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Chapter Text

Never had she felt such confliction regarding a place of residence – forced or otherwise.

It came as little surprise to Countess Cleo that her being jailed with her fellow female Faculty members (plus Tigress) would be short-lived. No sensible organisation would keep convicted colleagues within working proximity, especially not colleagues who specialised in criminal activity. She had known from the minute she donned those silver bracelets that their time together would be fleeting, that they’d soon be shipped off to various corners of the globe where they couldn’t readily converse with one another. It also made sense that they’d be sent to locations that countered their strengths; sending Coach Brunt to a developing country would be as pointless as sending Dr Bellum to the tech capital of the world. As officials escorted her onto an ACME aircraft, she knew she wasn’t destined for Egypt or anywhere remotely desirable, but that hadn’t prepared her for where she ultimately landed: the Arctic Archipelago. It truly felt to Cleo as though the traitors themselves had selected the region she would loathe the most, then ACME had scoured its 36,563 islands to find the most secure prison there. She hated it. Right from the first moment, she had despised everything about it… until she didn’t. That was what gave her pause.

She had been detained at the Aaqqigiarvik Correctional Healing Facility, located in Nunavut’s capital in the north-east corner of Canada. That meant cold – ice-capped mountains cold! The damp, dingy climate of the Scottish Highlands had been bearable (to a point), but Canada felt like a fresh slap in the face, a few degrees south of freezing to death. Then there was the prison itself. The name alone was insulting; the locals told her aaqqigiarvik was an Inuit word meaning ‘a place for help to make progress in life’, as if she was being held captive in some sort of hippy spiritual retreat. And it didn’t stop there either – the board behind the prison’s construction had insisted upon using Inuktitut words for everything, from the kitchen to the facility’s holding levels. The only thing worse than being in maximum security was being in pigiarvik – the “starting place”. Besides that, it confused her greatly. She did not deign to accept it, but nobody could know everything, and she had a notable lack of knowledge in… whatever they were called these days, because apparently Eskimos was now considered “offensive”.

For those first few months, she had dug in her heels, hearing none of the staffs’ regular speeches about striving for “a healthier life without crime”. But in time, the establishment grew on her like thick vines of poison ivy, creating the gnawing itch of begrudging indifference. Stationed so far north, there was an almost nightly display of the aurora borealis, painting the sky in the most luxurious shades of green, gold and violet. There was access to culture and country cuisine, local Elders themselves signing off on tribute designs. And true to its message of self-betterment, the venue felt less like a prison and more like a campus, complete with separate living units, a gymnasium, a nursing station and all the furnished trappings a woman could want. It made her nostalgic for the glory days of VILE – before ACME, Carmen Sandiego or even Shadowsan, when the capers were grand, and they were rolling in riches on their island paradise – and yet that almost made her hate it more.

The general consensus among the other inhabitants of her perplexing abode (she refused to call them ‘inmates’) was that they’d “lucked out”. A handful of the more longaevous residents had come to ACHF from the old Baffin Correctional Centre, infamed for its cramped environment and appalling resources. Of the prisoners who had been transferred, many of them had made considerable improvements, at least refraining from causing any more riots and at best working towards release. A greater sense of manners, Cleo could respect. If only it didn’t come with a nauseating amount of euphoria…

Maybe that was the reason for her placement there. Perhaps ACME had deemed her the most viable candidate for redemption? It made sense, really, however she rued to admit it. There were really only two ways to acquire Faculty accreditation: impress the current clique of the upper echelons in some way or achieve something truly evil. She had been the first kind, staging a spectacularly fabulous caper in which she sought revenge against her former modelling agents. Brunt and Maelstrom had been the latter whereas Bellum was a combination of the two – inventing the technology to reprogram minds by force. Those initial feats had largely guided their later capers, so she supposed she did come across in a somewhat better light. Still, that didn’t mean she was about to lose her so-called “entitlement”; she was once a model, an heiress even, so naturally she deserved a lavish lifestyle.

Click. Cleo remained by the window, watching as the reflection of her door opened. A small, native woman (maybe a fraction shorter than Tigress) entered the room, her choppy black hair thrown into two messy braids. As far as “roommates” go, she was passable; her face was young and fresh despite the wear in her skin, and friendly in a way that Cleo despised. Try as she might not to – and only because she was an expert in forgery – Cleo noticed a subtle glint in her dark eyes, a newfound genuineness in her seemingly permanent smile.

“Unukut, Cleo. Qanuipit?”

“Oh, do speak English, Mishka.”

“Sorry, force of habit.” Mishka dropped herself onto her bed, the overly plush mattress swallowing her like a child. “How was your day?”

“Peachy.”

“One might say, alianait?”

Cleo narrowed her eyes. “No, one might not.”

“Come on, you should at least try to learn the language. The way you’re going, you’ll be in here for a long time.”

She almost laughed. Granted, the wider staff had been largely vague with the others about exactly why she was in prison, but she herself took part in the rumour mill. If it was a crime, she was said to have partaken in it.

“Why are you so chipper, anyway? What have you heard?”

“I… didn’t think you’d care.”

“I’m in jail. I have to get my gossip somewhere.”

Mishka’s face softened, her voice almost timid as she replied, “I could be moving to makigiarvik soon.”

“Oh.” Medium security, ‘in progress to move forward’. Mishka arrived some six months ago, ending Cleo’s year-and-a-half of having a dorm room to herself. She had initially been suspicious of the arrangement – was this yet another ploy to wear down her resolve? – but chalked it up to the nature of Aaqqigiarvik’s program, until one stormy night when she woke to broken screams. This teddy bear of a child was in for murder and threatening police, a long-suffering victim of a man whose domestic priors taught him to cover his tracks. Though she made her swear to never speaking of it again, Cleo had held her through the long, dark night, supporting her tired frame as wave after wave battered her soul. “Um… When did this happen?”

“My therapy session today.” She planted herself upright, but her voice wavered and eventually cracked, “It’s crazy… My whole life, I survived by just being the pretty one, you know? Keeping my mouth shut. Even after he was dead, I still felt like I had no power to fall back on. Being here, away from it all… it’s like I’m hearing my own voice for the first time.”

For a moment, no more was said, the two women sharing looks of pride and valour.

“You’re a force to be reckoned with, my dear.”

Mishka wiped a tear away, an airy chuckle bubbling in her throat. “Hey now. If you’re not careful, I might think there’s a heart under there.”

Cleo’s pillow hit the girl square in the face, only resulting in further laughter. Her arms crossed firmly over her chest, she watched as Mishka set the pillow on her lap, her nimble fingers plucking and smoothing it back into shape.

“I’m going to miss you. And however much you deny it, I know you’ll miss me.”

Again, she said nothing. To reply – even in denial – would be to grant her satisfaction.

A low siren rang over the PA system, rousing a chorus of opening doors.

“Dinnertime.” Mishka stood up, neatly placing the pillow back on Cleo’s bed. “Come on, I heard a new chef’s starting today.”

Cleo muttered under her breath, refusing to acknowledge her roommate opening the door for her.

“Alianait…”

“I heard that!”

The dining room – for lack of a better (English) word – was already full by the time they got there. People crowded around the intimate tables, talking amongst themselves like some loud, extended family. They’d tried many times to bring her into the fold, always in vain. To this day, only Mishka had managed to dine with her; through persistence or toleration, no one quite knew.

A shadowy figured passed their table, setting two steaming bowls in front of them before disappearing into the crowd. He probably didn’t dare wait around to see her reaction. A sensible move on his part, considering the eyesore he’d presented her with.

Cleo gagged. “What is this?”

If ever a dish looked like peasant food, this was it. An island of some unidentified meat, mixed with onion, potato and who knows what else, floating in a brown pool of water and sporadic seasoning.

“It’s Suaasat.” Mishka held a spoonful to her nose. “Caribou by the smell of it.”

“If you think that I would put this slop in my mouth, you are sorrily mistaken.”

“You said the same thing about Akutaq and now that’s your favourite dessert.”

“That was a creamy delicacy of dried fish and fruit. This is…” Cleo shuddered, “soup.”

Mishka shook her head. “You never know. And aren’t you too proud to reject food?”

The little— Cleo shoved the bowl away, the putrid liquid daring to splash her delicate skin. In her haste, she almost didn’t notice the thin slither of paper that fluttered from her napkin, landing upright in front of her.

Do not react. Eat the food. We'll handle the rest.

She cast a sweeping gaze across the room. The servers had all retreated back to the kitchen, leaving only herself, the prisoners and a modest handful of guards. She certainly didn’t recognise anyone, even making allowances for two years of physical changes. She crushed the note in her hand, discreetly tucking it into her shoe as she further examined the bowl in question. She vaguely remembered being served this dish a time or two before, though her response had always been to turn up her nose until someone took it away, stealing quick glances as if it would suddenly turn into caviar. This attempt looked no different, so she gingerly pulled it back with her spoon. She remained poised and composed as she gathered a single mouthful of meat and potato, but the façade shattered the second the foul taste slid down her throat.

“Ugh! That's ghastly! Why on Earth would you consume this monstrosity?”

“Maybe yours is a little underseasoned? Here, try some of mine.”

“No, thank you. I’d rather die than so much as—”

The nausea rolled in like an avalanche, silent and deadly as it buried her. Her vision clouded as it split and wobbled, the space around her muffling into saturated light.

“Are you okay?”

No… Pride be damned in that moment; Mishka was safe, after all. Her lips trembled as she tried desperately to form the word, her whole body caving in from the effort.

“Cleo!” Mishka sprang forward, catching her before she hit the vinyl floor. “Ikajunga!”

One by one, her senses ebbed away, until all that remained was the distorted echo of Mishka’s already unintelligible language. Her last ember of strength fizzed out as a small, grateful smile – not that she appreciated her or anything. Definitely not…

Cleo couldn’t exactly say which of her senses returned first. All she knew as she woke was that she was moving, or perhaps floating. She was lying flat on her back but the surface beneath her rocked and swayed, not unlike a boat at sea. The ringing in her ears cleared, replaced by the whirring of propellors, and a slender, sharp-chinned figure loomed over her in complete silence.

“Vlad?”

The man nodded, removing a wet rag from her forehead. “You recognised me. That’s a good sign.”

Cleo blinked a few times, finally getting a good look at his face. “Oh, I thought you were the other one.”

Vlad briefly looked to the pilot – Boris – then turned back to Cleo, taking an old VILE phone out of his pocket. “Try to remain still, Countess. The antidote is still taking affect.”

“Antidote?” The sickening taste lingered in her mouth. “Did you fools poison me?!”

“My apologies for the theatrics, Cleo.”

Vlad handed her the phone, lifting her head to prop pillows behind her back. The man on the screen hadn’t changed a bit, his pale face every bit as greasy as she remembered.

“Gunnar. I should have known this was your doing. You could have killed me.”

“Nonsense, my fair lady. Lady Dokuso provided thorough instructions on how to safely administer the toxin.”

“She’s out?”

The man waved a disinterested hand. “In hiding somewhere. I had no other use for her.”

“And the others?”

“Dr Bellum left Africa yesterday morning. She’s in Germany now, assisting in Coach Brunt’s rescue as we speak.”

He really hadn’t changed; he was dressed in his usual blazer and turtleneck, his very hair – unlike her own – the exact length it had been two years ago. Surely, he couldn’t have been out long? It stood to reason that his escape would have garnered more strict supervision, rendering the rest of their jailbreaks next to impossible, but this guise of him seemed ageless, ghostly even. Another of his mind games, it seemed.

“You do work fast… How did you even—”

“Solitary confinement provides an unparalleled habitat for a genius, such as myself, to engage in immersed contemplation. I only needed but a few small messages from the outside to fully conspire—”

“Oh, zip it. I only wanted to know how you got me out of Frost Knox.”

His expression soured instantly. “The Cleaners intercepted the ferry transfer to the Mainland while you were still unconscious.”

An additional box popped up on the screen, loading for a moment before revealing two dishevelled faces.

Cleo smiled. “Saira, Coach. Aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes…”

“It is those guards who will be feeling sore, Cleo,” Bellum quipped, adjusting a tacky pair of glasses. No doubt a ‘gift’ from the authorities…

Brunt didn’t look much better, sporting a few new scars. “Impressive plan, Maelstrom.”

“How kind of you to notice, Coach Brunt.” Maelstrom feigned a bow. “Should I be worried you’ve gone soft?”

“Never. Doc’s already told me about the Sandiego sightings, and if she weren’t dead to me before, she sure is now.”

Maelstrom drummed his fingertips together, a sadistic smile creeping across his face. “Revenge is a dish best served vile, is it not? Let us first concern ourselves with restoring our empire.”

“And how do you propose we do that, Professor?” Bellum removed her glasses, trying miserably to clean the lenses on her sleeve. “I may have managed to secure a few of my inventions before our arrest, but not nearly enough to stage any profitable capers.”

Cleo attempted a nod. “Not to mention the authorities will be anticipating said capers.”

“Rest, my criminally underdressed countess. You have done quite enough already.”

She could think of a thousand different ways to insult him for such a slur, but said thought required strength she did not currently possess. As he continued to speak, Brunt’s and Bellum’s own smiles grew, clearly piecing together Maelstrom’s plan. How they knew was beyond her, and frankly, she was too weak to care. So instead, she merely listened, focusing her efforts on following his pompous string of syllables.

“Your temper and jealously have fortunately provided us a suitable down payment. One not even ACME will think to look for. And should Carmen Sandiego somehow intervene, she will be faced with a most unpleasant revelation.”

Chapter Text

Shadowsan tensed, trying his hardest not to twitch in his seat. Prior notice of the arrangement had been rather insufficient, to say the least – he had been halfway through packing his suitcase when Ivy called, informing him that agents stationed in Mongolia were being transposed to South America (for what reason, only ACME knew) and that Chief had rerouted them to Japan to pick him up. In addition to helping him and Carmen secure passports in their own names, Chief made it her business to stay informed of their comings and goings, providing free transit in the rare occurrences that agents happened to be heading in the same direction. Though he had grown accustomed to commercial air-travel, he did prefer the comfort of travelling privately. All ACME jets possessed two ‘rooms’ – one for conducting work and another that served as a lounge – so even the travelling agents were not present. The only disadvantage was the duration of this particular route, made worse by the lack of intermittent layovers. How far they were into the 22-hour flight was anyone’s guess, but it had likely been hours since he last managed to stretch his legs.

Two years had passed since “Team Red” parted ways, but their little family remained undivided. Just as he and Carmen had hoped, Zack and Ivy took their hint to reach out to Chief. They could only say so much about the discussion that took place, but they had both passed orientation with flying colours (albeit, with the own “unique spin”, whatever that meant). Once Carmen was ready, she had Player send Julia a cryptic message, signalling for the siblings to come find her in Argentina. Tears were shed, contact information shared, and soon enough, they were hosting regular four-way videocalls. There was little they could say without breaking confidentiality, but the Bostonians assured them that ACME was making good headway in continuing the fight. Even Lydia had moved on to bigger and better things, according to Zack, earning her place as a licensed member of ACME’s fleet.

Player had moved on too, only his “move” took the form of a geographical relocation. Following his home-school graduation (which they had all gone to great lengths to covertly attend), the boy had left home and emigrated to America, setting himself up at Team Red HQ. Though still legally in their possession, the building had largely been left for ACME to do with as they saw fit. At first, it served as Zack and Ivy’s primary address, being that they lacked an official place of residence, but they were there so little that the establishment began to wane in upkeep. That was when Player moved in, making it a rest-stop for agents stationed in the area. Being the only permanent tenant, he had taken it upon himself to maintain the headquarters, keeping it stocked with supplies and aiding ACME’s agents when needed.

The presence beside him stirred, granting him a short reprieve in which to flex his calves. Carmen had settled herself firmly into his side, her sleep quiet excepting the occasional hummed breath. Shadowsan looked up from the book he was reading, a moment passing with no further movement, then reached over to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. The gesture, once so foreign, now as instinctual as any of his other reflexes.

‘New paths await… if you so choose.’ He had not tried to hide the pain those words instilled in him. Her seven months missing concluded with him handing her the address of a woman who had every right to despise him. Like her, he returned to his birth country, had tried to move on with his life. But how could he? He, the once-fallen samurai, forever humbled by the tricks and mischief of a red-haired kitsune, his unruly prankster… For two weeks, he had aimlessly wandered the halls of Matsumoto Castle, and then she returned to him, saying simply that she knew where she wanted to hang her hat. She called him “Dad” for the first time, and the floodgates he had held shut for twenty-two years finally burst open.

Carlotta had been endlessly forgiving (too much so, in his mind, though he did not dare question it), permitting Carmen to come and go as she pleased. He was unsure whether to believe it when Carmen told him herself, but then she handed him a letter directly from her mother. Carlotta had asked him to keep its contents secret from their – yes, their – daughter, which he had respected, but she spoke in vague details about her poor health after Carmen’s birth, and how him taking her was the best thing he could have done for them both. She invited him to come meet her when he could, and from there began a lasting friendship, which only strengthened his bond with Carmen. Never in his wildest dreams had he suspected that the five-year-old girl who once begged him to take her to Japan would one day spend her 25th birthday with him there. He found out from Carlotta that Carmen had grown unenthused with the locket Wolfe once left her, dissatisfied that it only held space for one photo. In response, he gifted her a new one – heart-shaped with cherry blossom designs – with space for two photographs and their mantra, “to the end of the line”, engraved on the back. To say she loved it would be an understatement, being that she seldom took it off.

Beep-beep. His phone lit up in his carry-on bag, the words ‘9:00pm ART’ proudly displayed on the screen. His mouth went dry; was it that late already? He again set down the book, glanced at Carmen, then picked up the phone. After one last steadying breath, he selected the most recent number in his call history, brushing the creases from his shirt as the call connected.

It rang once; normal. Twice, forgivable. Three times, slightly less common… Four times—

“Hola, Castillo de los Niños. ¿Quién es?”

“Carlotta?”

Some shuffling and a whispered “miércoles” later, the camera came on. He had once said that she looked just like her daughter, but time had proven him wrong. The faintest of lines marked her flawless skin, wisps of silver and rose breezing through her wild, brown hair. And her eyes… One could be forgiven for thinking he would be sick of green – so many of VILE’s own operatives had borne the trait that it bordered on cliché – but somehow hers were so unique to him, a half-shade lighter than emerald and a step removed from aqua. She was breathtaking, or she would be if something were not clearly bothering her.

“Suhara, hi. Sorry, I was… I mean, I didn’t—Was I meant to call you?”

“What is wrong?”

Not much of the background was visible – even less so as she seemed to be pacing with her phone in hand – but he managed to spot the upturned cushions and emptied toy baskets, disturbed particles of dust still drifting in the air.

“I messed up. I messed up! There was a leak last month. I got it fixed, but then the water bill came in and I couldn’t pay it, so… So I borrowed from the savings jar I have set aside to use as tooth fairy money. I thought it would be fine, but now my newest girl has a loose tooth, and she keeps saying it’s the first one since her parents died. And of course the other kids keep telling her about the ‘orphanage tooth fairy’, so there’s no getting out of it.” She paused to take a ragged breath. “She’s finally starting to open up, but if I let her down now, all my efforts will be ruined! And I’ve had children like her before—if you break their trust this early on, they cut themselves from the group and it makes it that much harder for them to get adopted. ¡Ay! What was I thinking? I should know better than this by now…”

Shadowsan followed along as best he could, though he struggled to empathise with her plight. Carmen had been raised without such fables; as the only child on an island of criminals and angst-ridden young adults, no one deemed it necessary to encourage a belief in magic. Universal icons such as Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny needed not be mentioned as VILE strictly disregarded all manner of religious holidays, recognising Halloween only for its evil aesthetic. Though she still enjoyed cultural mythos and geographic legends, Carmen herself had voiced her views of not being one for superstition, and she seemed no worse off for it. But these children led different lives, he reminded himself. Lives marred by insecurity and, in some cases, abandonment.

“Has she actually lost the tooth yet?”

“No, but it’s hanging by a thread. I wouldn’t be surprised if she loses it in her cereal tomorrow.”

Shadowsan nodded. “I have about five thousand yen in my wallet. I will find a currency exchange kiosk once we arrive in Argentina.”

She sighed in relief, though she seemed no more relaxed. “You’re a lifesaver. I promise, I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

“That is not necessary, but I would urge you to inform me if something of this nature happens again.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve just been on edge lately.” Carlotta sank into her office chair, a distant look in her haunted eyes. “This time of year… it brings up a lot of bad memories for me.”

He racked his brain for something comforting to say, despite having no context from which to base his dialogue. This time of year… Carmen’s birthday was two months ago, and Wolfe died in April. The only other major events that he knew of were her move to Argentina and opening the orphanage, but neither seemed cause for her current stress. Eventually, he chose to ignore it, instead directing her thoughts elsewhere.

“It sounds as though you should make some time for yourself. Perhaps read a good book?”

That at least elicited a smile. “Any recommendations?”

He glanced at a rectangular object in his bag, the item wrapped in sakura-print furoshiki. “I may have some ideas.”

“Well, as long as you bring back my copy of ‘Wisteria Society’. I finally got my hands on the third book, so I need a recap.”

Shadowsan held up the book that had been resting in his lap, displaying the cover’s pastel illustrations of flowering wisteria, brandished weapons and the book’s own red-headed lady thief. It took three readthroughs for him to appreciate its charms (and to set aside his “when I was an assassin…” mentality), but eventually it grew on him. Not enough to make him read its two sequels, but enough that he could truthfully tell her he enjoyed it.

The visual shook for a moment as she propped up the phone. “The kids are all excited you’re staying for the season. Especially Alba.”

“Is she still attempting to teach herself Japanese?”

“Yeah, about that…” Carlotta loosely crossed her arms. “I’m starting to worry. She got into an argument with one of the other kids yesterday and just started—I don’t know, name-calling? I have no idea what she was saying, but if looks could kill…”

“Hopefully it was nothing too inappropriate.”

“You tell me. I’m pretty sure she told him he was ‘orokana uma-saru’ or something.”

Shadowsan burst out laughing, though not due to the colourful insult. Unlike Carmen – who attained a neutral accent from her multicultural upbringing – Carlotta possessed a tone that was a vocal display of Mexican heritage, soft and passionate and entirely ill-suited for pronouncing Japanese words. His very name was a challenge to her; though her English was nearly perfect, Spanish was still her native tongue, and since the letter ‘H’ was silent in said language, her attempts to pronounce his name came out more as ‘Su’ara’, all efforts to restore the letter sounding forced and uncomfortable. Hideo would likely squirm at the crime against his language, but he saw no harm. In fact, it made the adjustment process of hearing his name again after so many years notably more pleasant.

Carlotta giggled, hiding her face in her hands. “Oh no, it’s that bad?”

He cleared his throat, attempting to compose himself. “I will talk to her.”

“Thank you. Anyway, speaking of children, how’s our girl?”

“Sound asleep next to me.” Shadowsan turned the phone to face Carmen (who thankfully had not been woken by his laughter).

“Ay, mi ninjita…”

He at once felt feverish. He practically stopped functioning the first time he learned of the pet name – during a phone call with Carmen, in which he overheard Carlotta calling her from another room – and it still had not lost its effect on him. He turned the screen back towards himself, and just as quickly as it came, the colour drained for his face. She had leaned back in her chair, revealing the bookshelf behind her. One shelf in particular, the one where she kept her framed photos.

“You should rest.”

Carlotta yawned. “Sí, es tarde. When do you get in?”

“ACME is dropping us off in Santiago, Chile. We should arrive in Buenos Aires at first light.”

“Then I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Carlotta replied, smiling in a way that served only to further break his heart. “Good night, Suhara.”

“Sweet dreams.”

His phone went dark as she ended the call, his body releasing the anxious sigh he somehow failed to note he was holding. Yet again, he had lost touch with his discipline, indulged in his affections. But could he be blamed? Though she rarely spoke of her late husband – his former instructor – he doubted she had swayed his loyalty through corrupt means. Like her daughter, she possessed an innate compassion that could soothe the most wayward soul, a beauty that stood by its own merit. He could lose hours in her company, his most audacious self frighteningly close to professing those three small words. Except he could not. Not to her, the widow of a man whose life he had once been sent to steal.

The aircraft shuddered. Carmen woke with a jolt, an involuntary snort escaping her nose mid-breath.

Shadowsan chuckled. “Konbanwa.”

Carmen smiled, yawning as she sat up. “You’d think after four years of near-constant air-travel I’d be used to turbulence.”

He checked his watch. “You have been asleep for the past five hours.”

“Did I miss Mom?”

“She sends her love.”

Carmen stood up, taking a moment to stretch before crossing the room. “We still need to decide what we’re telling her about last week.”

Shadowsan straightened; they had yet to discuss last week in any capacity. After more than two years of adjusting to civilian life – filled with nightmares, long talks and mental healing – Player intercepted the first credible re-emergence of VILE. Carmen was initially reluctant, only deciding to partake after learning it was Paper Star, knowing just how hard the girl was to catch. As she had been with him at the time, Carlotta knew nothing of the encounter, though both knew it could not remain that way for much longer.

“That will depend on whether you plan for this to be a regular occupation.”

Carmen leaned against the bolted-down floor cupboards. She was quiet for a moment, looking everywhere but at him, then forced herself to meet his eye. “I know you wanted me to have a normal life, but I chose this path. It’s always going to be a part of me, and honestly, it felt really good to don the hat and coat again. But I can’t do this without your support. If you think it’s too dangerous, or you want me to stop—”

“You know I would not ask that of you.”

“Still… I need you to tell me it’s okay.”

A gentle smile tugged at his lips. “I cannot tell you I would not prefer to see you safe, but I also could not be prouder of the woman you have become.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Carmen smiled back. “Don’t get me wrong, ACME’s been doing a great job on their own, but I’m more than happy to tap in if they need me to.”

“Then I see it as best to tell your mother the truth. As you well know, VILE rarely strikes when it is personally convenient.”

Carmen laughed, taking two pre-made sandwiches out of the mini fridge, smoked salmon and cream cheese for him and chicken tikka for herself. “We’ll just have to tell Mom that I know what I’m doing, and she shouldn’t worry about it.”

Shadowsan tucked Carlotta’s book into his bag as she returned to her seat. “Do you believe that will work?”

“Oh, no chance.” She handed him the sandwich. “Which is why I had Ojisan pick up an extra box of strawberry dorayaki.”

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

Carmen’s phone rang, a white hat displayed on the screen, and she immediately took the call. “Player, fancy hearing from you.”

“You guys are still on the plane, right?”

“What? Of course we are, why?”

“You might want to put me on speaker for this.”

Carmen raised an eyebrow, tapping the speaker button. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“So you both remember how when I moved out to San Diego, ACME gave me one of their communicator pens?”

Shadowsan nodded. “To notify you about agents coming to our old headquarters.”

“And to pass along info to Carmen if ACME ever needed to. Well, I just got an urgent message from Chief… it’s bad, Red.”

Carmen shared a look with Shadowsan. “How bad?”

“That incident with Paper Star last week? It was a set-up. Since ACME knew she was as psychotic as Maelstrom, they had a note on-file to incarcerate her at the same facility, located somewhere in the south of the United States. ACME’s not sure how, but he managed to orchestrate a four-way prison break.”

“Four-way meaning…”

“VILE’s four Faculty members. They’re all out.”

Shadowsan bowed his head, his lack of surprise in no way a sign of lacked concern. “I feared Maelstrom would eventually find a means to escape. Though I cannot fathom how, or even why, he would include the others in his plan.”

“Beats me. They reckon The Troll was involved somehow, but we’ll probably never know. They do know Paper Star managed to smuggle in coordinates inside origami she was carrying at the time of her arrest.”

“I knew she seemed low on paper!” Carmen groaned. “What about the Faculty? Do we know where they are?”

“Only their last-known locations. Bellum escaped holding in Africa a couple days ago. Operatives there caused a wide-spread blackout, so the authorities weren’t able to notify ACME until now. She was last seen in Germany, helping to break Brunt out.”

“And Countess Cleo?”

Player scoffed. “Cleo was being ferried to the Canadian mainland with a suspected case of food poisoning. She and a ‘guard’ were abducted an hour ago via floatplane.”

“So they could be anywhere by now…”

A tense silence filled the space, broken only by a faint rustling on Player’s end of the phoneline, akin to someone fidgeting in their seat.

“Listen, Chief’s sending your crew here to lead the search effort. It’s your call, but she thinks yours and Shadowsan’s input will be their best hope of catching them. She can have agents meet you in Argentina as soon as you land.”

Carmen took a deep breath, then turned to her dad. “What do you think?”

Shadowsan sighed. “The longer they remain out of custody, the greater the chances VILE will be able to rebuild their forces. Only this time, their operations would be conducted in such a way to render our prior incite worthless, in turn making it even more of a challenge to apprehend them.”

“And eventually, they would come after us. Mom, Uncle Hideo, the kids—they’d all be caught in the crossfire.”

Her worry was like an avalanche barrelling down the face of a great mountain. He felt it too, but there was no choice in the matter, and no time to waste either.

He laid a hand on her shoulder. “We have always been in this together.”

“To the end of the line,” she returned, placing her own hand over his. “Tell Chief we’re in.”

“Done. I’ll let her know as soon as we sign off.”

“We would first need to inform Carlotta of the situation. She is expecting us tomorrow morning.”

“Noted. For now, try to get some sleep. You’re gonna need it.”

“Thanks, Player. See you tomorrow.” With that, Carmen hung up the phone, slouching back into her chair. “This is going to take more than Japanese pancakes, isn’t it?”

Shadowsan lightly squeezed her shoulder. It seemed there was little Carlotta would not forgive, but even the most gracious people had their limits. Could it be possible that they were about to discover hers?

Chapter Text

True to Chief’s word, ACME agents were waiting upon arrival at Ezeiza International Airport. No sooner had Carmen and Shadowsan collected their luggage, the pair were quietly escorted from the main concourse into a waiting car. Agent Zari and her partner were as frigid as usual, speaking in cryptic terms that equated to little more than trademark cynicism, before falling silent altogether. The atmosphere did nothing to aid the implicit dread forming in Shadowsan’s abdomen, the nauseous feeling growing more persistent the closer they got to the orphanage.

“We’re here.”

Carmen peeled her gaze from the side window. She hadn’t been home since late-June, her mother and the kids putting together a small pre-birthday celebration before she’d flown back to Japan. Though it still didn’t quite have that home feeling she was looking for, she had missed it dearly, and her mother too. They spoke often whenever she was in Japan, usually organising a Saturday-night videocall that the children would partially sit in on. Some tensions remained – mostly surrounding VILE and questions about her birth father – but other than that, they had grown as close as one would expect for a mother and daughter. And however she knew she had to, the thought of testing those waters again had her reaching for her locket, worrying at the pendant along its chain.

Shadowsan broke the silence. “Would you like me to handle this?”

Carmen shook her head. “No, she deserves to hear it from me. You’ll be there though, right?”

“Naturally.”

They both got out the car, Shadowsan retrieving his carry-on bag as Carmen fished in hers for her house keys. The sun was still low in the sky, casting long shadows and warm light across the front garden. Though Carmen walked straight past, Shadowsan spotted a long, narrow strip of disturbed earth, running along the fence towards the side of the house. She undersold the severity of the leak.

Carmen unlocked the door, her brow creasing as she sighed. “No turning back…”

They found Carlotta in the kitchen; the children were gathered around the table as she finished making breakfast, the morning sun that spilt through the window highlighting the copper undertones in her hair… not that Shadowsan was paying any particular attention.

The children spotted them. “Carmen!”

“Dibs!”

One of the boys bolted from his seat, knocking it over as he charged at Carmen. The others promptly followed suit, doing so at a more respectable pace, but Shadowsan noticed a small shape disappear beneath the tablecloth. The new arrival, perhaps?

“Jaziel!”

“What?” Jaziel was sitting in Carmen’s lap, his expression one of pure innocence as he gazed up at Carlotta. “Carmen promised me the first hug!”

“I think I actually promised Catalina.”

“Yeah, but she got adopted so I call ‘dibs’.”

Shadowsan smiled to himself, then turned back to Carlotta. As he suspected, she was kneeling beside the table, having folded up the tablecloth as she tried to coax a young girl out from the darkness. The preceding night’s conversation had in actuality been his second time hearing about her, the first occurring three evenings prior; he recalled her name was Mariposa, she was roughly five years old, and she had been rescued from some form of accident. Perhaps it was for that reason that she kept stealing not-so-subtle glances at him, as if comparing him to the emergency personnel she may have previously encountered.

He hoisted the shoulder strap of his bag over his head, setting the item down as he lowered himself into a seiza position. Once at her level, he reached into one of the side-pockets, keeping his movements slow and deliberate as he retrieved a fresh sheet of origami paper. He could not blame her for her hesitation towards him. For all his progress, his soul was still stained by his past mistakes, and these children were more perceptive than one might give them credit for. It took time, especially for those coming from dangerous situations, but they had each come to accept him; his origami had proven to be his saving grace, serving as an effective means to reassure them of his gentleness.

After a minute or so of intricate folding, he produced the fruit of his labour – an ombré butterfly – holding it a careful distance towards her. She eyed him up and down, approaching much in the way that a fawn might stray from her thicket. At first, she only looked at it, but she eventually took it from his open palm.

“How did you do that?”

“Shadowsan can make anything!” A pair of arms wrapped around his neck from behind, the other children still flocked around Carmen. “He made me this tiny samurai-fairy last time!”

He turned his head to look at her more easily. “And speaking of my country, Alba, you and I need to talk.”

“Um… Watashi wa mujitsudesu…?”

Of course she would learn to say that. “Ohanashi shimasu.”

Alba cupped a hand over his ear. “Does that mean ‘yes’?”

Shadowsan gave her a gentle shove, the child responding in fits of giggles as she tried her best to tackle him. He played along, if only to spare her young ego, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed Carlotta, watching the domestic scene from across the room. Wait, no—not domestic… he could not think of the appropriate word, but domestic was not it. She turned away the moment he looked up, and he was suddenly aware of Alba’s arms around his neck inhibiting his ability to breathe. Yes, that was the reason…

Carlotta tucked her fringe aside as she turned on the kettle. “So, how was the flight?”

Carmen glanced at Shadowsan, gently prying herself from the children’s grasp. “Actually, Mom, can we talk? In private?”

“Alright…” Carlotta raised an eyebrow. “Alba, you’re in charge.”

“Sweet!”

“No Japanese.”

“Aww…”

Carlotta rolled her eyes, a small smile playing at her lips, then beckoned for the two of them to follow. She led them down the hall to her office, gesturing for them to sit. “Is everything okay?”

Shadowsan stood in the doorway as mother and daughter took the two seats in front of the desk. Carmen was fitful – not so much in a physical sense, but he knew her subtle indicators – her gaze lowered as she seemed to retreat into her hoodie.

“There isn’t an easy way to say this, but…”

“Carmen?”

She sighed, finally looking up. “Player called with a message from ACME. The Faculty escaped prison last night.”

A long moment passed, Carlotta tensing as she presumably processed the news. He had anticipated a more outright reaction: questions, concerns, anything really… Instead, she sat still, a testament to her fortitude.

“No.”

“I know. They don’t know what happened, but—”

“I mean… no, you’re not going.”

“What? I didn’t say—”

“Sí, but you were going to, weren’t you?”

Carmen rubbed her arm. “Okay, yes, but hear me out. ACME has no idea what they’re up to, and who knows how long it’ll be before they’re out in the open again?”

“Carmen, it’s been two years. This isn’t your fight.”

“Of course it is! If nothing else, I owe them for letting Paper Star slip—”

“Wait, who?”

Carmen bit her lip. Right, she didn’t know about that…

From the doorway, Shadowsan watched as Carlotta stood up, pacing in small circles as her eyes filled with betrayal. A selfish part of him was quietly grateful she had yet to look at him for input; had she done so in that moment, he might have prostrated himself to beg her forgiveness.

“You’ve gone back already.”

Carmen sighed, also standing. “It was just one time…”

“Except it isn’t now. Even after everything they’ve done, you still won’t walk away.”

“You’re not hearing me. If I don’t do this, they’ll come after me here—”

“You don’t know that…”

“Yes, I do! I was raised by VILE, and hiding out here won’t change that.”

Carlotta brushed her fringe out of her face, turning to walk out. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Mom, wait!”

Carlotta froze as Carmen grabbed her wrist, her limbs suddenly rigid. “Let go of me.”

Something was wrong… Shadowsan knew it in a heartbeat. Her voice was low, surprising and dangerous, the usual warmth in her gaze vanishing like a flame doused in cold water. She looked frightened, like even she was uncertain of the reactions occurring inside her. “Carmen, maybe we should—”

“No, we need to talk about this. VILE is dangerous—”

“You don’t think I know that?!” Carlotta snapped.

Carmen held her by both arms. “I’m doing this for you!”

“Carmen, let me go.”

“Mom, please, I need you to trust—”

“I can’t, Dexter!”

Carmen fell backwards, thrown to the floor with a force strong enough to dizzy her. Shadowsan looked her over. She had not seemed to hit her head – which was fortunate – but the way she shifted off her hip suggested that there would be a bruise in the next few days. And just as suddenly as they had darkened, Carlotta’s eyes sparked back to life.

“Carmen!” She took an instinctive step towards her daughter, but she stopped at the sight of her outstretched hands. She clearly had no recollection of having pushed her, and the knowledge caused her to back away. “I did this…”

“No, it’s okay!” Carmen hurriedly picked herself up. “See? I’m fine.”

Carlotta shook her head, mumbling under her breath as she rushed out the room. “I can’t protect you…”

Shadowsan barely heard the words as she fled, but he felt the weight behind them. He saw it best to reserve them for now, instead turning to Carmen. “Are you hurt?”

“She’s never reacted like that before…” she mused, worry set deep in her eyes.

“Let me talk to her.”

She nodded back, receiving a quick kiss on her forehead before watching him leave. Left alone, she stood aimlessly in the centre of the room. Having no other recourse, Carmen found herself looking back towards the bookshelf, and the trio of photos kept there.

“What did you do?”

The stairs creaked beneath him, the sound muffled by their carpet covering. Anyone else would have missed such a detail, but Shadowsan had clearly heard that same, muted groan a minute prior. There were only so many rooms upstairs, and he doubted she would flee to the children’s, so that left just one place to look.

He approached the door to the master bedroom, giving it a light knock. “Carlotta?”

There was no response. It was of course possible that she wanted to be left alone, but he also could not rule out that she was simply incapable of replying.

“Carlotta, I am going to let myself in. Is that okay?”

He waited another moment, hearing no objection, before opening the door. The room was generous enough in size, but not overly well furnished. There were not many places to hide – under the bed covers, within the cramped ensuite bathroom, in any of the room’s corners – but he soon noticed her small silhouette huddled inside the walk-in closet.

Shadowsan eased open the sliding door. She was all but curled into a tight ball, her back pressed firmly against the wall in attempts to ground herself. It did not seem to be helping, her whole body shaking within the old, men’s poncho she had wrapped herself in.

“I can’t— I can’t—”

He knelt down before her. “You do not need to explain yourself. Just tell me what you need.”

She tried so hard to speak; that much was clear to him. Her clenched jaw opened and closed, the muscles in her neck contracting as she waged futile war upon herself, fighting to free the words as they rattled somewhere deep within. Her efforts produced only a weak, sob-like sound – soft and utterly heartbreaking.

“Please… let me help.”

Carlotta looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears, but she scarcely managed to bob her head in his direction.

Shadowsan crawled into the closet, catching her as she fell into his arms. This was a new experience for him. Carmen had endured her unfair share of anxiety attacks following her six months as a VILE operative, but those had been more in the form of nightmares and feeling disorientated from the conflicting memories in her head, remedied with a simple routine of green teas and gentle reminders. Neither of those would work here. He doubted even the most well-meaning assurances would soothe her; they may even have the opposite effect, and he could not take that chance. So instead, he closed his eyes, holding her safely as he listened to the sound of her slowing breaths.

“Does she hate me?”

He felt a twinge of relief at hearing her speak. “Of course not. She is merely concerned for your wellbeing.”

Her breathing remained uneven, and she rocked slightly in his arms. Shadowsan scanned the confined space for something – anything – to distract her with, his gaze finally falling on an exposed storage box. The plastic lid lay abandoned beside it, perhaps discarded in a hurry to reach the very garment now wrapped about her shaking form.

“Dexter told me he’d handle packing the villa on his own, but I… I just had this gut feeling…”

She must have noticed him looking past her. Regardless, he could not help but nod in response. Given what happened next, she had been right in her concern.

“I couldn’t save everything, so this is pretty much all that’s left of my childhood.” Carlotta reached over, dragging the box in front of them with an ease that spoke volumes of its lack of contents. “The last relics of my innocence.”

He held the question for what felt like an eternity, but finally compelled himself to ask. “May I have the honour?”

She smiled a little, something resembling a half-hearted chuckle shaking in her throat as she nodded.

Shadowsan brought the box closer. The first item to catch his attention was a fabric bag, stamped with the same insignia as every book she had ever loaned him; contained within was a wooden book stamp, the ink-stained rubber reading “La Biblioteca Valdez” in reverse. He returned it to the box, his fingers colliding with something soft and weathered in the process. He caught a small, somewhat embarrassed laugh from the woman beside him as he produced an alebrije-inspired axolotl, mismatched butterfly wings clumsily sewn on its back with multicoloured thread.

“My Abuelita… s-she hadn’t taught me to sew yet, so…”

He handled the weakened seams with care, a smile tugging at his lips. “He is perfect.”

“She.” Carlotta set the stuffed animal in her lap. “I named her Solana.”

She seems to be calming down. Shadowsan turned back to the box, this time retrieving a pair of pale pink ballet shoes. Any wear sustained was intermittent at best; the delicate satin was nearly faultless, as though she had abandoned the hobby after only a few hours. And yet, she held enough nostalgic sentiment to retain them, the ribbons secured in such a fashion that one might hang them as a wall-ornament. It was then that he noticed the trophy – a brass figure posed atop a holographic red column, further fixed to a marble base.

PRIMER LUGAR
Contemporáneo – Intermedio
Finales de la Ciudad de México

His Spanish was a far cry from fluent, but he knew enough to decipher what the words entailed. She had continued to dance with a minimal change in styles, leaving the rigorous discipline of ballet for the expressive freeform of contemporary. A trade that suited her well, it seemed… If the additional, smaller box of various ribbons and medals dating up to the mid-90s was to be believed, she possessed an exceptional talent for the craft. Remnants of it lingered in the way she carried herself – from the ease with which she balanced on her toes to the subtly of her gestures – but he could not recall having ever seen her dance, not even at the behests of the children she loved.

As if on cue, Carlotta reached into the box, cradling a ball of bubble wrap as she tucked herself back into his side. Unfurled, the wrapping revealed a music box, with in turn revealed a tiny, red-dressed ballerina. He had admittedly paid as little attention as possible in Countess Cleo’s classes, but he quickly identified the tune as being from Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker, ‘Pas de Deux’ if memory served him correctly. Strangely, the bottom was inked with vintage branding for the Palais Garnier in France; she had never mentioned a trip to Paris. He knew from Carmen that her grandfather was a frequent traveller – her beloved Matryoshka dolls had once accompanied him as they did so for her – so perhaps it was another of his souvenirs.

The same could likely be said for his next find: a 1992 English shortbread tin honouring Queen Elizabeth II’s Ruby Jubilee. Inside, it contained various paper mementos. There were postcards, drawings, Opening Day brochures for Acuario de Veracruz and entrance tickets to museums across Mexico, but most notable to him was a memorial card honouring the life of a ‘Luciana Valdez’. The olive-skinned woman possessed a diamond facial structure – vaguely similar to Carmen’s and Carlotta’s heart-shaped faces – featuring wild brown hair and full lips, but all the proof he needed could be found in her eyes. The woman pictured had sectoral heterochromia; her right iris appeared normal and was electric blue, but the left was split perfectly down the middle, the outer half an exact match to… presumably her daughter. She fitted the age profile, ethnicity and what little else he knew of her, meaning Carlotta would have been only seven when her mother passed.

Carlotta tensed beside him. He expected to find her staring at the card, but her gaze was squarely fixed on something within the box. The bottom was mostly padded out with old leather journals, as well as a few VHS tapes with crumbling handwritten labels, but one final item stood out, wrapped in packing paper and lovingly tied with a violet ribbon.

Shadowsan set everything else aside, lifting out the item like it might shatter in his hands. He teased the ribbon loose, letting it fall away. The paper followed thereafter, revealing a framed photograph. His breath hitched. As with so many other things in Carmen’s young life, Brunt had called the shots when it came to her haircuts. Carmen never relayed any qualms over the arrangement, but it also had not surprised him when they received the first visuals of her after Boston, now sporting a wild mane of luxuriant, long hair. He always held the silent opinion that longer hair would have suited her – braided perhaps – and here was his proof.

The image clearly depicted Carlotta in her teenage years – he would guess sixteen or so – stood beside an older man and dressed in winter attire, a grand castle nestled on the hilltops behind them. The man had to be her father, judging by the arm wrapped around her shoulders and that auburn-red hair he could recognise instantly, but his attention was drawn back to Carlotta. So much like her daughter but also entirely like herself. His own younger self might have fallen at the first glimpse of her. Might, being that he distinctly remembered being too stand-offish at that age to take much of an interest in girls. Either way, even if nothing came of their hypothetical meeting, he would have found her utsukushii.

Shadowsan felt nauseous again, though not quite nauseated. It was softer than that, almost wing-like. Perhaps it was her delicate smile or the innocent way she stuffed her hands into her pockets captured in the photograph, or perhaps it was simply due to how wonderfully close they were in that moment. Alone together in this little corner of the world…

“We didn’t have much.”

He turned to look at her as she spoke.

“I knew I wasn’t destined for some lavish quinceañera like the other girls had, but that didn’t matter to me. I didn’t need a ballgown or a room full of guests. All I needed was to spend the day with my Papá. But then, a week before my birthday, my father was called away on a last-minute work assignment… in Madrid.”

Spain’s capital city. He was there once on assignment from Countess Cleo, though his orders had been to take out security and stand guard for his VILE brethren. Not exactly an ideal opportunity for sightseeing.

“He’d only just returned from England, and I was devastated. My father spent hours on the phone that night, bickering with his employer to allow me to come. Eventually he agreed, but I basically spent the week binging telenovelas in our hotel room and eating frozen meals every night. You can imagine how mad I was when I realised the whole thing was a ruse to get me to Spain, so he could surprise me with a private tour of Alcázar de Segovia.”

Shadowsan smiled to himself. “Bait and switch.”

Carlotta chuckled, though he could not be certain whether that was in response or recollection. “I still remember the tour guide following us around, probably wondering if he’d ever get a word in. But, that was my father for you. Once you got him talking about royal history, there was no shutting him up.”

He cast a glance back at the photo. Relaxed stance aside, the man held himself in a professional, dignified manner. He could almost picture him in Hideo’s shoes, curating a museum somewhere or giving a lecture at some prestigious university. “He sounds a lot like my brother.”

“Except from what you’ve told me, my father had a bit more of a sense of humour. Moments after we took that photo, he joked about how this was his backup plan since he couldn’t get the permits to build me a castle from scratch.” She laughed a little, “I told him he was loco, and he dove head-first into listing every man whose sanity I was calling into question. I like to think Carmen got her wits from him.”

Shadowsan’s smile softened. Though his interactions with The Wolf had been few and far between, much could be said from reputation alone. He had charm and charisma in spades, but he never bided his time long enough to make quick-witted remarks, nor was he much of a trickster outside of his skill at sleight of hand. It was possible much of the man in the photograph lived on in his granddaughter, be it her adept wordplay or her affinity for water balloons. “I am inclined to believe that she took a great deal of his personality.”

“She certainly took his intellect…” Her features grew sombre, her eyes closing as if to hide the true weight of whatever emotion lay beneath. “He warned me that the world was full of princes and paupers, men who either wanted to claim my heart or to benefit from it. He said, ‘don’t settle, mi princesa’. ‘A true king will seek not to possess your heart, but to preserve it. He will build a palace from which you may gaze upon the world, then invite the world to behold the beauty within’.”

Castillo de los Niños… the ‘Children's Castle’. So that was what inspired the name of her orphanage. He watched intently as Carlotta reached into the storage container, retrieving an antique ring box he previously missed. The fine plum velvet was showing its wear around the edges, the Roman numeral ‘XV’ written in gold foil on its lid.

“I used to think the worst thing a man could do to his wife was to fail to keep her safe.” She opened the box, the old hinge stiff after years unused. The interior fabric had discoloured over time, but more importantly, it bore only the phantom marks of where a ring had once been. “Then I let a thief into my life… and he betrayed me in ways I never thought possible.”

Her words sank in slowly, like hallucinogens absorbed through the skin. He grappled to find meaning in them, replaying presumed facts in his mind: the ring box had to have been a birthday gift, by default meaning the ring within was as well, most likely from her father, only she no longer had it and Wolfe was somehow to blame, a man who never missed an opportunity to steal something. It had to have happened early in their relationship, perhaps even when they first met, before he could gage its sentimental value. Surely, he would not steal from his beloved otherwise. Had it not been his love for his family that soured him on involvement with VILE?

Carlotta looked back at him, her eyes once again filled with unshed tears. “I’ve seen firsthand what VILE does to people they love. What do they do to people they hate? What do they do… to the person who singlehandedly brought them down?”

Shadowsan took her in his arms again, holding her securely as if that might somehow ebb her fears.

“I’m scared, Suhara.”

“As am I,” he whispered in her ear, “which is why we must attend to this.”

Despite all odds, she nodded against his heart, cuddling deeper into his protective hold.

“I can’t lose her…”

“You will not. Not again.”

Goodbyes took far longer than necessary, mostly due to having to the craft a convincing lie for the children, who each requested multiple hugs from Carmen. She had her mother’s way with them – Shadowsan would give her that – but she struggled to hide her nerves, fussing over them like they were her own younger siblings. Alba had commanded her own share from him as well, despite his reprimands over her recent interactions with Jaziel, and even Mariposa seemed sad to see them leave, though she masked it perfectly.

Once certain Carmen could handle them, Shadowsan excused himself, walking directly to Carlotta’s office. Sure enough, she sat facing the photos behind her desk, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. He fought back the bitter sting, refocusing himself on what he came to discuss, then rapped a knuckle against the wall.

“Hey…” She pushed herself up, rounding the desk to stand in front of him. “Heading out?”

“Soon. I felt it would be wise to give you this away from the children.” He handed her a plastic container, filled to the brim with an assortment of colourful bank notes. “They could not break it down any further.”

“No, this is perfect.” Carlotta lightly touched his arm. “Thank you.”

“One more thing…”

Shadowsan reached into his bag, retrieving two rectangular items and handing them to Carlotta. She set her own book aside, then carefully unwrapped the furoshiki cloth. The book in her hands was almost like new, its cover framed by limbs of blooming cherry blossoms stretched around a pale pink sky. A soft red sun sat nestled at the peak of Mount Fuji, the book’s title – ‘The Little Teashop in Tokyo’ – written in interchanging hues of turquoise and raspberry.

Carlotta’s face lit up. “Suhara, how did you find this?”

Shadowsan smiled fondly. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful. I love it.”

“I—”

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Carlotta turned away just as her daughter entered the room, busying herself as if he had not been mere moments from… No, now is not the time.

Carmen slung her hoodie over her shoulder. “I’m going to head back to the car.”

“I will be there shortly.”

She left the room without another word, leaving a strained silence in her wake. Carlotta sighed deeply, not quite meeting his eye. “I know you both know what you’re doing, but please – for everyone’s sake – just be careful.”

Shadowsan tensed. What could he say when they had no idea what lay ahead? It felt wrong to make promises he did not know if he could keep, but Carlotta… She had endured so much for this cause already, much of it without her knowledge or blessing, and much of it without any reassurance of her daughter’s safety. He owed her that now.

“I will make it my business to ensure she is not harmed.”

His words seemed to soothe her, but not by much.

Chapter Text

It was close to 7pm local-time as they rolled up to Team Red Headquarters. Player had arranged for a town car to collect them from the airport, the driver detouring through their usual drive thru en route to the old warehouse. It almost surprised them how foreign the routine felt now, despite how easily they slipped back into it. The constant correcting of watches, the rushed meals, jetting here, there and everywhere – it was all part and parcel of the lives they led. Or more so the lives they used to lead, the pair now accustomed to the peace of home-cooked dinners and travel scheduled months in advance. They would return to those things soon enough, but first they had to navigate the sudden change in plans.

On the topic of changes, a young man stood waiting on the kerbside; he wore a familiar grey-blue hoodie, though the garment was now paired with black track pants, two maroon stripes running down each leg. He kicked at the ground with his worn trainers but brightened as the car slowed to a stop, not missing a beat in opening the back door for its female passenger.

“Welcome home, Red.”

“Player!”

Carmen shot out of the car at breakneck speed, practically tackling him as she raced to hug him. Player stood frozen for a second before awkwardly wrapping his arms around her, his last growth-spurt allowing his chin to rest comfortably on her shoulder.

Shadowsan shuffled out as well and went to grab their bags from the trunk, allowing himself a knowing smile. Carmen could not be blamed for her innocence; she had, after all, been raised on an island in complete isolation from those her own age. He, meanwhile, had his suspicions since early on – the boy’s “did good while looking good” comment had certainly not been lost on him – said suspicions amplifying as time went on. It was while Carmen was in Dubai that he first received the opportunity to speak with him privately, and though neither had said anything regarding the nature of Player’s feelings towards her, he would be a sorry excuse of a father not to notice them on his own. And at this point, the boy could not be more obvious.

Carmen pulled back from the embrace. “Are the others here?”

“They’re in the main room.” Player gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Go on ahead. I’ll help Shadowsan with your things.”

“Thank you.” She gave him one last squeeze, then sprinted off without a second thought. Truth be told, she had missed their HQ; however she fought against having one in the beginning, the building had become the location of many great memories together. A place for sick days and impromptu miniature birthday parties, good moments and bad ones. True, it had changed over the years – Player had acquired one of the bedrooms to house his computer set-up, while ACME took it upon themselves to install one of their high-tech wide-screen displays in the common area – but the space was still her home-away-from-homes.

Her body relaxed as the elevator doors opened, her senses hit with warm light and the welcoming scents of chocolate and faint, ocean air.

“Bro, she’s here!”

“We haven’t seen you in ages!”

Carmen laughed as the siblings rushed over. “You saw me last month.”

“Actually, we saw you last week,” Ivy corrected. “That was you, right? On the rooftop?”

“I wouldn’t make you handle Paper Star alone.” Carmen hugged them both, suddenly feeling guilty. “Though if I knew all this was going to happen…”

“Ah, don’t worry about it, Carm.” Zack gave a gentle nudge. “ACME’s already on the trail.”

“And Chase is keeping everyone fuelled up on his famous chocolat chaud.”

Carmen looked past them. Unlike the Bostonians, she hadn’t interacted with Jules and the former inspector since that fateful night in Morocco, but she’d heard about their recent nuptials from Zack and Ivy, who attended the courthouse wedding as the couple’s two witnesses.

Chase Devineaux, who had previously been stood in the kitchenette with his back towards them, carried over a tray of steaming red mugs. “I still don’t see how I got put on kitchen duty.”

Player and Shadowsan had made it inside by this point, setting down the bags and suitcases intended for Argentina against the wall. Player cracked his knuckles as he walked back to the sofas – his laptop abandoned on the coffee table – claiming two of the drinks. “Better you than Miss Polypropylene Temple.”

“Mrs Polypropylene Temple.” Julia held up her left hand to display an antique, filigree ring, remaining focused on her work. It amused Carmen that her dispute was solely over the use of incorrect prefix and not in denying the copious amounts of takeaway she consumed; alas, Julia’s terrible secret of her tragic cooking skills was discovered the very moment Chase first walked into work with an upset stomach after eating at her place (or so the story went). “But I agree. The last thing any of us need right now is food poisoning.”

Carmen joined Player on the other sofa, taking the offered mug so he could retrieve his laptop. “I’m really glad to have your help on this, Jules. And congratulations, by the way. To both of you.”

Chase merely smiled in response, sitting beside Julia. “I’m just thankful this wise woman had the foresight to suggest that we delay our honeymoon.”

Carmen nodded. “Player only told us so much on the plane… How is the search going?”

Zack, Ivy and Shadowsan all made their way over, the siblings taking the third unoccupied couch – another recent addition – as Shadowsan stood to the side.

“Rather poorly, I’m afraid,” Julia confessed. “It seems we may have sorely underestimated VILE’s reach, and the lengths some operatives are willing to go to in the name of loyalty to its Faculty. Chief is convinced that Maelstrom had followers on the outside aiding in his plan, so she has taken the liberty of doubling down on efforts to track said operatives. We can only hope that the initial chaos is great enough to increase the margin for error. Player has been rigorously combing the dark web in twenty-minute intervals to be certain nothing gets past us.”

“Looks like ACME’s thought of everything.”

“Almost everything. You and Shadowsan understand VILE in a way we could never hope to. Your incite will be invaluable.”

Carmen thought for a moment, sensing as Shadowsan stepped closer to the group. “If Maelstrom’s the one who arranged the prison breaks, we should expect the worst. He won’t be after payback like Brunt, wealth like Cleo or success like Bellum…”

“He will seek to achieve vengeance by obtaining all three,” Shadowsan concluded. “By laying waste to anyone in his path. By breaking Carmen’s spirit.”

“He can try.” She reached back for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “We’re closer and stronger than we’ve ever been. We have ACME on our side. There isn’t a crack left for him to exploit.”

“Cracks, no,” Player interjected. “Operatives, on the other hand…”

Carmen perked up. “Found something?”

“Someone. Well—” he closed his laptop, “technically not ‘found’, but… i-it’s a start. Looks like VILE’s cast out a line of contact for a specific operative. Some guy known as ‘Revenant’.”

“Reverend?” Zack scratched his head. “VILE has a priest now?”

“Ha! The Villains International League of Evil?” Ivy smirked. “They need divine intervention.”

Chase aspirated something – probably mints – his new wife reaching over to pat his back as the others snickered amongst themselves. Shadowsan crossed his arms to steel himself, pretending he had not also cracked a minuscule smile. However they may have frustrated him at first, the siblings had slowly but surely grown on him. Carmen viewed them as her siblings, which he supposed made them his own honorary children.

“Not Reverend, Revenant. It is a word for someone who is believed to have returned from the dead.”

“Class of 2015…” Carmen mused, holding up her hot chocolate. “Back when the codenames were good—”

“—and not all puns or animal-themed.” Player chinked his mug against hers.

Julia pulled up a file on her laptop. “According to ACME’s database, Revenant was the codename of a Malaysian operative, Aati Rayyan, who worked as a commercial diver along the Asian coastline until his purported death in May 2014.”

Ivy did a double-take. “Wait, he actually died!?”

“On paper, yes. He had been working in South Korea on the morning of April 16, 2014, when a passenger ferry known as the MV Sewol capsized on its journey towards Jeju Island. More than three hundred people died in the accident, including around two hundred and fifty students travelling to the island for a school trip.”

The group shared sorrowful glances, but Shadowsan focused mainly of Carmen. All things considered, she had been so sheltered growing up, and most of the world’s hardships she had experienced had come directly from VILE. Furthermore, he knew for a fact that Revenant spoke little about the tragedy – he suspected the burden of the bloodshed weighed heavily upon his shoulders, just as the time he spent in the Yakuza weighed on him. Carmen’s response was measured, though she naturally wore a look of empathy.

Chase bowed his head, placing a hand over his heart in condolence. “Paix à leurs âmes.”

Julia continued down the entry. “Reports indicate that he was one of three civilian divers to perish whilst searching the wreck for victims. However, his own body was never recovered, and just one week after Aati’s passing, ‘Revenant’ appeared on the dark web, advertising himself as a ship raider for hire.”

Shadowsan nodded. “VILE played no part in the Sewol tragedy, but we were aware of it. The Faculty intercepted Revenant’s calls for employment and deemed him a viable candidate for VILE’s program, both as a professional diver and as someone who would be unlikely to turn on them.”

“I can see why they’d think that,” Julia agreed. “The disaster spawned outrage across the globe, much of which directed at the current government. It would not be far-fetched to believe that Mr Rayyan would have been fervently against working with any government agency after that.”

“Hold on,” Zack interrupted. “This guy was an operative for six years and we’re just hearing about him now? Shouldn’t we’ve at least seen him in Ecuador?”

Everyone looked to Shadowsan, the ninja bobbing his head. “Given his origins, it should not come as a surprise that Revenant holds a particular social conscience towards minors. Upon graduating, he took it upon himself to approach us with an ultimatum: he would steal for VILE, but only under the condition that he would be exempt from harming children.”

Ivy gave a slow whistle. “Gutsy. Foolish, but gutsy.”

“Under normal circumstances, the Faculty would abstain from making such agreements, but we knew we possessed no counter to his skill set, and thus, no other means to control him. As Revenant himself pointed out, he had faked his death once before, and we could not stop him from doing so again if we crossed him. And concerning Ecuador,” Shadowsan turned specifically to Zack, “Maelstrom did attempt to dispatch him there. Fortunately for my position at the time, Revenant continued to view Carmen as a child, even after her defection.”

Carmen smiled fondly. “As far as operatives go, he was actually one of the better ones. He used to take time out of his study schedule to teach me how to fend for myself in the water. Said it’s most important skill a young person should have.”

“I could not agree more,” Chase affirmed, “but Le Fantôme de L'eau is still an operative. One VILE is attempting to locate at this very moment.”

“Speaking of ‘locating’, do we even know what VILE’s after?” Ivy asked. “Chief can’t send agents to guard every shipwreck in the world.”

Julia pondered the question for a moment, adjusting her glasses as she formed a response. “Let’s not forget, the Faculty has only just escaped from prison. They won’t have access to any of their usual resources.”

“Jules is right,” Player agreed. “Even if they have some tech stashed away, it’ll still take time for them to get back to normal. They’ll be acting on survival mode for at least another day or two.”

Chase clicked his tongue. “Then they’ll be looking for an easy target. Something they can steal without drawing attention to themselves.”

“What about their old island?” Zack chimed in. “We know there’s a ton of debris down there from when we went looking for intel on Carm’s bio-dad.”

The Wolf… Shadowsan paled. He only knew by sheer coincidence, his one admission of such witnessed by a single operative who guarded his secret with her life. But there were whispers. He had suspected Maelstrom knew twenty-five years ago but never found proof. Was this it? Would Maelstrom go so far? The question was pointless; of course, he would. Revenge, riches, reprimand. All would be his if he pulled that thread. A thread capable of unravelling Carmen’s whole world…

“Yeah, from when they blew it up!” Ivy ruffled her brother’s hair, Zack groaning as he tried to fix it back into place. “Besides, ACME already combed that area two years ago. What could they possibly hope to find there now?”

Carmen set her mug back on the coffee table. “I don’t know, but it would make sense for them to keep some valuables close to home. Any thoughts, Dad?”

She turned towards Shadowsan, finding only empty space.

Player followed her gaze. “Seriously, how does he keep doing that?”

The room went silent, each of them looking around for any sign of the man. Carmen was the first to find one; downstairs, the back door stood ajar.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low in the sky, the dense cloud-cover painting everything red. Not a warm red, not Carmen’s red. A dark, ominous red like the glare cast by a solar eclipse, minimal and starved of warmth with no obvious point of return. How had it come to this? How – after all these years – had his one remaining secret come to light? He had hoped to take it to his grave, especially after meeting Carlotta. Yet somehow, here he was, knelt on the concrete quay behind Team Red Headquarters, with nowhere left to run.

“You’re off your game.”

Shadowsan looked over his shoulder. Carmen stood behind him, the breeze toying with the locks of her hair too short to tie back. He had not heard her coming – a first for him – which only proved her observation. He had hoped she would not follow him, but he supposed he owed her more credit than that. He turned away from her, back to the foreboding glow. “I… needed some time to collect myself.”

Carmen took off her shoes and sat beside him, her legs dangling over the ledge. The waves were restless, the water lapping at her bare knees. For a long moment, the fitful splashes were the only sound between them, until Carmen broke the silence.

“This is about my father, isn’t it?”

His frown deepened.

“Hey, I thought we agreed no more secrets.”

Though his gaze never left the horizon, Shadowsan’s eyes began to mist. “I am all too aware how difficult it was for you to learn of your connection to VILE. I did not wish to add to that burden with stories of your father’s… misdeeds.”

Carmen had no response at first. It was no secret that she struggled with her father’s identity, especially when so few could find a redeeming quality to speak of. She initially hoped her mother would fill those blanks, but the woman was tight-lipped, changing the subject at the first mention of her birth father. In time, she had grown to tolerate it, instead holding close the broken locket he once left her. A fragile portrait, they both knew.

“You’re trying to protect me, I get it. But VILE’s out. As soon as they have what they’re after, they’ll disappear into the winds, and we’ll never find them again. Our only chance is to beat them to whatever they’re looking for, so if you know what that is, you need to tell me.”

Once again, he avoided meeting her eye, his reluctance as clear as the wrinkles of worry across his face. “It is not that simple.”

Carmen took his hand, offering a reassuring smile. “I’m listening.”

Shadowsan sighed, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. “My year at VILE Academy was much like your own…”

He had once held the title of being VILE’s youngest student, though only on a technicality. Born early in the December of 1977, he was only a few months past nineteen when he first caught the eyes of the Faculty, three dark years into his time with the Yakuza. There was discourse surrounding whether to defer his enrolment to meet the ’20 or older’ criteria, but The Wolf himself had vouched for him; he learned as much from his entrance interview with the man in question, Wolfe mistaking his obedience as ambition.

“Being enrolled under false pretences of desiring a life of crime, I was an outcast amongst my peers, not wishing to partake in any social interactions for fear of being discovered.”

Whereas his peers would take notes and sit through classes with open body language, he was more disengaged, regularly falling into a crossed arms and ankles position until he was called upon. Above all others, Wolfe’s classroom was the most grandiose, designed like an opera theatre with goddess-like statues and gold stage lighting that made even the dust seem to sparkle. Wolfe embodied the space, pretentiously referring to his past spoils as “props” in his demonstrations, enamoured with the spectacle as much as the hunt.

“As was the case for your class, we were not permitted contact with the outside world. When current talking points began to dry up, many students sought gossip from within VILE’s establishment.”

Distant as he was, Shadowsan had at once been wise to subsequent gossip. He had been a focus for some of it, being both the youngest and the only student to possess their own weapon, but his novelty soon wore off with the lack of verbal input. There were numerous inconsequential debates – from Doctor Bellum’s eye colour to whether the Cleaners were secretly robots – but it did not take long for discussion to gravitate towards VILE’s two most theatrical tutors.

“By far the most popular debate of the time was the nature of The Wolf and Countess Cleo’s relationship, being that it was common for goods stolen by your father to wind up in her possession.”

To the best of his knowledge, there was no one inciting incident. Only passing mentions from students of inconsistencies in their respective stories for the hows and whys of VILE’s operations. The two were rarely seen together outside of crossing paths as they returned to the Faculty lounge, yet his peers stood by their theory despite the lack of merit, as if them being seen simultaneously was cause alone to suspect a relationship. Furthermore, if the wider Faculty were aware of the gossip, they made no attempt to quell it. And so the topic persisted, routinely losing and gaining traction right until graduation.

“Some argued against it, citing their apparent age difference, while others drew attention to their frequent banter.”

It was close to 2am on Tuesday 4th November when he was woken by one of his roommates—an American girl, Emily, who would perish during their first year as operatives. She was frantic as she recalled how she had left her EpiPen in Wolfe’s classroom, being that his latest relief teacher was an operative who unironically called herself Night Owl. Those who had also been disturbed showed little concern, but he could not bear to turn his back on her. Infiltrating the “backstage” area of the classroom had been child’s play, locating the instrument even simpler, yet no mere class could have forewarned him of what followed.

“I did not have a hand in such rumours, but my ability to keep to the shadows placed me in a unique position to witness VILE affairs from afar…”

Any fears of being spotted after curfew dispelled when Countess Cleo waltzed into the room, scantily clad in a dark green marabou robe worn over a silk nightgown. The Wolf – clearly having returned only moments ago – followed close behind, one of VILE’s signature briefcases in hand. The conversation that transpired was anyone’s guess, but no sooner had Cleo placed a glittering tiara on her head, Wolfe had pulled her towards him, eagerly kissing her as he steered her behind a closed door. Unbeknown to them, Shadowsan emerged from one of the rounded archways tucked behind the stage, Emily’s EpiPen still clutched in his hand.

“Things that could not easily be explained away.”

The air seemed devoid of oxygen, as if the open space had somehow been sucked dry.

“So… You’re basically saying my father was Cleo’s—” Carmen shuddered, “sugar daddy, or something?”

“Cleo’s knowledge of upper-class crime speaks for itself, and despite appearances, she can fend for herself when absolutely necessary. But her merit as a pickpocket has long been called into question by those who studied alongside her. There was… speculation, that her passing your father’s class may have been an act of favouritism.”

“Wow, okay, um…” She ran a hand over her hair, moving to hold the back of her neck. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Shadowsan bowed his head in second-hand shame. “I am sorry you had to find out this way.”

Carmen took a deep breath, slowly releasing it before getting back on her feet. “It’s in the past, but VILE has to be after something he once stole for her. What was it?”

“A treasure chest?!”

Their reactions were as varied as they were expected. Poor Julia just looked uncomfortable, sat neatly behind her laptop as she attentively listened to every detail. Chase, who sat beside her, was more forthcoming about his disgust, while Player sat cross-legged on the adjacent couch, balancing both his laptop and a sense of morbid curiosity. Zack and Ivy responded the best by far, though in vastly different ways; Ivy held herself like she was watching a soap-opera, only missing an oversized bowl of popcorn, while Zack’s face was incandescent with excitement, his focus directed solely at the subject of their unfolding caper.

Carmen nodded, perched on the opposite arm of Player’s couch while Shadowsan stood behind her. “Cleo kept her composure in front of the Faculty, but behind closed doors, she was the epitome of a woman scorned. Anything my father stole that was kept on the island ended up in an air-tight storage chest she had lying around.”

“Yo, she found out her man cheated and threw a hissy fit by dumping his stuff in the ocean?!” Ivy could barely contain herself – practically cackling at the development – enjoying the drama a little too much. “It’s in-character, I’ll give her that.”

“Technically speaking, she had the Cleaners dispose of it,” Shadowsan corrected. “I suspect she presumed the rest of us were none the wiser.”

“So VILE’s trading the ‘V’ for an ‘X’, as in ‘x marks the spot’…” Player quipped as he went back to typing. “Not surprising after Egypt.”

Julia adjusted herself, relaxing slightly. “While I doubt she would have been gentle with any of those items, the contents of that chest could be worth millions combined.”

“I would say it is more than likely,” Shadowsan agreed. “Wolfe disappeared for a few days around Halloween and returned with what he claimed to be a priceless crown. Countess Cleo wore it to her classes for a month after that, so it would almost certainly be included.”

Chase harrumphed at the thought. “And Chief accused me of having an ego. Though I’m surprised such a theft did not garner more attention. A footnote, at least.”

“There actually was a crown stolen that year, or more accurately, a tiara.” Julia directed their attention to the main screen, which now displayed images of an intricate tiara encrusted with countless rubies and diamonds. “The Libertad de Corazón was a nineteenth century piece once belonging to a Belgian princess, famously known as Carlota of Mexico, wife of the second Emperor. It was first discovered in Veracruz, where it was to be displayed for the first time at the Castle of San Juan de Ulúa from the 2nd of November.”

“Whoa, Day of the Dead?” Ivy, having finally calmed down, shrugged a shoulder at the news. “I guess it makes sense for a museum unveiling.”

“It was conscious decision made by the museum to honour a late colleague, though those plans were never realised. Museum security discovered the morning of the unveiling that the tiara had been stolen, most likely the night before.”

“Using the festivities of a national holiday to make away with stolen goods,” Carmen mused. “It’s Textbook VILE.”

Zack nodded. “Probably worth a fortune too, and that’s without knowing what else Cleo threw out.”

Julia adjusted her glasses. “It doesn’t appear to have been professionally valued, though an item as rare and valuable as this could easily fetch somewhere around two or three million pounds.”

Shadowsan remained quiet. Something felt amiss, distorted somehow, as though he were looking at the coloured pixels of a far greater picture. A castle, a deceased history enthusiast, Carlotta… He shook his head, attempting to rid himself of that last thought. Now was not the time to let his feelings cloud his judgment. Whatever he thought he was seeing, there must be another explanation. One that did not include Carmen’s mother.

Player set his laptop on the coffee table. “Okay. I know this doesn’t help us now, but does anyone else find this whole thing just a little bit… I don’t know, strange?”

Carmen turned to her oldest friend. “What are you thinking?”

He planted himself to make his case. “Wolfe stole a tiara, that almost no one knew about, the night before its public debut. Sure, the event would’ve been advertised, but not in any great detail. It doesn’t make sense for it to be an inside job because one—the informant gets nothing out of it, and two—it just creates loose ends to be tied off. We also know The Wolf acted on all his own capers, but he’d have to plan ahead somehow. So, where exactly did he get his intel from?”

“It is a mystery…” Julia admitted. “I suppose the only immediate theory is that there was a spy within the research team or museum security.”

“Another double agent like Roundabout.”

“Then we must find the names of all those with clearance.” Chase bounded from his seat, striking his usual determined pose. “See if we can’t find ourselves le mouchard.”

Julia nodded in agreement. Within minutes, an alphabetised list of researchers, guards and other relevant individuals began to appear on the main screen. Zack ran down the list of names, holding a finger aloft as he read one aloud. “Ju-lio Val-dez. Hey, like Julia!”

“Bro, it’s a Spanish name.” Ivy punched his arm. “It’d be pronounced ‘hu’. You know, more like—”

“Julieta.”

Everyone turned. They all knew by now – if not from ACME, then from Carmen herself – but they rarely acknowledged it. She was Carmen, their Carmen. Calling her anything else seemed like a crime in and of itself. But they still knew that behind the monikers of Carmen Sandiego and Black Sheep lay her innermost self, and with it, her given name: Julieta Valdez.

Carmen slipped off the sofa, stumbling as she got to her feet. The look on her face could be described only as pure horror, rendering her almost too petrified to speak. “My mother named me after my grandfather…”

Julia spent a few more moments typing, then released a small, sad sigh. “Julio Valdez was an antiquarian who specialised in royal history, most notably the two failed empires of Mexico. He was the foremost authority on the life and times of Empress Carlota, as well as the tiara’s most dedicated researcher. He passed away in the September of 1996, before it could be authenticated, but this photograph shows him with the rest of his team… and his daughter.”

She double-tapped the mouse pad, and a new photo appeared on the main screen. Shadowsan’s stomach churned as a younger, happier Carlotta smiled back at him. She looked to be about eighteen here, svelte and poised with her right hand draped over her father’s forearm. He too looked older – wearier and more unkempt – as they stood beside a glass display case, the aforementioned tiara glistening within. ‘This time of year…’ She had been referring to her father’s death. He could not remember his own parents’ passing, nor had he really known them to begin with, but he had felt their absence for decades afterwards. It stood to reason that she would still be grieving the loss of hers.

“That is him. Carlotta showed me his photo this morning.”

Carmen shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t understand. She would never affiliate herself with VILE.”

Chase turned to Julia as she scrolled down the page, her expression growing more despondent the further she read. “Julia, ma chéri… Is there any chance we’re wrong?”

“Plans to honour Julio’s passing were announced alongside the authentication.” Julia set her laptop aside. “Suppose Wolfe specifically targeted Miss Valdez. He paints himself in her father’s image—cultured, intelligent, well-travelled… As their relationship develops, she speaks more freely of her father and his achievements. Accessing Carlotta would mean accessing Julio’s field journals, from which Wolfe could source all the intel needed to plot a foolproof caper, all the while taking care to distance Carlotta from the area by moving her to Argentina.”

Ivy bit the inside of her lip. “I hate to say it, Carm, but the timing’s a little too perfect.”

Carmen gasped, staggering back. “No…”

“Red? What is it?”

“Jules, nine months after the heist, what date was that?”

“Nine months from November, that would be…” she counted it out in her mind, “the 1st of August.”

Carmen was shaking now. “My father was meant to be coming back for my birth, but Mom went into labour a month early from the stress.”

“On July 1st.”

Once again, everyone fell silent, powerless to stop the circling firestorm. They watched helplessly as Carmen tumbled back onto the couch; her soft voice laced with venom. “He got her pregnant… hours before he stole that tiara.”

Shadowsan grit his teeth. He kept his wits about him – he had to, for Carmen’s sake – but inside, he was seething. Unlike her, he had been privy to Wolfe’s actions when the heist was over, and the damage done. At that time, at least, The Wolf showed no remorse; quite the opposite in fact. He delighted in the questions posed in his classes, basked in the glory without ever elaborating on the execution, and any mention of Cleo seemed to elicit a smug sense of satisfaction. Shadowsan found it deplorable even back then, but now, with the full context of what had transpired? He could count on one hand the times he had felt such fury, and this trumped them all.

Julia took out her ACME-issued phone, no doubt checking their transit calculation app. “The approximate flight time from Argentina to Mexico is nine hours, but you would gain back three of those from the change in time zones. Wolfe could have easily boarded a plane late on the morning of the 1st, flown to Mexico and arrived in Veracruz with plenty of time to spare.”

“He must have passed through Buenos Aires to ensure Mademoiselle Valdez did not suspect something,” Chase concluded.

Carmen struggled to catch her breath, holding her head in her hands. “I feel sick…”

“I’ll get you some water.” Player jumped up and ran to the kitchenette, allowing Shadowsan to take his place.

She shuffled closer. “I mean, I knew he was VILE, but I didn’t realise he could be so… cruel.”

“Had he not already been Faculty, he would have earned his place five times over.”

“Did they know? About Abuelo, my mom—!”

Shadowsan shook his head. “Your father prided himself on keeping the details of this particular caper to himself.”

Player returned with a full glass, carefully handing it to Carmen before sitting on the floor in front of his discharged laptop. The glass shook in her hands, spilling slightly as she took a sip.

“That tiara was my grandfather’s life’s work. We have to get it back.”

Zack and Ivy both reached across the table, each resting a supportive hand on her own.

“We’re with you, Carm, but it’s been over twenty years…”

“It could be anywhere by now.”

She was still shaking – albeit not as violently – the water in her glass swirling in fitful, uneven circles. Carmen’s brow furrowed. “No, not anywhere… Dad, where exactly did the Cleaners dump that chest?”

“They would not have travelled far. Likely just a few miles to the east.”

“Then they probably dropped it straight into the Canary Current.” Carmen turned to the others. “That channel is part of a loop that circles the North Atlantic. Regardless of how long it’s been, it would have to be somewhere on that loop.”

“You may be onto something, Red. I just intercepted fresh chatter.” The hacker urgently tapped at his keyboard. “Arrangements are being made to quietly bring VILE’s Faculty to Miami, Florida. Word is that they intend to seek assistance from a local expert.”

Chase scoffed. “No doubt, by ‘assistance’ they mean they plan to kidnap someone.”

“They would need someone knowledgeable in the structure and dynamics of ocean circulation.” Julia retrieved her laptop. “They may be targeting someone from the Florida Institute of Oceanography, but that’s located in St. Petersburg, roughly four hours to the north-west.”

“We all know VILE loves a smokescreen, and I just found one.” Player leaned back against the sofa base, smiling confidently as he crossed his arms. “Anyone care to guess what September 19th is?”

Zack raised a hand. “Oh, your birthday! No, Peppers and Onions Day?”

“Nope.”

Chase walked over to look at Player’s laptop, leaning in as he read the screen. “International… Talk Like a Pirate Day?”

Ivy rolled her eyes as her brother’s widened. “And here’s where we lose Zack…”

“It’s not all fun and games, Ivy,” Player replied. “The Miami Beach Convention Center is hosting a two-day pirate extravagance this weekend to raise money for a nearby children’s hospital. They’re expecting at least five thousand people to attend.”

“We have a match.” Julia shared a woman’s photo to the main screen. “Elfie Ross – she’s a physical oceanographer and avid fan of pirate culture. Much of her social media feed for the past week has been dedicated to the event, primarily her progress in making her costume.”

Chase bobbed his head as he took in her words. “Then VILE will have no problem identifying her.”

Shadowsan turned back to Carmen. She had been unusually quiet throughout the exchange but now got to her feet, setting the glass down with a heavy ‘thud’.

“Batten down the hatches, crew. We’re off to Florida.”

Chapter Text

Carmen had always said that chilling made her fidgety. It was more of an issue during the early days of their fight against VILE, when things were still uncertain and she wasn’t aware of Shadowsan’s efforts to stack the deck in her favour. Things were still tense even after that, but the ninja’s defection had created a sense of reprieve, granting her moments to catch her breath. The more involved he became – and the more that involvement began to rub off on Zack and Ivy – the more she felt safe to relax, and over the two years following VILE’s fall, the more she learned to accept the quiet moments. But that feeling of nervousness had never fully left her, and this – despite appearances – was certainly not a quiet moment.

Most of the past two days had been spent in an oversized, off-shoulder red sweater and her favourite, fox-print pyjama pants; the outfit had become her go-to loungewear (especially throughout the winter months she’d spent in Japan), but it brought her little comfort now. Carmen and her crew – naturally minus Player – left San Diego at around 10pm on Thursday night, catching a red-eye flight to Miami before finally reaching their hotel at 6am the next morning. The four ACME agents fared decently enough, but after three days of recurrent travelling, she and Shadowsan both crashed hard, sleeping for the majority of Friday while Julia took over leading the team in their absence. Shadowsan had recovered fairly quickly, but Carmen was still a little out of it, so she relented in taking Saturday to continue resting.

She idled alone in the South Beach hotel room. Whoever designed it hadn’t pulled their punches when capturing the beachside-aesthetic; the suite was fully furnished with sandy timber, white linens and ocean décor. The nautical string lights in the bedrooms were a nice touch (once it was dark enough to use them), and even she was tempted to steal one of the ceramic whale soap dishes, but otherwise the space felt too impersonal to relax in. It almost reminded her of a dentist’s office, or what Professor Maelstrom’s classroom might have looked like with an excessive amount of lighting. Not exactly a tranquillity-inspiring image…

Carmen groaned, finally pushing herself out of her king-single bed. What point was there in lying awake, staring into the very blemishes of the ceiling’s paintwork for hours on end? For all ACME’s attempts to track incoming planes, boats and other transit vehicles, none of the Faculty had been stopped at any of the state’s borders. They’d be here by now, laying low in some crumby motel, stalking Doctor Ross’s socials for updates on her convention plans. Granted, they’d been keeping tabs on her too – thankfully she only planned to attend on Sunday, before driving up the coast for a few days of park-hopping around Walt Disney World – but still… The silence was working on her last nerve, her mind fighting back the ever-habitual thoughts of just how much was at stake.

Entering the main room, she made her way to the seating area, snagging her laptop from the dining table as she passed. She then settled into one of the scallop shell armchairs, positioning the device on her lap as she started up the videocall.

It connected straight away, revealing Player in his room at HQ. “Hey, Red. How’s the jet lag treating you?”

“I think I’m starting to come around. Going a little stir-crazy though…”

“I take it the others aren’t back?”

“Not yet.” The others had their individual assignments – drafted by herself and Julia – all centred around gathering intel on the convention building to help strategise the following day’s rescue mission. “Any updates on VILE?”

“Quiet as a rip. They must’ve found Revenant by now.”

Carmen sighed, “Okay, just… keep trying, I guess.”

Player offered her a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry, Red. If something drops, you’ll be the first to know. But you should try to take your mind off things for a bit.”

“I’m just thinking about Mom.” She repositioned herself in her chair, placing the laptop on the coffee table so she could bring her knees up to her chest. “The sooner we stop the Faculty, the less she has to worry.”

“I get it. But since you bring her up, I’ve been doing a deep dive of my own into your mother’s namesake.”

“Carlota of Mexico?”

“I can totally see why your grandfather would’ve named his daughter after her.”

Player’s video feed minimised, replaced with numerous images and textboxes. A variety of oil portraits, black-and-white photographs and other documents popped up on the screen, many displaying a beautiful, fair-skinned woman dressed in garments of white and red.

“Born as Princess Charlotte in 1840, she was the only daughter of Leopold I, the very first king of the recently established state of Belgium. She herself was named after his first wife, the late Princess Charlotte of Wales, and she was arguably his favourite child.”

“Sounds like she was a daddy’s girl.”

“Not unlike yourself. W-with Shadowsan, I mean!”

Carmen smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Any other day, she wouldn’t have needed the clarification, but she still appreciated that he’d think to add it. She turned her attention back to one of the photographs onscreen.

“She married Archduke Maximilian of Austria. The couple spent time in both Vienna and Italy, before accepting a request by Napoleon III to rule his proposed French Empire in Mexico.”

“Get this—the newly dubbed ‘Carlota of Mexico’ took her role as Empress pretty seriously. She made a point of learning Spanish, visited prominent Mayan ruins and even formed a genuine interest in Mexican culture.”

“It says here that she was also quite the writer. She’s believed to have written thousands of letters in her lifetime, many of which were saved and can still be viewed in museums today.”

“Though you might be interested in one in particular, Red. In 1856, her sixteenth year, King Leopold gifted her a diamond and ruby tiara alongside his blessing for her to choose her own husband. The only record of its existence is a single letter from the young princess—you won’t find it in any museum, but that letter was the most crucial piece of evidence Julio used to prove the tiara was legit, and also inspired his decision for its official name…”

“Libertad de Corazón,” Carmen recited, “Spanish for ‘Freedom of Heart’.”

“According to your grandfather’s research, it’s possible the tiara may have been lost when Carlota and her husband first arrived in Veracruz. Not everyone was thrilled about the idea of a second empire, and when the threat of war with Prussia reached France, Napoleon choose to withdraw military support from Mexico, leaving the rulers to fend for themselves.”

“It’s a miracle the tiara survived all that.”

“Not when you consider who it belonged to. In a desperate bid to save the regime, Carlota set sail on a solo mission to speak personally with Napoleon, and when that didn’t work, she continued across Europe, determined to drum up support from the other royal dynasties.”

“Talk about a trouper.”

“You have no idea, Red.”

The images and textboxes disappeared as the video feed returned, revealing Player’s solemn expression. “When her mission failed, her mental state deteriorated. Modern psychology didn’t exist back then, but experts today believe she had paranoid schizophrenia. She was confined within different palaces across Belgium until her death in 1927.”

That poor woman… Carmen lowered her head. To think what she must have gone through; shipped all the way to Mexico, only to be abandoned at the first sign of unrest. To be so sick in a time when no one knew how to help her. Locked away with next to no visitors, and no one who truly understood what she’d already faced. Never knowing who to trust or what to believe, left only with the soured dreams of a life and love stolen from her.

“She suffered so much, Player.”

His expression was… complex, shifting from knowing to sympathy to something else entirely. “Well, think of it this way. She lived another fifty years without medication or any other support. It may not have been a great life, but she must’ve had some crazy will to live to last that long. I think that’s worth remembering.”

“She was a fighter. Just like my mother.”

Player remained quiet, taking a moment to earnestly mull over his response, then took a deep breath. “Carmen… I just want you to know that—”

Buzz. The hotel door opened, Shadowsan walking in as he tucked his room card back into his wallet. Carmen straightened, quietly willing herself to appear normal and not like she’d been close to tears.

“Hey, Dad.”

He gave them both a sceptical look. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, we were just talking.”

“About the caper!” Player interjected, suddenly frantic. “You know… VILE, leads, intel… N-normal stuff.”

Carmen turned back to her laptop, throwing Player a silent “what!” at his attempts to oversell what had essentially been a perfectly normal conversation. He grinned sheepishly, flicking glances between her and the ninja.

“I see.” Shadowsan came to sit in one of the adjacent chairs, Carmen adjusting the laptop to fit him into the frame.

“How did the perimeter check go?”

“I am certain event organisers would presume the venue is secure.”

“Meaning that it isn’t.”

Shadowsan shook his head. “If I could find a way inside without detection, so can VILE.”

The door slammed opened, this time at Ivy’s hand. Though to be fair, it was more likely a combination of hip and foot; she teetered blindly into the room, her arms laden up to her eye-level with an assortment of pirate-themed merch.

“Whoa.” Player slouched back at his chair. “Speaking of being undetectable…”

“Zack is taking this ‘typical convention goer’ disguise way too far.”

Ivy dumped everything on the dining table, only for Zack to enter with even more items, mostly toy swords and plushies by the looks of it.

“C’mon, Ivy! It’s for charity.”

“You blew an entire pay check!”

“And you stopped to film a sword fighting demonstration between a cosplayer and her service dog.”

“While mapping the interior layout, like Carmen asked us too.”

“Okay, okay! Let’s just calm down.” She rose from her chair, holding her hands up. “And Ivy, I’m going to need that video.”

“Thought it might cheer you up.” Ivy’s smile wavered. “You know, with everything going on…”

“Yeah, and I got you this…” Zack retrieved a red lobster Squishmallow from his own pile, the word ‘clawsome’ embroidered across its belly in silver and black thread.

“I’m fine, really.” Carmen took the plush regardless, hugging it to her chest. “But thank you.”

None of them seemed particularly convinced, the trio exchanging looks as if waiting to see who would be the first to call her out. She didn’t give them the chance, quickly turning to survey the convention loot. “Did you seriously buy a katana?”

“Heck, yeah!” Zack leaned against the back of Shadowsan’s chair. “We had to find some way to jazz up Shadowsan’s pirate garb.”

“I might be able to help with that.”

Julia entered through the open door, Chase following close behind and shutting it after them. Shadowsan stood to meet her; he was prepared to play the part – to dress for it even – but he had adamantly refused to partake in typical Western pirate attire, so Julia had taken it upon herself to spend the day scouring op-shops and specialty stores trying to construct a wokou-inspired look at exceedingly short notice.

“I’m unsure how culturally accurate these are, but they should be enough to make your disguise more authentic.” She handed him a jingasa hat fashioned from stained bamboo, accompanied with a black, leather utility belt.

“Thank you, Julia.” He gave her a genuine smile. “Your efforts are greatly appreciated.”

“And Carmen,” Julia turned to face her, holding up a full bag, “these should do the trick for you. Red, black and gold, just as you wanted.”

“Great looking out, Jules.” Carmen took the bag, holding the lobster plush under her other arm as she briefly inspected the contents. “You too, Zack. I don’t know how much of this we can use, but I’m sure the hospital kids will appreciate the funds.”

“No sweat, Carm.” Zack flopped into the seat previously occupied by Shadowsan. “I figured I could stockpile the toys for your mom’s kids for Christmas.”

She smiled warily before continuing. “Okay, so we have the floor plan, the layout, the intel and the disguises. All that’s left is to map out our escape route. We can’t afford to take chances with that many civilians in the mix.”

“Consider it done, Carmen.” Chase pulled a folded map from his suit jacket, laying it out across the table. “I have memorised all roads leading to and from the convention centre, and there are a dozen parking lots within the immediate vicinity. I will secure a spot at first light in case we have need for a quick getaway.”

“Good to know.” She glanced around the group – her ever-faithful team – before locking eyes with Player, the boy still harbouring an air of concern. “With Maelstrom pulling the strings, who knows what we’ll be up against…”

Maelstrom stood outside, eyes closed and arms behind his back as rain fell from the mounting clouds above. Around him roared a cacophony of sound – thunder, breaking glass, crying babies and indistinct, static chatter – but he stood firm in the centre of it all. For a man on the run, he was the picture of serenity (at least in his own mind); the average passer-by might have thought him a hallucination, almost floating in the poor motel lighting.

He only looked up at the sound of tires slowing along the wet asphalt. A charcoal Toyota Camry pulled into the empty lot, parking two spaces over from a generic white van. From it, a hooded figure emerged, standing tall enough to match his height. The red signage lights above glowed in the man’s pupils, his eyes so dark a brown they appeared black and soulless.

“Salaam.”

“Chasing ghosts?” The stranger removed his hood. “Maybe ACME was on to something locking you in a psych ward.”

Maelstrom tutted. “My unique mental capabilities are of better use out here. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The younger man didn’t respond, instead retrieving his belongings from the passenger seat. He slung a green backpack over one shoulder, then slammed and locked the car door.

“Plates were lifted from a same make and model. Keep a low profile and you shouldn’t have any issues.”

“Thank you, Revenant. And here is my gift to you.”

Maelstrom gestured to the van, its keys already in the ignition. Revenant sauntered towards it, then opened the loading door. Within the bulkheads, multiple high-grade air tanks were neatly stored, the appropriate stickers labelling each.

“This works.” He tossed the older man the Toyota keys. “If your score’s down there, I can find it. But you’ll need to get me a search grid.”

“You shall have it soon enough. My colleagues and I are more than ready for tomorrow.”

The former professor began to leave. Revenant watched him for a moment, eyeing him up and down, from his high-held head to his imposing strides. He showed no sign of concern, content enough to idle in the blood-red rain and flickering light as the puddles rippled beneath his confident steps.

“Sandiego?”

Maelstrom stopped dead in his tracks, turning back to reveal a Cheshire grin. “If the Lady in Red is on to us, it can only be because the Traitor has told her our little secret. Her father’s infidelity will certainly be a difficult truth for her honourable heart to bear.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Maelstrom. Might be wise to check your vitals.”

He caught the double meaning and scoffed. “Let me assure you, my plan is foolproof.”

Revenant gave an unfazed shrug, closing the van’s loading door. “You may be a genius, but you’re still just a man. The tank bottoms out for everyone eventually.”

Chapter Text

Carmen’s stomach churned. Subconsciously, she knew she should’ve skipped breakfast, but she also knew the outcome said action would have resulted in. Zack at least would’ve mentioned it, doubling the already 11 in 10 chance of Shadowsan noticing the unusual behaviour. She already felt as though something was eating her stomach, and consuming food had only made the feeling more pronounced. She tried her best to ignore it, but her gut felt heavy from the added weight, and she only hoped that wasn’t reflected in her face.

The morning had been mostly relaxed. They all got up early to get themselves organised (which proved most challenging for Zack, due to his copious amounts of merchandise), before Chase set out to secure parking near the convention, the majority of their baggage packed into the trunk. After breakfast, they retreated to their rooms to change, an exercise that took the longest for Carmen. It wasn’t so much that her disguise was particularly complex – a simple, red handkerchief dress that she styled up with a corset belt, her usual black boots, and a dark burgundy trench coat – but too much time was spent standing in front of the mirror, overanalysing each golden accessory Julia had procured for her. Not that the others seemed to mind. They made use of the time by helping Julia tidy the hotel suite, as well as zip-tying Shadowsan’s katana tightly within its sheath with convention zip-ties Zack and Ivy managed to sneak past staff the day before. They were out the door by 9:50am, leaving Julia to check them out, and by the end of their ten-minute walk from the hotel, it appeared as though the convention doors had only just been opened.

Zack and Ivy waited in the foyer as Carmen and Shadowsan received their wristbands, then the four made their way to Level 1, Hall C – “Get it? Hall ‘Sea’,” Zack once again reminded them. Being both a Sunday and the second day of the convention, the crowds were notably smaller than those present in Ivy’s videos. Smaller, but not non-existent. Hundreds of people weaved through the stalls, ranging from the basic pirate-inspired t-shirts like those Zack and Ivy chose to wear to elaborate outfits scarcely seen outside of high-graphic video games. Within seconds, Carmen spotted at least a dozen notable characters (cosplayed with varying degrees of accuracy) from both the texts she’d learned in childhood and the movies she’d been introduced to in recent years. One woman bounded through the crowd like a real-life Captain Amelia, with a perfect costume to match, at once reminding Carmen of little Estrella back at the orphanage. Her nausea worsened, though she hid it well.

Ivy ducked behind Zack and Shadowsan, discreetly activating Red Drone for Player to sync with. The drone slipped by unnoticed, soon hovering amongst the colourful banners hung around the venue.

“Heads up, gang. Our pirate enthusiast just posted a new selfie.”

They each took out their phones. They’d already memorised the numerous pieces of the doctor’s costume from her social media page, right down to the woollen beanie and tattered red sash, but those work-in-progress images couldn’t compare to seeing the look in its entirety. Her dirty blonde hair splayed outwards, pearls hanging from large hoop earrings. Her prized and oversized cobalt blue coat hung from her shoulders, framing her ruffled white blouse, baggy trousers and buckled boots. She truly looked the part of a wave-worn pirate, holding herself with a brooding – almost masculine – stance, complete with a plethora of fake weapons that had already been zip-tied as safe by staff.

Carmen zoomed in on the background of the photo and frowned. “She’s in the building.”

“Time is of the essence,” Shadowsan stated. “Our enemy will not hesitate to begin combing the area.”

Ivy struck her fist against her opposite palm. “Then we stick to the plan—”

“—fan out, regroup in the middle—”

“—and reel in our catch.” Zack concluded, high fiving his sister.

With one final, unanimous nod, the group split up, Zack and Ivy veering off in their usual pair as Shadowsan vanished from view. Each of them had their own predetermined routes, the four parties set adrift to scour the vast hall. As such, Carmen made her way towards the back of the venue, averting her eyes from every individual she passed.

She reached for her tricorn hat, hiding – or rather trying to – her face behind the lavish feathers spilling over the side as she searched the crowds. It felt strange to be on the field again. She had certainly missed the challenge, but not the discomfort. It didn’t help either that she was only just returning after two years out of the game; rounds of hide-and-seek at the orphanage and occasional sparing sessions with Shadowsan could only keep her so sharp.

Ivy spoke up over their intercoms. “Anyone spotted her yet?”

“Nothing from up here. It doesn’t help that there’s so much on offer.”

“Could we use that?” Zack asked. “Like, target something specific?”

“Hard to say.” Carmen skirted around a trio of Captain Hooks, the men laughing as they pointed at each other while a staff member photographed them. “It’s probably too early for her to hit the food stands, but we don’t know enough about her personality to know what she might prioritise…”

Shadowsan joined the conversation. “We know her interest expands beyond mere legends.”

“They do have a small selection of medieval weaponry on display,” Player interjected. “South wall, second-front quarter.”

“Zack and I saw that yesterday. The guy running it said they’re from the ‘Golden Age’ of piracy.”

“Sounds like something that’d interest our doctor.”

“I will check.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Zack cut back in. “So, Carm, what’s the plan for after we find her? On a grander scale, I mean. Obviously, we need to get her out the building, but the North Atlantic’s still a big area to search.”

“Jules is seeing about arranging a boat for us. With any luck, Doctor Ross will be able to use her knowledge to mathematically determine how far the chest could’ve travelled.”

Ivy seemed to hesitate. “Is that even possible? Anything could’ve happened in the last twenty-four years.”

“Well, we can probably rule out a lot of the African and American coastlines,” Player reasoned. “Africa’s would be too close to the original drop-zone and America’s has probably been picked clean already.”

Zack suddenly gasped, “Wouldn’t it be great if it ended up in the Caribbean? The ultimate pirate adventure!”

Carmen chuckled a little. His enthusiasm was truly infectious sometimes, serving well to help settle her nerves. “Sorry, Zack, the Caribbean Sea isn’t part of the North Atlantic circuit.”

“Eh, no problem. We can still make an adventure out of it.”

Shadowsan’s voice returned. “I have located Ross. We are near the historical display.”

Carmen sighed, the last of her tension washing away. “Heading your way now. See if you can convince her to leave on her own accord. Everyone else, be on the lookout for VILE.”

“Way ahead of you, Red.”

“You got it, Boss.”

“Shout if you need us, Carm.”

Carmen smiled to herself, silencing her intercom. Maybe she was just overreacting. She had her team behind her, they’d already found Doctor Ross less than ten minutes into the convention, and they still had hours of daylight left. Everything was running smoothly, just like she remembered in their heydays. No need to rock the boat with unnecessary self-deprecation… right?

She turned towards the south wall, then stopped. A flash of green passed through the crowds near the far end of the hall, and not the darker shades of the colour typical for pirate attire. It sailed through like a flagship, before disappearing as though only a glint on the waves.

Carmen reached for her earring, but she hesitated to activate it. The last time she received a shocking revelation about the past she thought she knew had been that long ago night in Poitiers, which was promptly followed by a week of seeing imaginary Shadowsans everywhere she looked. She knew she was off her game, and the stakes were lower back in Prague. Wouldn’t Player have said something if it were anything other than her own imagination?

No, she decided, lowering her hand. She couldn’t send the others on a wild goose chase. Not yet, not until she knew for sure…

The woman stood out in a crowd. Even without the prior knowledge of her costume, Doctor Ross was immediately recognisable from the photos on the Institute’s website. She was easily his height – perhaps a little taller with the additional three-inch heels – manoeuvring the tight spaces and various display tables with an impressive amount of skill. It eased his mind that she could likely hold her own to a limited degree, but he saw it wiser not to take chances, especially having sensed a distinct unrest in Carmen those past few days.

Shadowsan tapped her on the shoulder. “Doctor Ross?”

She span on her heel, taking a long moment to glance over his less-than-typical pirate attire. Satisfied, she rested a hand on her hip. “The name be Captain Elfie. What can I do ye for on this jolly day?”

Right… ‘Talk Like a Pirate’. It was an oversight on his part; an avid pirate enthusiast at a themed convention would most certainly be using the dialect. He supressed a huff, guiding her to one side. “Doctor Ross, I need to ask you to leave.”

The woman reeled back in shock, promptly crossing her arms. “Stand down, sailor. I took a week off work to go on account.”

“We have reason to believe your safety has been compromised.”

She raised an eyebrow. “‘We’?”

“My…” he searched for a publicly appropriate term, “crew, and I.”

Elfie relaxed, her defensiveness falling away like unfurling sails. Perhaps his warnings had sunk in. True, the circumstances for delivering such news were less than ideal, but with any luck, she would see the severity of—

“Ah, ye be sayin’ some rapscallions put a bounty to me name.”

Shadowsan scowled at her impish grin. “That is not what I meant.”

“Bah! Let the scurvy dogs bark! I’d like to see ‘em tussle with the likes of Captain Elfie.” She made a point of holding open one of the front panels of her coat, displaying her full ‘weaponry’. Dual swords were strapped around her waist, a pirate’s rifle hanging from her belt loop and numerous miniature daggers poking out of each pocket. An impressive arsenal by pretend-pirate standards, but utterly useless against VILE. “But worry not, sailor, I’ll keep me deadlights open to be sure.”

Shadowsan growled. “Doctor, please—”

She held up a hand to silence him. “Appreciate the shot across the bow, Old Salt, but I ain’t just found me sea legs. Whatever danger be lurkin’, I’ll crush ‘em barnacles.”

With that, Elfie walked away, going back to browsing the relics on display. Shadowsan huffed. Carmen had more patience for such antics than he did, not to mention the experience of negotiating with the children beneath her mother’s wings. She had said she was heading in their direction, so he would have her assistance soon enough.

“Shadowsan!”

Player’s voice gave him pause. He had not often heard the boy quite so urgent, and he stepped away to respond. “Player, what is wrong?”

“I have eyes on Coach Brunt.”

Shadowsan’s chest tightened. “Where?”

The stage had been constructed in the north-east corner of the hall. According to Zack and Ivy, the setup had been used for most of the smaller events on the convention’s program – from private panels to more public spectacles – thick, weighted curtains periodically closed and drawn throughout the previous day. A few more events were scheduled for that afternoon, but for now, the secluded area stood unguarded.

Carmen slipped through the barricade and wandered in. Thirty chairs sat parallel to the east wall in neat six-by-five formation, all facing the empty stage, the area separated from the busy concourse by the velvet curtains. She was certain she saw Brunt come this way (or rather a vision of her), but it really didn’t surprise her not to find anyone. Her senses had been off before, her reason foggy. The colour she thought she saw didn’t even match Brunt’s hair, which had probably lost its dye by now anyway. She was overreacting. Looking for danger that wasn’t there. She shook her head, ready to walk away.

“Ahoy there.”

Carmen whipped around. The curtains rippled as Brunt pushed through. She mostly looked the same, wearing a tracksuit similar to her old one, but the years were evident in her deepened wrinkles, fresh scar through her eyebrow and poorly-dyed green hair. They hadn’t come face-to-face since she departed Scotland; a memory Carmen didn’t care to dwell on.

“Coach Brunt…” She backed away. She raised her hackles in attempts to hide her nerves. “Shouldn’t you be in jail?”

“Is that what you wanted, lambkins?” Brunt scoffed. “To see your family behind bars?”

Carmen frowned and narrowed her eyes. “You’re not my family.”

“Oh, aren’t we? We only fed you, clothed you, raised you—”

“Shadowsan raised me, and he’s with Doctor Ross right now, so you might as well turn yourself in.”

Brunt laughed – a full, unrestricted sound that turned Carmen’s stomach. She’d heard Brunt laugh many times before – it was one of her favourites growing up – but time had distorted the melody. Actually, scratch that; it had revealed the true siren scream behind what she once thought of as a melody.

“Well then,” Brunt cracked her shoulder joints, “lucky I didn’t come for her.”

She frantically looked around as Brunt approached. A forgotten toy sword lay discarded in the corner. Carmen made a break for it, dodging chairs, sliding across the floor. She snagged it, holding it over her head as she pushed herself to her knees. Brunt knocked it clean from her hands, plastic cracking as it struck the ground, then pounced.

Carmen managed to outmanoeuvre her attacks, Brunt stumbling over her own feet as the younger woman sprang off the wall. She landed on one of the chairs, then leapt into a backflip as Brunt hurled another towards her. It sent the surrounding ones flying, tipping around Carmen like bowling pins as she stuck the landing.

“You just don’t know when to quit. Do you, little Black Sheep?”

“I didn’t start this fight.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t.” Brunt sauntered towards her, her hulking frame blocking out the overhead lights. “Your daddy started it when he up and walked out on us. Guess the green apple don’t fall far from the tree…”

Carmen sucked in a breath. It’s just talk, she told herself. Attempts to get in my head.

Recognition flashed in Brunt’s eyes, and she lunged.

His grip tightened around his phone as Carmen narrowly dodged the attack. The excess of convention noise made hearing the comment impossible, but whatever Brunt had said visibly struck a nerve. Shadowsan watched on helplessly as Carmen – unaware of Red Drone’s presence – made a desperate reach for her intercom, only to be forced to deflect another swing from Brunt. She fell back into the curtain, drawing it slightly as she swung to avoid another blow.

“Red won’t be able to hold her off for long…”

“Shadowsan can take her though, right?”

“But bro, what about Ross?”

Shadowsan tensed. A petite woman edged through the crowd in full costume. Though clearly still a pirate, her attire had a distinctly futuristic design to it; she wore an old lab coat that had been hastily splotched with patches of neon paint, her ‘weapons’ fashioned from coiling tubes and what were likely battery-powered LED lights. Her face was masked with glowing makeup, her white hair frizzy around an alien headband, but her tinted goggles were an instant giveaway.

“Doctor Bellum… she’s here.”

Player sighed, then barked orders over the intercoms. “Zack, Ivy, go find Carmen. If we lose Ross, we lose the tiara.”

“On it!”

“Shadowsan—”

“I will handle Bellum.”

Deep down, he knew Player made the right call – the call Carmen would want – but it still tore at him. He promised Carlotta he would keep her safe, promised himself. Of the two, Brunt was the far greater threat, but they needed Doctor Ross to find the chest. Carmen would chase it to the ends of the Earth if given the chance, and he feared what said chance would entail. He could only hope Zack and Ivy were enough to buy him some time.

Shadowsan rushed for the doctor as Bellum approached her. Two youths walked past, carrying boxes of takeaway Chinese food; they momentarily threw him off, but he managed to pocket one of the chopsticks as they idly strolled away. Bellum reached a gloved hand into the woman’s coat. He had to act. He rounded a quiet stall, briefly losing sight of them before aligning perfectly. He angled himself and threw the chopstick. It hurtled straight for his foe, striking her squarely on the wrist.

“Ay!” Bellum yelped, recoiling to rub the area. The sound caught Elfie’s attention, the woman promptly backing away as Shadowsan positioned himself between them.

The scientist gritted her teeth, but she made no attempt to fight him. He lunged forward, catching her wrist before she could flee. He looked over his shoulder to address the other woman present. “Doctor, did she take anything?”

Elfie shook herself, retrieving a leather pouch tied to her hip. She briefly rummaged through it, then sighed in relief. “No, I’m good.”

The glove went limp in his hand. Shadowsan turned, straightened, growled. He searched the shifting crowd for a good ten seconds, but Bellum was likely long gone. He must have loosened his grip. He should have known better than to take his eyes off her. It was a careless mistake; even in his early days, he was not prone to such egregious errors.

“This ‘danger’ isn’t just pirate-talk, is it?”

She had dropped the maritime vernacular, and something in him relaxed.

“She did not come alone. Please, for my daughter’s safety…”

Elfie nodded. “Okay. Lead the way.”

“Stay close.” Shadowsan took off, casting occasional glances back at Elfie as she followed close behind, then tapped his intercom. “Ross is secure. I am on my way.”

“We have eyes on Carm. She’s not looking so good.”

Zack groaned in frustration, reverbing as both his and Ivy’s microphones caught the sound. “She can’t wait any longer, sis. She needs backup now!”

“How!?” Ivy stressed. “We’re the only agents onsite, and we can’t cause a panic!”

The intercoms went silent for a moment, then Zack’s optimistic voice chimed in Shadowsan’s ear.

“I know what to do.”

Carmen made a break for the stage, leaping onto it in a flawless, desperate bound. She cocked her wrist, extracting her grappling hook. She searched the ceiling, then aimed for a metal beam.

A meaty hand grabbed her ankle. Carmen yelped; the device trigger forgotten as she hit the floor. Brunt hefted herself onto the stage. It shook beneath her, shaking Carmen to her senses. The jolt came too late, Brunt lifting Carmen over her head. “If I’m goin’ down, I’m takin’ you with me.”

Carmen reached for the hand, trying to pry the large fingers from the collar of her trench coat. Her legs flailed, she tugged against the firm hold. Nothing worked. From the corner of her eye, she saw Brunt clench her free hand into a fist. She braced for impact, and waited…

“MUTINY!”

Carmen cracked an eye open. Some twenty feet away, Zack stood on an empty vendor table, holding a plastic cutlass in the air. Ivy was there too, a bewildered look clear across her face as members of the public abandoned their prior distractions, all turning to Zack.

“Avast, me mateys!” He lowered his arm, pointing the cutlass directly at the pair on-stage. “Turn ye mugs off me bowsprit. The Lady Red dares taketh the Green Menace!”

The crowd all followed his instructions, hundreds of eyes blinking at her as she struggled in Brunt’s grip. A confused but curious hum settled over the convention hall.

“Arrgh, she be the fiercest scourge of the seven seas.” Zack gave his sister a purposeful look, some unspoken plan written across his face. At last, Ivy caught on, trying to hype herself up as she cupped her hands around her mouth.

“A-aye, the Lady Red needs help!”

Excitement bubbled within the crowd, the dull hum rising as pirate enthusiasts muttered amongst themselves. Carmen’s stomach dropped, the realisation carrying a wave of panic, and she muttered under her rapid breath. “Zack, what are you—”

Brunt sniggered at her, or maybe the situation. Carmen wasn’t sure which, but she certainly didn’t seem fazed. If anything, she seemed to enjoy the attention. “What’ll it be, lambkins? You gonna bleat for help?”

Carmen glanced around. She couldn’t see Shadowsan anywhere, not that he would’ve been able to do much in this scenario. The public was involved now – a breach of ACME’s protocols and countless loose ends for VILE. Zack was smart to use the convention itself in the ruse, but Brunt wouldn’t likely play along. Chase, Lupe Peligro, Shadowsan himself – all competent, all lucky to survive a fight against her.

“What say you, Lady Red?” Zack shouted over the stirring crowd. “Shall I give the order?”

Brunt whispered in her ear. “You ain’t nothing but a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Just like your daddy…”

“Carmen!”

Player… Who knew how long it had taken him to override her intercom, but his voice now rang in her ear. Red Drone hovered above, and she knew Player would be watching the feed from his room back at HQ. How many times had he listened as she almost died? How long afterwards did he remember those close calls? She couldn’t put him through that again.

Reluctantly, Carmen looked back to Zack and bobbed her head. He nodded back, then swung his cutlass in a slashing motion. “Weigh anchor, mateys! Blow the woman down!”

“Aye aye!”

Zack jumped off the table, quickly cutting through the crowd as they rushed the stage. Moments before impact, Brunt threw her captive sideways like an obsolete ragdoll, her attention fixed on the shiny army of convention goers.

Carmen landed clumsily amongst the scattered chairs. They broke her fall to some extent, but something bit into her skin. She barely noted it, more concerned for the civilians tumbling around the stage. She got to her feet, only for a strong hand to drag her from the carnage. At last, Shadowsan emerged from the chaos with Doctor Ross in tow, a momentary flash of relief passing over his face.

Ivy shoved her towards the ninja. “You and Shadowsan go ahead. I’ll stay here and help Zack.”

“But—!”

“Carmen.” Shadowsan interrupted, a sternness in his voice that she hadn’t heard in years now. He motioned for her to follow, sparing a brief but emboldening nod to Ivy before she ran back into the throbbing centre of the brawl.

Carmen relented, letting him shepherd her away, but her gaze never left the fight. She couldn’t see Zack or Ivy, but the top of Brunt’s head remained visible, the crest of a mountain as wannabe pirates attempted to dog-pile her. Their efforts were met with constant, brutal resistance, until finally the swarm was hidden from view. She could only imagine what came after, however she wished not too.

“Chase is on the way. You’re clear to head for the main entrance.”

She sprinted through the venue, Elfie and Shadowsan hot on her heels. Chase pulled up from the north, drifting slightly along Convention Center Drive as he stopped in front of the entrance. He called out to them through the open window, “Julia has secured a boat for us. We can be there in ten minutes.”

Carmen opened the back door for Elfie as Shadowsan ran for the front passenger door. “VILE’s on-scene. We can’t let them follow us.”

“Leave that to me, Red.”

Red Drone flew past her. Satisfied, she threw herself in the car. “Go!”

Chase slammed down the accelerator, straightening out as he sped onto an unnamed road. A flash of charcoal caught Carmen’s eye, loitering just inside the Miami Beach Parking Garage as they passed, but it went by far too quickly for her to ponder what it might have been.

Elfie spoke up. “Ye wouldn’t be a normal swashbuckler, aye lass?”

“Think of us as professional treasure hunters.”

“What kind of treasure?”

“Uh…” Chase turned left onto Meridian Avenue, and Carmen struggled for a way to explain herself. “Well, the thing is—”

“Red! Shadowsan!” Player’s voice cut in. “You’ve got a tail.”

Shadowsan retrieved his phone from his belt. It connected to Red Drone, showing another car looming behind them. He zoomed in on the Toyota’s driver, grimacing at the familiar face. “Maelstrom.”

Carmen leaned forward in the seat. “Stay clear of Alton Road. We can’t risk a car chase in such heavy traffic.”

Chase smirked. “Let’s see how he keeps up with my driving skills.”

She turned back to Elfie. “You might want to hang on…”

The three passengers grabbed at the car’s interior in subconscious fear as Chase turned sharply onto Lincoln Lane S, narrowly missing the cars parked in the adjacent lot. His next turns were smoother; right onto Euclid Avenue, left onto 16th Street, then right again onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Maelstrom followed close behind, stalking them down the picturesque passageways lined with parked cars and palm trees.

“Persistent son of a biscuit eater, isn’t he?” Elfie commented. “What’s all this about?”

“Thumbnail: my birth father stole something, and we need to find it before they—crowd. Crowd! CROWD!”

A large group dawdled through the junction of Pennsylvania Avenue and 15th Street, adults and a few children dressed in beach attire and carrying tote bags. Chase jumped, hitting his palm to the horn. The group raced across, shocked parents clutching their kids as they flew past, Maelstrom hot on their heels.

Shadowsan growled. “We cannot allow this to continue.”

“Put me on speaker! I think I see a way for you to shake him.”

Red Drone flew higher. The streets below were pencil-straight, criss-crossing each other like the lines of a misshapen chessboard. Cars inched along, mere ants around interconnecting picnics, safe for the two still hurtling down Pennsylvania. Without warning, the lead car angled right. It drifted seamlessly around the corner, disappearing down 14th Street as its tail shot straight through.

Maelstrom looked back with a burning vengeance, only noticing himself pulling on the steering wheel when he veered right, ploughing into a row of parked cars in the process. He groaned and backed out again, striking a garbage can. He tore down 14th Street. Ran a stop sign. Searched each turning in frantic passing glances, rapidly approaching Flamingo Park. He slammed on the break but still clipped the curb, sending him flying and landing passenger side to the iron gates. Heads turned across the grass, and Maelstrom slunk out of the wreck without so much as a scratch.

Two streets over, on the corner of 14th Street and Euclid Avenue, a custom Blanton-Webster sat stationary beneath a lush, overgrown tree, its dark blue paint almost perfectly hidden beneath the cover of shadow. Within, the occupants huddled to view the front passenger’s phone, a voice speaking over the feed of a disgruntled Maelstrom walking away.

“Nice work, Chase. He’ll have no chance of tracking you on foot.”

Carmen fell back into her seat, sighing as her heartrate began to ease. “We can’t stay here.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Elfie look her over. “Just tell me one thing. What’s your plan for if you do find this treasure?”

She took her time to respond. “Look, I don’t know exactly what’s down there. But one of those items was the greatest discovery my grandfather ever made. He… died before I was born, but he’d want it back at the museum where it belongs. I owe him that.”

“It really worth that much to you, lass?”

It means everything. Carmen held back on saying those exact words. “More than you know…”

Elfie nodded. “Alright, me hearty. It’d be an honour to join ye noble quest.”

Shadowsan noticed a subtle mist forming in his daughter’s eye, but he kept his focus on Ross. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“We best get to our vessel.” She made the gesture of tipping a hat to Chase. “Chart a course for the coast, coxswain.”

Chase simply nodded, easing from the shadows and back into the lazy streets. Red Drone hovered close by, sinking beside the open back window for Carmen to catch.

The South Beach Loop trolley stopped beside Old City Hall, the beige museum standing proudly on the corner of Washington Avenue and 12th Street as the bright blue vehicle dipped towards the pavement, allowing a seemingly blind passenger to alight. The woman called a cheery word of thanks over her shoulder as she hobbled into the warm mid-day sun, but her back straightened as the trolley drove back into the fray, and she removed her $20 convenience-store sunglasses.

Doctor Bellum reaffixed her goggles into place, stuffing the sunglasses into her pocket as she continued back up the road. The Miami streets were surprisingly quiet for a September Sunday, but she concluded herself strategically sound to have worn civilian clothing under her convention costume. Maelstrom had changed his mind on rendezvous locations repeatedly over the past forty-eight hours, each proposed checkpoint feeling more outlandish than the next, but his final decision had each of them raising their eyebrows, minimally assured by his insistences of it being “the last place anyone would think to look”.

She hurried across the 12th Street crossing, angling her face away from the Chase ATM building on the off chance of it having working surveillance cameras. A few doors down – and almost hidden by the dark green awning – hung a simple shop sign, its bold, colourful letters washing into each other from even a short distance. As Bellum approached, the jumbled mess of hues and smells began to separate into distinct flavours. Creamy scents of fruit and chocolate wafted out the open door of Miami ‘N’ Ice, vibrant menus and framed sundae portraits lining the walls.

“A most timely arrival, Doctor Bellum.”

The scientist span on her heels. The cramped parlour only had a single table set up, but somehow Maelstrom still seemed to vanish into his seat by the window, his back facing the glare. He gestured across the table to an untouched sundae: delicate rolls of banana ice cream, topped with Nutella and hazelnut sticks. His own had been partially consumed – or perhaps just mutilated – the lopsided tubes of Skittle confection resembling some ungodly mix of bleeding food dye infested with sour worms.

“Your frozen treats were beginning to melt.”

“Forgive my delay, Professor.” Bellum sank into the plastic, orange chair, not taking her eyes off the man as she picked up her spoon.

“Shall I take your solo appearance as confirmation that Coach Brunt will not be joining us?”

She swallowed her mouthful, glancing between the two – and only two – desserts he had ordered prior to her arrival. “Carmen’s cronies staged an intervention amongst the locals to orchestrate Brunt’s arrest. She’s probably in ACME’s custody by now.”

Maelstrom scoffed, waving a hand in front of himself as if he were only mildly inconvenienced. “She has always been a thorn in my side. But no matter. We should press on without her.”

“Should we not discuss this with Cleo as well?”

“She is already in position, as planned.” Bellum couldn’t quite find the words to describe his response, but something in him changed, as though some sadistic piece of him had miraculously brightened. “Were we successful in our objective?”

A cunning smile crept across her face as she set aside her spoon. “We might have failed to capture Doctor Ross like we initially hoped, but our backup plan appears to have been successful.”

Maelstrom watched – equally pleased – as she took out her phone and turned it towards him. A small green dot pulsed across the map, heading out to sea towards the Bimini Islands.

“I managed to slip my transponder into her pocket moments before Shadowsan intercepted me,” Bellum explained. “After I snuck away, I was able to remotely hack into the doctor’s phone. We will now have access to her precise coordinates wherever our foes take her.”

“Then cheers, Doctor Bellum!” The professor held up his ice cream tub like a stemless wine glass, motioning towards her. “Let us celebrate the coming rebirth of our glorious institution.”

Chapter Text

Carmen didn’t often think back to her time on VILE Island – not until recently, anyway – but there would always be moments of parallel. Setting aside the revolving door of criminals and psychopaths who contributed to her truly messed-up upbringing, great lengths were taken to keep her from learning the truth too early and, as a result, strangely normal occurrences slipped through: playing pranks with (and on) the big kids, proudly showing Coach Brunt each new scrape like she wouldn’t immediately head for the first-aid kit in Shadowsan’s classroom, waiting out any bad weather that inhibited her play. She remembered lying on her bed the night of her escape, running her gaze along every beam and light-fixture until she could practically feel them, ghosts in her empty, outstretched hands. She remembered being grateful for the storm, the pounding rain making deep thinking impossible, and she wished it was raining now…

Once again, she was tracing a ceiling as she laid on her back. This time, though, she also had a leg draped over Shadowsan’s lap, and the interior of the small yacht’s lower deck was notably lacking in ample distractions. They managed to leave Miami well before noon, the lurking threat of VILE still a legitimate concern as they hurried to load the rest of their things onto the vessel while Elfie made rapid phone calls. The oceanographer followed Chase and Julia up to the flybridge, phone pressed tightly to her ear as she rushed to wrap up the conversation, leaving father and daughter to head below deck in search of a place to change out of their convention attire. The onboard bathroom was cramped to say the least, barely large enough to squeeze an additional set of clothes through the door, but it was serviceable. Shadowsan went in first (practically in and out in under two minutes), but as Carmen straightened her blue playsuit, a crusting gash caught her attention. The fight… She must have fallen on a rough screw or something, too concerned in the moment to notice any blood. Shadowsan spotted it the second she left the bathroom, promptly locating a first-aid kit. And so, they sat in tense silence, interrupted only by quiet winces and the rustles of plastic as the ninja rummaged for antiseptics and gently applied them to her broken skin.

“What happened was not your fault.”

“I should’ve spoken up the second I thought I saw Brunt.”

“Much has happened these past few days. We all make mistakes.”

“Yeah, well my ‘mistake’ could’ve got someone killed!”

Shadowsan paused, lifting the wipe away from her thigh as he waited for her to calm down. He knew well enough by now that these occasional snaps were not her intension, but rather a side effect of her anxiety as she battled the turbulent emotions inside her. They would pass on their own, far sooner than if he were to draw attention to them.

Carmen sighed, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m just…”

“I know.” He offered her a small, reserved smile. “Your directness was not taken personally.”

Carmen smiled back. “How’s my leg?”

“It looks better now that I have cleaned it.” He went back to treating her wound, briefly gesturing to a cherry-red patch on the cuff of her shorts. “You will need to think of a way to explain the blood stains to your mother.”

“Oh no, better she hear that from you. She likes you, so— Ow!”

Shadowsan recoiled in alarm. The broken skin slowly became red again, a slither of fresh blood staining the underside of his nail. Yareyareda ze, where was his focus!? He cleared his throat and drew a clean tissue from the box, pressing it firmly against her leg. “Gomen.”

She raised an eyebrow. He was many things, but certainly not clumsy. Venice had been a rare exception, a perfectly logical response to recent events as he fumbled over the very first mask he took from its display. Was he worried about the caper? About her mother? She knew they’d grown close the last two years, but he’d never shown concern towards her before… Right?

Her jaw clenched as she went to speak, only for her to hear the groan of old floorboards. Elfie sauntered down from the upper level, a thick notebook perched on her forearm as the ground tipped beneath her. She had shed her coat and faux weaponry, but still carried herself with the same buff bravado, a hearty smile stretched across her face.

“Hey, lass. You’re lookin’ a lot better…”

“Uh, thanks.” Carmen winced slightly as Shadowsan fixed a bandage over the cut. “I’m just glad we were able to get you out safely.”

Elfie nodded before turning to Shadowsan. “Hate to interrupt a father-daughter moment, Old Salt, but can you spare a few?”

Carmen cracked a small smile at his expense, earning a stern look in response. Zack and Ivy would receive one of his signature growls when they inevitably learned of this, but he could not warrant any further response towards his darling kit. After such a hard day, he was quietly grateful for a glimpse of her normal demeanour.

Shadowsan looked back at Elfie. “Can I help you with something?”

“This coffer you’re chasin’. Would really help if I could get an estimated weight. Any chance you know what else was in it?”

He thought for a moment, then shrugged a shoulder. “I could certainly hazard a guess.”

Carmen swung her legs round and stood up, gesturing to her empty seat. “Go ahead. I’ll go check in with Chase and Jules.”

Once again, the wooden stairs protested their use, whimpering one by one as she made her way up to the flybridge. Chase sat behind the wheel, his eye trained so closely on the open sea that she couldn’t be certain he knew she was there. Julia sat beside him as his passenger, her petite self practically swallowed by the spacious seats as she scrolled over something on her tablet.

“Wow, Jules. You’re letting Chase drive?”

Chase mocked offense. “I will have you know that I am more than capable of completing an assignment without causing property damage.”

“Oh, leave her be.” Julia shuffled over in her seat, leaving an empty space for her. “It’s good to see you back to your old self.”

Carmen perched on the edge of the seat. “So, where are we off to?”

“Mademoiselle Ross has instructed me to head for the Bahamas. She is waiting to hear back from some colleagues and will provide a fixed destination in due time.”

She bit her lip. “And… Zack and Ivy? Any updates?”

“Ivy just filed her report.” Julia handed her the tablet. “Coach Brunt is being held in high security. She thankfully only caused minor injuries, but ACME are quietly paying off the medical bills, and the few civilians arrested have been pardoned at ACME’s request. Zack did receive a conduct warning over the incident, but Chief has cleared him to rendezvous with us as soon as we have a confirmed placement.”

Carmen skimmed the report. Roughly a dozen people had been hospitalised, most of whom sustained little more than cuts and bruises with the odd broken bone or suspected concussion here and there. Just as Jules had mentioned, Ivy had motioned on each person’s behalf to have ACME personally handle any resulting costs, each case already marked with Chief’s approving signature. It seemed the older woman had indeed softened over time, even replicating her own acts to pay VILE’s funds forward.

Chase harrumphed behind the steering wheel, though his tone bore no genuine ill-will. “Zack got lucky. Chief would’ve been not nearly as forgiving if I was responsible.”

Julia took back the tablet, a fond, playful smile forming as she side-eyed him. “If you were responsible, there would not have been a brawl to begin with. You would rush Brunt yourself before anyone could stop you.”

Chase smirked. “Or perhaps you would have demonstrated your flying tackle manoeuvre.”

“That was one time!”

Carmen watched them go back and forth with their banter. It was almost a tennis match, her head turning from Chase to Jules to Chase again. They had always been a fun pair to watch, but this felt like a professional sport, practised for years over kitchen benches and television remotes. She stopped listening to the words flying past her, a sour guilt forming in the pit of her stomach.

The banter fizzled out on a soft, shared laugh, before Julia put a supportive hand on her shoulder. “I understand you’re concerned, Carmen, but you have nothing to fear. We will track them down before they can do any serious harm.”

“Huh?” Carmen snapped back to reality, quickly forcing a smile. “Oh, yeah… I-I’m sure we will, Jules.”

Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairwell, and Elfie emerged with a purposeful stride. “Look alive, skipper. My gal in Nassau came through. We can be there by nightfall.”

She tossed something across the small space. Carmen caught it, then smoothed the paper out from its tight ball. “Jules…”

“Chartering a flight for Zack and Ivy now.”

Julia went back to working on her tablet, updating records with haste as Elfie retreated below deck. Carmen stood, paper in hand. It curled in her grip, shaking almost as she entered the coordinates written there into the yacht’s navigation system. The intel processed near instantaneously, and Chase glanced sparingly at the monitor as he cut through the swells. Once again, the space was silent, and nothing remained to drown out the thunder Carmen felt within.

They made good time to Nassau, arriving with the golden hour as Chase pulled into one of the quiet marinas. True to the travel guides they had idly perused on the way, the streets and waters alike were nearly empty, save for themselves and a modest handful of travel-savvy tourists making the most of the off-season. They were promptly met by Zack and Ivy, who had already arranged accommodation at one of the capital’s prominent coastal hotels – a welcome update for Chase and Julia, both exhausted from the several-hour drive. Elfie had also excused herself, leaving with an eager spring in her step to meet with her colleague. With nothing left to do but wait, the remaining four agreed to dinner on Junkanoo Beach, Shadowsan volunteering to guard their things as the others left in search of suitable food establishments.

He stared off into the distance, the setting sun catching the frame of his sunglasses. He had never been overly impressed with beaches. True, Japan had many exquisite beaches – several of which located along the Pacific coast of Shizuoka Prefecture – but none less than a three-hour drive from Matsumoto Castle. He seldom ventured away from the populated cities of Tokyo whilst with the Yakuza, and most of his time on VILE Island was spent indoors. Though despite his lack of sandy exposure, he failed to see how anything could compete with the picturesque view before him: pink and purple clouds over miles of white sand, and palm trees fringed with the dying flames of day as the golden sun dipped into the sparkling, turquoise waters.

A thoughtful smile tugged at the ninja’s lips; he had not set foot on a beach since last November. It was Catalina’s birthday – the first since losing her parents – and all she wanted to do was go to the beach. What started as a perfectly relaxing day was jarringly disrupted by one of the children running over to him, alarming him that Carlotta had somehow been hurt. He found her in the shallows, a South American sea nettle wrapped around her ankle as she simultaneously tried to soothe the startled little ones and dissuade Jaziel from poking it. How she held on for them, blinking back tears of agony as he hastily pried the creature’s stingers from her reddening skin with gloved hands. No sooner had he helped her to their beach chairs, she tumbled into his side, clutching his arms for support. At the time, he had not been able to explain his concern, nor what possessed him to call her beautiful in the soft, afternoon sunlight. Now though, he simply refused to.

Shadowsan checked his watch. The children would be all tucked in by now, leaving their guardian angel with only her fears for company as she paced the halls, once again waiting for her daughter’s return. He took out his phone, quickly finding their message thread and typing a new entry.

Coach Brunt has been arrested. I thought you should know.

Not twenty seconds later, his phone beeped in reply:

Is Carmen alright?

He took a moment to select his words, mentally weighing each one.

She sustained a few scratches, but nothing to be concerned about.

And you?

I miss you… Shadowsan caught himself, his thumb hovering over the keypad. He once found solace in their distance, seeing it as a safety net for his weakening resolve. But that was before – those days when he adamantly labelled her a dear friend and nothing more. Days that became less and less frequent the more he found himself marking out his calendar. There was nothing in the world he wanted quite so badly as her time, to make fond memories with her. But he needed to focus, especially having lost his only remaining excuse.

He typed a response:

We are safe.

“We’re back.”

Shadowsan put his phone away, turning sideways in the full-length lounge chair so Carmen could sit beside him. Zack and Ivy settled themselves on the adjacent chair in a similar fashion, Ivy handing out takeaway boxes as Carmen propped her phone in her bag to give Player an optimal view.

“Five-star restaurant sushi for us, soggy triple cheeseburger for Zack.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Ivy scoffed. “Some pirate you’d be.”

Carmen unwrapped her chopsticks. “Pirates didn’t eat seafood much either, Ivy. Elfie says they mostly ate beans and dried plants since fishing was too time consuming.”

“How great is this?” Zack swallowed a large mouthful of his burger. “Hunting for sunken treasure, in the home of romantised piracy, with an actual pirate expert. It’s like our very own ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ movie!”

“Actually, Zack, the Bahamas technically aren’t part of the Caribbean.” Player scooted forward in his computer chair to reach his keyboard. His feed promptly disappeared, replaced with a map of the area. “Formerly a British territory, the Bahamas are an archipelago of over 700 islands, located in the West Indies. That said, they’re often grouped with the Caribbean because of proximity, history and similar climate.”

“The name Bahamas comes from the Spanish term baja mar, which loosely translates to ‘shallow sea’,” Carmen continued. “No doubt attributed to their famously clear waters.”

“No kidding! You can see the ocean floor up to 200 feet below the surface – that’s about the same as a 20-story building!”

“Perfect for viewing the Andros Barrier Reef. It’s the world’s third-largest – behind the Great Barrier Reef and the Mesoamerican Reef – stretching more than 190 miles.”

“Maybe you’ll spot the Bahamas’ very own sea monster. The lusca is described as ‘half-shark and half-octopus’. Some folklore says it can even change colour.”

“Wait…” Zack looked genuinely heartbroken. “So the Bahamas didn’t have pirates?”

Player laughed. “Oh, they had pirates, Zack. The ‘Golden Age of Piracy’ lasted for thirty years from 1690 to 1720 and, during that time, the Bahamas had more pirates than any Caribbean country. The surrounding waters were too shallow for Navy ships, but they were perfect for the shallow draft vessels favoured by pirates.”

Carmen nodded. “Nassau became the very heart of the Golden Age. Many of its settlers abandoned the island, leading to the establishment of the Republic of Pirates, a thriving community of seafaring rogues.”

“This ‘Republic’ was dominated by famous rivals Benjamin Hornigold and Henry Jennings, who mentored other Bahamian pirates such as Blackbeard, Calico Jack, Anne Bonny, and Mary Read.”

“They caused mass havoc until 1718, when Woodes Rogers was made Governor of the Bahamas. This act re-established British control and ended the Republic of Pirates for good.”

“Though the pirates remain a big part of the city’s history. Just down the road, you can relive the Golden Age at Pirates of Nassau – an interactive museum experience taking place on a replica of Blackbeard’s ship.”

Zack gawked at the screen’s image of a coral red building, its mural faded and paintwork worn away by the elements. Sections of the signage had broken free from the old serif lettering, the establishment clearly prioritising the interior in its upkeep costs.

Ivy tittered, ruffling his hair. “Now there’s a Zack-attraction if ever I saw one.”

“We should totally go there!” He met her incredulous look with a playful nudge. “You know, after we stop VILE.”

Player popped back onto the screen. “Speaking of, here comes our ocean expert.”

The four turned. The last of her pirate ensemble had been replaced with borrowed clothes, but the woman approaching was easily recognisable as Doctor Ross. She studied a large map of some kind as she trekked down the beach, her attention so ingrained that she collided with another beach-goer. The other woman reeled back in disgust, quickly inspecting the tropical-print sarong wrapped over her designer swimwear, as Elfie gathered her strewn papers. The stranger adjusted her expensive sunglasses, her face likely outfitted with seething offense behind her floppy, wide-brimmed straw hat.

“Gade kote w prale!”

“Oh, um…” Elfie mumbled hesitantly, “Mwen d-dezole…?”

The woman gave a further ‘humph’, storming off towards a nearby lounge chair. After settling, she dug through her belongings to retrieve a tanning reflector. She shook it out with a needless amount of force, the foil board cracking the air like a clap of thunder, before positioning it around her neck.

Ivy rolled her eyes at the routine. “What’s her problem?”

“Ah, probably my own fault.” Elfie waved it off as she joined them, dropping cross-legged into the sand. A sense of mischief danced in her expression as she pointedly grit her teeth, “Me Haitian Creole do be rather shoddy.”

Carmen set aside her food. “Any luck locating potential targets?”

Elfie cleared her throat, smiling as she spread out her papers. “Feast your eyes, lass.”

For only a rough hour of work, the woman had truly outdone herself. The map she presented to them displayed the vast waters surrounding Nassau and the wider Bahamas, their regions colour-coded in various shades of blue to reflect ocean depths. Red crosses peppered the rough paper, scattered with careful consistency by the two specialists.

“Now, I have good news and bad news. Good news is that we’re likin’ this particular area.” Elfie pointed specifically to one of the crosses, situated in a channel of ocean between the Andros Barrier Reef and western tip of Nassau. “Waters here are deep and typically left alone, so your booty could’ve sat there undisturbed for years.”

Shadowsan raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly is the bad news?”

“Hate to say it, Old Salt, but we’re lookin’ for a needle in a haystack at those depths.”

Ivy clapped a hand over Zack’s mouth as tiny bubbles formed on his lips, her facial features pinched in such a way that proved she shared her brother’s amusement at the nickname. Shadowsan threw them both a cold glare, though Carmen barely noticed it as she turned from the map. “We can still manage it though, right?”

The older woman bobbed her head to either side, hesitating with her answer. “Theoretically. Your best hope would be if you could scan for materials inside the chest.”

“Materials… like metals?”

Elfie clicked her tongue. “Salt water tends to throw off metal detectors due to the minerals. Trace amounts of radiation will work better. If you think anythin’ in there would have ‘em…”

Silence rang over them, then Zack pulled his sister’s hand from his mouth. “What about the tiara itself? Don’t a lot of gemstones have radioactive properties?”

“Uh, yes and no…” Player interjected, tapping away at his keyboard. “A selection of gemstones do have natural radioactivity, but mostly not the type you find in jewellery. Rubies do sometimes, but it isn’t clear whether that’s a naturally occurring thing or from part of the jewellery-making process.”

Carmen sighed. “Well, it’s the only chance we have. We may have thrown off VILE back in Florida, but they’ll find a way here eventually.”

“I’ll recalibrate your scanners tonight. With any luck, we’ll have you out to the search site by morning.”

For one moment, Shadowsan turned back to the horizon. The sun sunk like a treasure into the sea, the skies now red and violet.

Chapter Text

A spattering of blinking lights pulsed in the night sky, a quiet whirring lost in the breeze. If ever there was an argument for the Cleaners being robots, it was their impressive ability to land a helicopter under the cover of darkness. Nassau had no shortage of landing pads – who wouldn’t want to tour the island by helicopter? – but this one had been practically deserted by the time they arrived. The two Faculty members slipped into the shadows without incident, now walking along the vacant coast like wayward souls lost in the night.

Bellum glanced up as the final sign of their arrival flickered out into the distance. “I respect the need to cover our tracks, Professor, but I question the logistics of hiding an unlicensed helicopter.”

“They know what they’re doing, as do we,” Maelstrom bit back, his mood foul. “This area is where our foes last spent their time. We must keep our eyes open for any clues they may have left.”

“Do not be so certain, zanmi.”

The pair turned towards the Haitian Creole accent. A designer-clad woman leaned against the counter of a beachside tiki bar, a tropical-green cocktail in one hand and a folded tanning reflector at her feet. The bathing beauty removed her sunglasses, pushing aside the brim of her hat to reveal a confident smile.

“Well, well. The tropics must agree with you.” Bellum smiled back, genuine and pleasantly surprised. “It is good to see you back on your feet, Cleo.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She dropped the accent, carefully folding up the sunglasses and holding them out to her colleague. “Saira…”

Bellum took the glasses, holding them close to her phone. The devices paired instantly, flooding Bellum’s phone with images of extensively detailed maps. “Eureka! However did you manage this?”

“You know full well there’s no rest for the wicked.” Cleo slipped from her bar stool. “I simply orchestrated our collision, then drew from my acting skills to mask me taking the photographs. The fool chalked me up to nothing more than an entitled local.”

Maelstrom snatched the phone away from Bellum. “I will pass these images along to our young ship raider.”

“Before you go about sharing intel I acquired for you—” Cleo took a forceful step towards him, meeting his cold eyes with fire. “—you might listen to what else I’ve learned.”

He grit his teeth. “And that would be…?”

“These images won’t be enough. At these depths, Revenant will need some sort of tracking equipment to have any hope of locating the chest. Doctor Ross suggested—”

“That really isn’t any of your concern, now, is it? Did I not tell you I had made other arrangements for you?”

Cleo laughed – a single, involuntary laugh drawn from utter disbelief. “Unless you had some psychic ability to predict those vigilantes would flee here, your plan appears to have been to just dump me on some luxury island to shut me up. In other words, my only involvement in this caper has been one, measly coincidence!”

Bellum also stepped up, her small frame dwarfed by his imposing stature. “You were rather placid regarding Coach Brunt’s arrest.”

“Our fallen ninja was right to colour her emotional. Her boorishness served no purpose but to hinder my plan.”

“Your plan?” Cleo swept Bellum aside with a lean yet sturdy arm, appointing the other woman as a mere spectator. “What happened to restoring our empire?”

“In due time, Countess.”

“No! We have a right to know what’s going on! If you didn’t want our involvement, then why bother to break us ou—”

“Any common fool can plot their own escape!” Maelstrom barked in her face, his temper bared in full. “Only a true genius could achieve such a symphony of global chaos!”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Gunnar.” Cleo crossed her arms with scorn. “It wasn’t enough for you to suggest making Sandiego a part of our faculty. You’d risk our necks on a fool’s errand all so you can bolster your own superiority.”

He chuckled spitefully. “How cretinous of you to pass such judgements, being that Carmen Sandiego would not exist if not for your inability to hold her father’s attention.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Bellum could only gape in silent shock at such callousness. True, Maelstrom had always been… well, Maelstrom… but he never used to target his colleagues so openly. She turned to Cleo, half expecting some extravagant outburst. How long had they been friends now? Almost thirty years? She’d taken her Faculty seat only two years after Cleo had, stationed between the Countess and her rogue Wolf. Bellum refrained from questions to spare the woman’s dignity, but she still possessed the sharp eye of any noteworthy scientist. She saw the secret smiles and sideways glances, just as she saw the current hurt in Cleo’s face.

No outburst came. Instead, Cleo simply gathered her things, once more staring their colleague down. “You haven’t won yet, Maelstrom. The girl’s a nuisance, definitely, but she’s also the best thief we ever trained.”

“Meaning that I have intimate knowledge of her vulnerabilities.”

“Good luck with that,” Cleo sneered, walking away. “I’ll be in my suite, when this goes south.”

“Most unlikely.”

“Alright, crew. Today’s the day.”

The ocean was choppy, cresting as small, white waves around the vessel. Spray hit their skin like the dense humid air, clinging tightly beneath their chins. Admittedly, this was more so for Zack and Ivy, the siblings being dressed in regular daywear while Carmen and Shadowsan had already changed into their wetsuits. It felt worse for Carmen, like Brunt’s sweaty palm wrapped around her neck.

“I was able to narrow down Ross’s search grid via satellite imaging of the area. It should help you navigate the channel, Zack.”

“Approaching the drop-point now.”

Zack cut through the swell with ease. They were only fifteen miles from Nassau’s coast – slightly more from Andros Island – but open waters made it all the more daunting.

“Red, Shadowsan. I’ve recalibrated the scanners in your diving helmets to detect micro amounts of radioactivity similar to what we think the tiara has. Maximum scope is within a half-mile radius, so you’ll need to pace yourselves.”

Shadowsan fastened his gloves, subtly watching Carmen wrestle into her fins. “Then we should separate to cover more ground.”

Ivy crossed the deck, their helmets balanced under her arm as she checked the gauges on their tanks. “Try to keep a slower breathing rate. It’ll make your air supply last longer.”

The boat shuddered to a stop as the engine powered down. It rocked uneasily, the only sound being that of the ocean jabbing at the hull.

“In position!” Zack called back from the helm. “You ready, Carm?”

All eyes (and ears) turned to Carmen. Her face was stoic as ever, completely unreadable besides a tight-lipped look of resolve. Shadowsan watched her closely for any small flinch or worry line, but none came. In fact, she seemed to border on total vacancy. This wasn’t the girl he raised: his little kitsune who ran like a playful spirit leaving coloured embers in her wake. Her flame had dimmed, almost choked out entirely by some unspoken fear.

“Carmen…?”

“I’m fine.” She clicked her helmet into place. “Let’s do this.”

Shadowsan could only watch – unable to muster a simple growl – as she rolled away, not waiting for his signal or any further debate. “Player—”

“I’ll keep an eye on Red’s scanner. You’d better follow her.”

He gripped the side of the boat, hoisting himself up and rolling back into the waves. A curtain of tiny bubbles enveloped him as he made contact, slowly scattering to the surface, and he dove towards the darkened waters. Carmen’s figure appeared in front of him, her crimson form already fading towards dull greys. They shared a brief nod in the dim light, then swam off in different directions.

Shadowsan kept a close eye on his gauges, mentally clocking each variable in their available time. Fortunately this section of ocean wasn’t so deep to greatly restrain their search window, but the terrain posed an obvious disadvantage. The area was a maze of solid rock and towering seaweed; even with both their scanners pointed directly to the dark below, finding anything would be a challenge. He swam quietly on his designated path, sending up a silent prayer.

Carmen was just as focused, albeit on a completely different matter. She was so close, too close. She couldn’t choke now. She’d seen the type of chests VILE used – heck, her first toy box was upcycled from one. Thick, water-tight storage containers fashioned from the highest-grade titanium money could buy. Picking the lock would take time, and she knew better than to open it underwater, so they’d have to raise it first. That took work, burned air. It wasted time.

Her leg jolted back, and she yelped. Something had her, gripping tightly around her ankle. She clawed through the darkness, her headlights falling on the offending tether.

“You okay, Red?”

“Stupid seaweed wrapped round my leg.”

Carmen revved her jets. Nothing. Again, nothing. Each revolution caused the dark vine to tighten, only to slacken as it pulled her back. Air gushed from her boosters, sucking more and more foliage around her leg.

“Should I call Shadowsan?”

“It’s fine. I’ll get myself out.”

She grabbed a loose vine and pulled herself down. The knotted rope of seaweed drifted in the current, fixed mainly around her fin and snaking up past her ankle.

Carmen whipped out her diving knife. She angled her headlights toward the mass, gripped it firmly as she hacked at the thick foliage. It fought against her, each cut strand floating into her line of vision. Dust particles flurried, and she clawed at the stringy greens like heads on a hydra.

“Watch your air supply, Red.”

“Yeah, I know, Player!”

The needle seemed to plummet by the second. She could almost feel her tank depleting. Weed after weed fell away, but her chest only tightened. Was she breathing? Her lungs felt starved. Her head spun. Her muscles tensed.

The last tendril snapped.

“Carmen!?”

She burst through the sunlit zone, bobbing there for a moment. Blinding light peaked through building clouds like spotlights through a fog. Her manic swim to the surface was a literal dizzying blur, her body starting to shake as she reached to retract her face shield.

Zack and Ivy rushed to the rear of the boat.

“Carm!”

“What happened?”

Carmen sculled over, her elbows buckling as she dragged herself out of the water. “I’m fine! I just need my backup tank.”

Shadowsan followed close behind, accepting Zack’s offered hand as he climbed back onto the boat.

“Where is Carmen?”

They gazed across the deck to where Carmen stood shivering. She didn’t look back, fishing blindly to disconnect her empty tank. It fell away as far as her forearms, the muscles jerking on impact, before she cast it aside with a heavy thud. Shadowsan sighed, placing his fins neatly beside those she had clearly abandoned without thought, and walked towards her.

Carmen hefted the second tank over her shoulder, shrugging it onto her back. “I’m heading back down there.”

“You shall do no such thing.” He flinched more than she did. Stubborn as always… “Not until you tell me what is wrong.”

“Can’t this wait?” she huffed, fastening the buckles around her torso. “VILE could be here any minute.”

“My concern is not in VILE’s whereabouts. Are you not aware that we may have the wrong location?”

“It’s down there. If you want to stand here and speculate, be my guest. I’m doing this, with or without you.”

Shadowsan caught her arm as she brushed past. “You are in no condition to put yourself at such risk. You need to—”

“What!? What do I need? To rest, to calm down? Every second I waste is a second longer my father gets to lounge in whatever undeserved grave ACME put him in and pat himself on the back for ruining my mother’s life, and I won’t stand for it!”

Shadowsan’s hand fell. Zack and Ivy exchanged worried glances. The silence hung. Gravity itself seem to crash down on her as tears sprang to her eyes, but Carmen only stormed away. She got so far as the rear then stopped, removing her helmet as she dropped to her knees. Her hair unravelled in a heap against her back, limp and lifeless. She looked so worn in that moment. So tired. So broken…

Ivy nudged her brother. “We’ll keep a lookout for VILE.”

Zack nodded, and the pair retreated to the helm. Shadowsan watched them go before approaching his daughter, slowly kneeling in front of her.

“I’m sorry…” Carmen whimpered, tearful and childlike.

“You do not need to apologise. You have not undertaken a caper like this before.”

“That’s no excuse. You don’t deserve…” She gestured to herself, “this.”

He gently shushed her, running a hand through her hair. “My ego is not fragile, nor is my heart.”

They sat in the silence, the boat rocking in the tide.

“I can’t do this, Dad… There’s miles of ocean down there and I can barely even think straight.”

Shadowsan shook his head. He knew her better than that. The difficulty was no burden to her; she had always thrived on a suitable challenge. No, this was something else. He tilted her chin up, “Why does this matter so much to you?”

Carmen met his eyes, holding his gaze as if trying to find her answer there. He waited as she searched, likely turning over all manner of responses in her head, before she finally heaved out a deep, drawn-out exhale. “You remember my Tía Teresa, right?”

Shadowsan hummed, nodding in quiet response. He’d only met the woman on occasion; she was a long-time friend of Carlotta’s and a type of surrogate aunt to Carmen. Their exchanges had been pleasant enough, more cordial than anything. Just enough for him to value her presence in their lives.

“She was the first friend Mom made in Argentina, and… she’s the only one who ever met my father. I tried to ask Mom about him once, but she changed the subject. I’m guessing she must have told Teresa because shortly after that, Tía asked me to run an errand with her.”

“I suppose that was a cover for something?”

Carmen nodded slowly. “She took me to this beautiful park outside the city and sat me on a bench beneath all of these old pink lapacho trees. She said she used to bring my mom there a lot. When she was sick…”

Shadowsan tensed. Carlotta’s letter…

“Teresa had to leave town for a couple weeks that January and didn’t trust my mom to tell her everything, so she had Mom’s doctor put her down as an emergency contact. Sure enough, she got a phone call. Apparently she’d come running in, saying that I’d slipped under the water while she was bathing me. I was fine, but Mom…” Tears spilled over, and she struggled to form the words. “She was thin and pale, practically catatonic. Even when I was crying, she was barely there… Teresa came racing back and found my parents arguing again. She stayed hidden until my father left, and that’s when she heard my mom pleading with him… ‘don’t leave me with her’.”

The pieces fell into place, and his heart broke. “She had postpartum depression…”

Carmen ducked her head, but he clearly saw the creases around her eyes. She squeezed them shut, suspending tears that had long needed to be shed. How long had she suffered in silence? Since San Diego? That secret discussion beneath the lapachos? Or maybe a part of her had always known. Maybe, deep down, they both had known.

It all made sense now. Not just the letter or the fear for Carmen’s safety, but the readiness with which Carlotta had forgiven him for separating them. How was she to care for a child if no one was there to care for her? And Carmen… If her immediate meltdown at Wolfe hiding her in a closet had not been a sign of separation anxiety, her first few weeks with VILE – the way she clung to Coach Brunt, and her outright refusal to sleep alone – were clear indicators of an infant in need of consistent parenting.

“The next time my father came back to town, Teresa was waiting for him. She told him he was a disgrace for not caring about Mom’s health, and he basically laughed in her face.” Her voice dripped with venom. “I really thought Tía was being dramatic. I mean, by her own admission, she despised him. But now…”

“Recent events have changed your opinion.”

“That nanny you saw me with… It was Teresa’s grandmother, Niñera Rosa. My father didn’t know they were related, so they conspired to keep an eye on him while Mom received treatment. She was only in hospital for two weeks before…”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Instead, Carmen reached for the duffle bag she’d tucked away. She drew something from the side pocket, opening her palm to reveal the broken locket.

“You know, it was Cleo who brought up my lineage when they offered me his seat. She and the others talked about him like he was the ‘King of Thieves’ or something. When I got my memories back, I wanted so badly to believe he was like you. That he’d been faking it all those years and that there was a good person underneath.” Carmen snickered bitterly. “The only thing he faked was this photo. The background’s from a landscape shot Mom took after Abuelo’s funeral.”

Shadowsan studied the photo. The small size did sell the illusion, but having seen the full image, the forgery was clear. Each detail was crisp; even the rooftops and window frames in the background were perfectly straight. Warm sunlight bathed the city-scape, yet somehow didn’t wash it out despite the focus on the foreground. Likewise, father and daughter were devoid of shadows, lit from the front with precise staging. Of course it was doctored – even if Wolfe had a camera advanced enough to fully render each visual field, when would he have had the time to fly Carmen to Mexico and back? How had he missed that?

A sinking regret settled in his gut. It was so easy to see himself in The Wolf, or rather as a version of him: a soldier lost to his criminal career, a man changed by being a father. In any case, he had always felt the presence of a poorly concealed hole in the story he sold himself. Through his own doubts and insecurities, questions would orbit the outer regions of his consciousness. Where was Carmen’s mother that night? If he so feared for his daughter’s safety, then should she not have been in hiding with her mother to begin with? And how exactly had Wolfe failed to escape? For all intents and purposes, he and Carmen had defected without consequence (and with little more than the clothes on their backs) only running into trouble when they actively sought it. All the technology and trained operatives in VILE’s arsenal had, for the most part, failed to track them down. And yet, even twenty years prior, Wolfe’s plans had been thwarted before he even made it out. Why was that? Shadowsan could only sigh; he had not wished to think ill of the dead, but the proof was now undeniable – The Wolf’s actions were indeed self-serving, just like his every other action had been.

“Carmen…” Shadowsan placed a hand on her shoulder, mentally shaking himself. “You are not accountable for your father’s crimes, so you need not feel guilty on his behalf.”

“It’s not just his crimes. You saw what happened in Miami… I had Brunt breathing down my neck about being just like my father, and the first thing I did was let innocent civilians take the fall for me. The whole reason I left VILE in the first place was because of their willingness to harm people. How could I be so stupid?”

“That was not stupidity. It was desperation. I know that feeling all too well.”

“Really?” She eyed him sceptically. “You were VILE’s best operative. You could bring Coach Brunt to her knees! When have you ever been desperate?”

Shadowsan hesitated for a long moment, then gave a defeated sigh. “Vienna.”

Carmen stilled, her expression stunned. “What?”

“I went back to VILE Island. I searched the globe for you and found nothing. For three weeks, I could do no more than pray for your safety.” His voice strained a little, “When word broke of a caper in Vienna, I was so desperate to find you that I walked straight into ACME’s path.”

“You never told me that…”

“I know that you do not like to talk about that night, but it was nothing less than a miracle that I escaped in time to make it to the fairground.”

Carmen winced at the memory, scooching closer to him and hugging her knees to her chest. “Okay, so maybe I’m not some heartless criminal… but my very conception was the result of him using her for intel. If I can’t get the tiara back, then what’s the point of even going home? How am I supposed to look Mom in the eyes again after all the pain I’ve caused her?”

Oh, the irony. “You were faultless in what happened. She knows that.”

“I guess, but… It’s just hard knowing she deserved so much better.” She wiped her face with a gloved hand, smearing salt crystals over her flushed skin. “I was watching Chase and Jules on the boat yesterday. They’re so sweet and wholesome, and I can’t help but feel…”

Shadowsan steeled himself.

“My father may have left VILE for me, but he didn’t love my mom. She could’ve had a good life with a good marriage. Someone who actually cared about her.”

He had long ago made peace – albeit uneasy – with never having a wife or children to call him their own, and on no occasion had he dared to allow his mind such room to wander. Honestly though, if he indulged himself, he could picture it: a life in Argentina, with Christmas Eves spent in Carlotta’s company. His heart swelled at the mere thought, but he would just as soon settle to know she was happy with someone else. (Surely Player would run a comprehensive background search on any prospective partners if he so requested.)

“There is still time for her to find those things.”

“But how?” Carmen persisted, an almost defeated look in her eyes. “She’s heard all that lovey-dovey stuff before. How’s she supposed to trust someone again?”

To her surprise, Shadowsan smiled. His eyes creased in a way she vaguely recalled from her youth; it was a look reserved only for the scarce occasions when he tutored her. She felt like a child again under his gaze, as if perched at the foot of her bed, hearing stories of stars and jewelled spears. She felt safe.

“Carmen, the difference between real love and selfish desire cannot be overstated. To love with an honourable heart is to do so in measures until the bond matures. No score is kept of actions performed. No effort is made to spiritualise the connection. Such flattery weighs nothing without time spent to truly know the person you cherish. Do you understand?”

“I… think I’m starting to.”

Shadowsan brushed a thumb along her cheek, clearing away the remaining tears, and Carmen fell into his arms for a hug.

“Thanks for being here…”

“I always will be…”

“To the end of the line.”

Carmen chuckled a little at their simultaneous response. Strained as they may once have been, they had always mirrored each other. Always walked the line together. VILE’s every attempt to sever their ties had only resulted in more, coiling together like the strongest rope. All the fine-thread promises of her youth had snapped at the first point of tension, her only “family” quickly becoming her most fear-inducing enemies. All except him; her protector, her confidant, her most loyal supporter, and her loving father.

She sat up and sniffled, finally touching her earring. “Player?”

His voice lilted over the intercom. “I’m here, Red. You doing okay?”

“I’m getting there, but we’ll worry about me later. My grandfather’s counting on us.” She looked to Shadowsan once more, her smile returning. “Mamá is counting on us.”

Shadowsan smiled back, nodding in agreement.

“Word of advice, Red, go back wherever you last were. You got a hit on your scanner while you were swimming to the surface.”

“Thanks, Player.” Carmen got back to her feet, helping Shadowsan up before retrieving her diving helmet. At the helm of the boat, the Bostonians shared enthusiastic looks as she addressed them. “Zack, Ivy, be ready to move. We’ve got a sunken treasure to find.”