachary replied as he rifled through a crate, holding up a pair of pliers in consideration. “You should know that, shouldn’t you? Western pig.”
“Do you know the best way to lower someone’s defenses?” Twilight asked. Zachary raised a brow at the abrupt change in subject.
“Suddenly chatty? Should we see if that changes if we take out a tooth or two?”
“You could get close to them, sure. But there is a better way,” Twilight continued, undeterred by the threat. And really, what was wrong with his voice? It sounded light and airy, completely unbefitting of the situation, making Zachary’s face redden with anger. The politician plunged his hand deep into the crate and pulled out a shucking knife.
“I’ve decided. We’ll start with your eyes. Don’t need to see to talk, right?”
He was hoping to see at least a little fear in the asinine spy’s face. Infuriatingly enough, Twilight grinned and said,“The best way to get someone to lower their defenses is to make them think they’ve already won.”
“Enough with your bullshit,” Zachary seethed, quivering with barely suppressed rage. He shoved the knife into Eddie’s palm. “Hurry up! Let’s see if he wants to blabber with an empty eye socket.”
“On it, boss,” Eddie replied. He then slammed the hilt of the knife into the neck of the man hefting the crate up. The tools clattered onto the ground along with the goon’s body.
Zachary leapt back, face contorting in a mixture of disbelief and rage. “E-Eddie?! What the hell are you—”
A sharp popping sound cut him off. He turned back to Twilight just in time to see him rip his arms out to the side, thick ropes of metal shearing apart as if they were strings of yarn. He did the same with his legs, effortlessly kicking out and snapping the chains constricting his ankles without a visible ounce of effort.
That was not possible. That was not physically possible. Twilight was not supposed to be able to rip metal apart with bare muscle.
“You’re right,” Twilight said as he stood. Only then did Zachary realize he’d spoken out loud. “Twilight can’t. But I can.” Then, he reached up and ripped his own face off. Zachary’s knees gave out and he slumped to the dusty floor, uncomprehending of what he was seeing.
“Zachary Deich,” the stranger murmured, in that light, airy— feminine —voice. “May I have the honor of taking your life?”
Zachary was so out of sorts that he didn’t even notice Eddie, his closest man, spinning around and knocking out his three remaining goons with well-placed hits. He did the only thing he could think of. He reached inside his coat for his gun.
Twilight was faster. He—she?—lashed out and gripped his hand in a vice hold, grinding bone together and crushing the gun. A scream tore out of Zachary’s throat right as the gun in his hand fired off into his own torso. He was dead before his face hit the floor.
It was just Twilight and Eddie in the warehouse, surrounded by bodies, metal shards, and torture instruments. A macabre sight indeed.
Eddie ripped his face off; Loid ruffled his hair. “That went well.”
“Phew.” Yor shrugged off the padded suit jacket mainly responsible for increasing her visual bulk. “I think we managed to make good time, too.”
Loid carefully stepped around the growing pool of Zachary’s blood. He touched a gentle hand to Yor’s temple. “How’s your head?”
“Oh, this? Pretending to be knocked out by something that felt like a leaf landing on my head was a little challenging.” She smiled and leaned into his palm. “It was honestly harder keeping that sweaty mask on.”
“Yeah?” Loud smiled and picked a stray piece of wax off her face that had stuck. “You looked cool for the big reveal, though. It seems like all that practicing paid off.”
“Thanks.” She blushed a pretty pink. “Your kicks were really good, too.”
“I learned from the best.”
Yor sighed in contentment as Loid leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. Was it weird that she found their current setting romantic?
They were soon interrupted by the sound of footsteps stomping into the warehouse. They pulled apart just as Franky stormed in.
“Come ON! This is already way above my paygrade, I don’t need you two wasting time kissing on top of everything else! I swear you guys only do this to get on my nerves.”
“Thanks, Franky,” Loid called after the informant/babysitter/getaway driver as he plodded out of the warehouse like a petulant teenager. Yor couldn’t help but laugh.
“I feel kind of bad now.”
“Don’t,” Loid grumbled. “I paid him plenty to simply hotwire a car. He almost left me stranded, too.”
“But you got the documents, didn’t you?” Yor asked.
Loid pulled a sheaf of papers out of his jacket pocket, Zachary’s scrawled signature on the sheets visible. “Of course. I think these will make good kindling if we ever decide to go camping.”
“Ooh, I think Anya would really enjoy camping!” Yor craned her neck, gauging the position of the moon in the sky through the warehouse door. “Speaking of Anya, I think we better head back. She’s probably driven Yuri up the wall by now.”
Their daughter had done it no small number of times before. Sometimes Loid thought she saw it as a game, seeing how fast she could put Yuri in tears. He was unable to keep a grin off his face at the thought.
In the past, that—not being able to keep down a smile—would have thrown him into an internal frenzy about losing his edge as a spy. But he could contend with being a bad spy if it meant having what he had now. An enigmatic, frustrating, wonderful daughter. A warm apartment, one mall ticked with marks measuring her height. A dog that had too-good instincts and shed way too much fur. Even an overzealous brother-in-law.
A family.
And none of it would be possible without the woman beside him. Sometimes, when he had a rare ounce of free time and was feeling particularly introspective, he tried calculating the odds of their chance meeting. The chance that Anya would have said just the right words for Yor to inquire about his first (actually fake) wife. The chance that, just somehow, he’d managed to meet perhaps the only other person who could, and did, accept him as he was.
The result was always tiny. Infinitesimal. And yet, against all odds, here they were.
“Mmm.” Without warning, he planted another kiss on her lips, drawing a startled laugh out of her.
“What are you doing?”
“Your brother will take his time in leaving,” he replied. Another kiss. “This is the last chance I’ll have to do this for a while.”
Yor wound her hands around his neck, eyes darkening in the way Loid knew meant that she was about to put all of her focus into what she was doing—
The truck outside revved, loud and angry. Yor jumped back, concentration broken, and Loid’s eye twitched as he thought of 62 different ways to shave Franky’s head.
“We really should get going.” Yor giggled and took his hand. He let out a sigh, letting all thoughts of Franky go for the moment. They stepped around the fallen bodies, puddles of blood and torture instruments together, strolling in the dark warehouse as if it were just another day. Was it weird that he found their current setting romantic?
Yor twined her fingers through his. The action brought another smile to his face. Smiling was so easy now. It had been for a while; the nature of Operation Strix was like that of a spider web, entrapping him thoroughly and rendering him helpless.
Even Twilight couldn’t get out of this one. But this was a fact that he didn’t mind.