Chapter Text
"I mean, really dude. I can't believe you still get to work there after the accident," read a gray chat-bubble, recently popped up on Graham's phone screen.
"Me neither, mate. I still pinch myself every day!" Graham typed out in response. Graham was texting his cousin, Shadow Hawkins, an archaeologist up in... well, actually Graham couldn't remember. He couldn't remember a lot of things-- amnesia does that, he supposed. But he remembered that his cousin was American, and some sort of super-genius doing some super-history stuff somewhere far away from the Sydney Opera House. The two boys had gone over this song and dance many times before: despite all the genius in the world, Shadow just could not fathom that Graham had managed to not only retain his job post-accident, but actually get promoted. Graham had lost the "junior" in front of his "electrician" title. Yet it wasn't until he sent a selfie at the ol' Sydney Opera House dressed in full uniform that Shadow finally let go of his doubt, and acknowledged that Graham hadn't bee fired. These days, Shadow insisted that Graham send him a selfie from work every second Tuesday of the month to prove that he was still alive and working. Graham happily complied.
All this to say, there was nothing special about that night. Graham had lit another production of Carmen and was gearing up for The Thieving Magpie starting the next Saturday. Tech week would be a drag no doubt, but Graham was used to it. In a way, he was relieved to be done with Carmen for a while. It was a fine opera, sure, but it reminded him a little too much of his Carmen.
He sighed at that thought. Yes, his Carmen. The cheeky woman in red who hadn't left his mind since that afternoon at his favorite café. He guessed some people were just worth remembering, even for amnesiacs.
People like Carmen San Diego.
To this day, Graham still wrestled with whether or not his adventure with her in New Zealand was a dream or some bizarre reality. The details of that night were fuzzy, and he had spent hours considering that he may have busted his head again and hallucinated the whole experience.
The bruises still on his elbows said otherwise. He'd gotten them when her glider, collapsing under their combined weight, had crashed into the cold grass under the starry Aukland sky. In another life, the whole thing might have been quite romantic-- not that he was assuming anything. Regretfully, they were only there because some crazed mad-scientist lady was threatening to shut off all the electricity in Aukland, risking literally thousands of lives and mass inconvenience. It would have been bad, really bad.
Luckily, Carmen was there to save the day. There were never any major news-stories about Australia's Kiwi-neighbors having a historic blackout. Crisis averted-- and Graham had helped! It was awesome if not very, very terrifying.
Sometimes Graham wished he and Carmen had talked over what happened more, though. They had taken different planes back to Sydney, and aside from a few surface-level questions, Graham had let the topic drop. He was trying to play it cool, to not ruin a nice date by asking nitty-gritty questions. Not that they were on a date, or at least not officially. That was the thing about Carmen-- Graham never knew if they were two friends sharing a drink, or doing something more. He hoped it was the latter, but he had enough respect for himself and Carmen not to press his luck. So they'd spent their time gossiping about the places Carmen had been, or joking about Graham's coworkers.
He was crushing bad, and he knew it, too.
Strange, as he knew almost nothing about her. From what he could tell she was wicked intelligent and absolutely gorgeous, and on team "good guy" in the fight against some evil, super-organization hellbent on destroying electrical grids or something. As an electrician, Graham took that personally.
His phone buzzed again. Shadow had written: "What time is it over there?"
"11:02," Graham replied.
"Then I won't keep you. Get some sleep! I have work to do, anyway," Shadow bid him good night, adding an eye-roll emoji at the end of his sentence.
Just as Graham was going to reply, he heard some shuffling behind him. The Opera House had closed several hours ago, so no one should have been back there. Graham mentally groaned. Some part of him felt bad for shooing out starry-eyed acting hopefuls, curious tourists, or people just really into architecture and Australian history. But rules were rules-- people had to learn.
Graham existed out of his messaging app to turn on his phone flashlight. He made his way towards the direction of the noise until he came across a small group of people. It was dark, and he couldn't really make out their features. Still, he cleared his throat to begin his spiel.
"Excuse me, the Opera House is closed, mates. You can't be back here," Graham explained.
"It's not closed for us," someone replied back almost immediately. Wow, snappy.
Graham couldn't help but feel a little irritated. He could understand disliking rules, but at least he had the decency to admit he was breaking them when he did.
"Actually, mate, yes. Yes it is closed for you," Graham chided like a preschool teacher speaks to toddlers, "all of you out. Now."
He stepped forward, and his flashlight illuminated the faces of the trespassers. In all honesty, Graham was expecting to see a bunch of scraggy teenagers wearing ratty clothes that screamed "Look at me mom! I'm a rebel! Myeh!" He ran into those kids a lot, and even knew some of their names from how much they broke in. They were trying to be cool and failing miserably. Whatever.
But who he actually saw were three tall, buff individuals-- a woman and two men-- smartly dressed in fitted black suits with matching black ties. Despite the night sky and indoors location, they wore dapper shades that Graham knew weren't being sold at any old tourist shop. Or probably anywhere. He did not know any of them, and frankly, he was intimidated. But that didn't matter, they were still trespassing.
Standing his ground, Graham reiterated, "Thank you for visiting the Sydney Opera House, but it's far past closing hours. It is time for you to leave. Like, right now."
"Oh we will," said the lady of the group in an accent Graham couldn't quite place. "But we're taking you with us."
Graham raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"We can do this the easy way, or the slightly less-easy way. It makes no difference to us," the lady continued, taking a step towards Graham.
Were these men-in-black rejects threatening him? It seemed like they were. He couldn't help but wonder if they had anything to do with Carmen....
No, they couldn't be. They were too classy to be in league with the crazies in Aukland. Graham shivered when he remembered that ugly, oily chap who smelled of rotting fish and slid on his chest. Neal, was it?
That as beside the point. Regardless, Graham really didn't feel like going anywhere with the suit squad.
"I'm not looking for trouble," Graham assured them, "but I have a job to do."
"So do we," the woman replied, taking a step towards Graham. Graham took a step back.
"Actually, you know what? I'm feeling generous today," Graham said as he watched the woman's hand go to something at her belt. Crikey, did she have a gun? "How about we all just leave eahcther peacefully, I'll forgive and forget your trespassing, and you respectable chaps can go on your merry way?'
The woman sighed. "So, the less easy way it is."
The other two suited individuals brought a hand to their waists as well.
Crikey, they have guns. They have tiny white guns.
And all three of them were aiming their tiny white guns directly at Graham's face. His shoulders tense, and he found himself raising his hands in a show of peace.
"Are you really going to shoot me?" Graham asked, frankly incredulous. Because c'mon, getting caught trespassing was not nearly as bad as, say, murder. None of this was nearly that serious.
The lady shrugged. "It was your choice."
The suit squad pulled their triggers. Baby blue gas shot out of their guns directly into Graham's airway. His head began to spin as he felt his eyelids droop.
Tiny white guns that shoot gas. Tiny white gas guns, were his last thoughts before his legs gave out and he fell unconscious to the floor. His phone clattered out of his hand.
The lady agent bent down and picked up the phone. She quickly scanned it, seeing nothing but an unfinished text message to Shadow, before turning if off and slipping it into her pocket for safe keeping. She turned to her partners.
"Call Chief, this is the guy."