Chapter Text
Chapter 1 – Recruited
“Every discovery begins with a risk.”
The ventilation system of the incomplete VALORANT Protocol headquarters exhaled a constant metallic sigh, the sound of a world still under construction. Glass corridors reflected pale light from Radianite-powered lamps, and somewhere far below, automated welders hummed like cicadas in steel.
Brimstone’s boots announced him before the smell of his cigar did.
“Air filters are still slow,” Viper muttered, glancing up from a console. “You’re poisoning half the base.”
“Relax, Doc. They’re rated for Kingdom smog; they’ll handle a little nicotine.”
He leaned beside her, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the sealed lab across the observation deck. Inside, a teenager in an oversized yellow jacket crouched over a disassembled drone. Her movements were quick, confident, wholly absorbed.
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INTERNAL MEMO – VP COMMAND / RECRUITMENT FILE #K-01
Subject: Klara Böhringer
Age: 18 – Origin: Germany – Specialization: Radianite Energy Engineering
Assessment Notes: “Built a functional autonomous sentry from scrap Kingdom parts. Attitude: bright, irreverent, idealistic. Potential asset if guided; potential liability if unsupervised.”
Evaluator: L. Byrne.
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Brimstone exhaled smoke toward the glass. “She’s been ready for weeks.”
“She’s a child,” Viper scoffed. The faint green of her visor hid her expression, but her voice carried a familiar, cold precision. “One who’s about to be handed access to enough volatile material to flatten a city block.”
“She’s not just a tinkerer, Sabine. Kid’s a genius.”
The name cut through her like an unwanted scent. Sabine. Only Brimstone used it anymore—part respect, part provocation.
“She’s reckless,” Viper said. “You want another incident like Venice?”
Brimstone grunted. “Different case. Venice was a soldier’s mistake. Killjoy’s a scientist—she thinks before she pulls the trigger.”
Viper watched the girl lift a circuit board the size of her palm, mouth moving silently as she traced glowing filaments. Every flicker of Radianite light reflected in her goggles.
“She thinks too fast,” Viper murmured. “That’s how you miss the dangers.”
He chuckled, gravelly. “You used to be just like her.”
She stiffened. “I was never like that.”
“Sure you were. Kingdom’s prodigy, remember? Just traded the bright-eyed optimism for a gas mask and cynicism.”
Viper turned from the glass. “Optimism gets people killed.”
When Brimstone left to brief the tech division, the lab fell silent except for the rhythmic click of Killjoy’s tools. Viper stayed. She told herself it was professional oversight. Quality control, not curiosity.
The girl spoke occasionally to herself in German: soft bursts of “nein, das passt nicht” and “perfekt!” She moved with a rhythm Viper recognized… that feverish trance of someone who could see a solution forming in their head faster than their hands could follow.
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VOICE LOG FRAGMENT – LAB CAM 09
Killjoy: “If I can reroute the Radianite coolant through a micro-valve here, I can stabilize the core by at least three degrees. That’d stop the thermal cascade from—”
Unidentified observer sighs audibly.
Killjoy: “Oh! Uh… Hi? Didn’t see you there!”
The feed cut before Viper could respond. She realized she’d leaned closer to the monitor.
Ridiculous.
She straightened, adjusting the filters on her mask. The scent of ozone clung to the air—hot metal and flux. She preferred the sterile chill of her own lab, where nothing moved without her permission. Yet something about the chaotic hum of Killjoy’s workspace felt alive, dangerously alive.
Hours later, Brimstone returned, carrying two mugs of thick black coffee.
“She’s finished the prototype,” he said, handing one to Viper. “Working sentry, custom AI routines. Says it’s called the ‘Alarmbot.’”
“Cute,” Viper commented dryly, accepting the drink. “Does it yip when you throw a grenade at it?”
He smirked. “You’ll find out soon enough. She requested you as her mentor.”
The mug paused halfway to her lips. “She what?”
“She read your research logs. Said your Radianite toxin theory inspired her coolant stabilizer.”
Viper set the cup down. “I don’t mentor.”
“You do now.” Brimstone’s tone carried that immovable authority that had once made him a commander. “She’s joining the Protocol, and she’s your assignment. Keep her from blowing us up.”
“I’m not a babysitter.”
“No. You’re a scientist. Teach her what that actually means.”
He started to leave, then added over his shoulder, “And Sabine, try not to terrify her on day one.”
When the door slid shut, Viper stood alone again before the glass. Killjoy was still working, unaware of the decision just made above her head.
For a moment Viper studied the girl’s face—the quick smile she gave the drone when it obeyed, the smudge of oil across her cheek. Eighteen. Barely an adult. Too bright for this place, too loud for its ghosts.
She remembered her first lab under Kingdom: sterile halls, mentors who smiled too widely, contracts written in invisible ink. Discovery had always come shackled to regret.
Maybe Brimstone was right. Maybe this was how it began again.
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KILLJOY – PERSONAL LOG #001 (UNSENT DRAFT)
So, apparently, I’m joining a secret organization. Brimstone says they “keep the world from tearing itself apart.” No pressure, right?
They flew me here in a private jet. Super cool. Until you realize the windows are tinted so dark you can’t see where you’re going. Classified coordinates, he said. The base looks half-built, like a Kingdom lab someone actually cared about cleaning.
Also, there’s a woman here named Viper. She’s a legend. Literally. The files say she built half the chemical countermeasures that keep Radianite exposure safe-ish. I saw her once through the glass. She looked… scary. Beautiful, in a “will definitely murder me if I spill coffee on her workstation” kind of way.
I hope she talks to me tomorrow.
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The next morning arrived wrapped in the pale blue of artificial dawn. The base’s chronometers had no sense of sunrise; Radianite generators pulsed the same every hour.
Killjoy’s quarters were small but efficient. One bunk, one desk, a charging bay for her drones. She woke before the alarm, adrenaline buzzing. Today’s the day.
When she reached the main lab, she found it empty except for a faint chemical scent—acrid but not unpleasant. A note on the console read in neat handwriting:
Test Chamber 3. 0800 sharp. Don’t be late.
– V.
She grinned. Oh, she wrote a note. Progress.
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Viper was already inside the test chamber, calibrating containment drones. The room shimmered with green-tinted light from Radianite glass walls.
Killjoy hesitated at the threshold. “Uh, Agent Viper?”
“Step in, Böhringer.”
The voice through the mask carried no warmth, yet something about it thrilled her. She obeyed, clutching her datapad like a shield.
Viper gestured to a workbench. “Show me the prototype.”
Killjoy placed the Alarmbot carefully. “It’s still a little rough. I optimized the sensor to detect residual Radianite spikes—”
“—which will make it volatile under stress.” Viper finished the sentence for her, scanning the core. “You’re compensating with coolant flow?”
“Yep! Though the thermal reading’s been a bit high. I thought of using oleic acid for the fluid, but—”
“No.” Viper straightened, sharp. “Oleic will corrode your carbon lining. Use propylene glycol with trace hydrazine.”
Killjoy blinked. “Hydrazine’s explosive.”
“Only if you mishandle it. Are you planning to?”
“N-no, ma’am.”
“Then it won’t explode.”
For a heartbeat they stood in silence. Then Killjoy’s grin returned, wide and genuine. “You’re amazing.”
“Spare me the hero worship,” Viper drawled, though her tone softened by a fraction. “Science doesn’t need cheerleaders.”
Killjoy bit back a laugh. “Right. No pom-poms in the lab.”
Something like amusement flickered behind the mask before Viper turned away. “Run the test.”
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From the observation deck above, Brimstone watched the two scientists begin their first joint experiment. Viper’s posture was a study in discipline; Killjoy’s, an exuberant mirror. The sentry powered up, whirring, stable for now.
He took a long drag from his cigar and murmured to no one, “Looks like it’s gonna work.”
Far below, Viper adjusted a control dial, and the Alarmbot responded with a cheerful chirp.
The chamber lights dimmed to warning amber. Radianite coolant coursed through transparent tubing-like veins of molten jade. Killjoy’s fingers flew across the console, excitement and panic wrestling for control.
[COMMS – BRIMSTONE]: “Keep the readings steady. No fireworks in my base, you two.”
“Temperature’s spiking at ninety-one!” Killjoy called.
“Then vent it,” Viper replied, voice calm beneath the respirator. She didn’t even look up from her monitor. “Trust the math.”
Killjoy hesitated only a second before flipping the override. Vapor hissed from the vent valves, filling the room with chemical fog. The sensors dropped. Ninety, eighty-seven… steady. The Alarmbot chirped once and settled, light returning to its calm blue pulse.
“See?” Viper said quietly. “It listens when you do.”
Killjoy grinned behind her goggles. “You mean I listen when you do.”
Viper didn’t answer, but the corner of her mouth twitched, just enough for Killjoy to notice.
They ran three more cycles. Each ended the same way: Killjoy improvising, Viper correcting, the two of them orbiting the same problem from different angles until it clicked into harmony. When the final stability graph printed green across the screen, Killjoy whooped and threw both hands in the air.
[COMMS – BRIMSTONE]: “Good work. Log your data and take five.”
[END FEED]
Silence returned. The cooling fans wound down. Viper peeled off her gloves and studied the younger woman across the table.
“You learn fast,” she said, almost casually.
“Best way to survive,” Killjoy replied, wiping sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. “Besides, I had a great teacher.”
“That remains to be seen.”
The compliment slid past the mask’s filters, settling somewhere beneath Viper’s ribs. She turned away before it could take root.
The faint hum of the chamber faded to silence. Through the viewport, the mountains outside the base glimmered faintly with morning haze—if it was morning at all. Time blurred underground.
Killjoy leaned against the console, blowing on a scraped knuckle. “So, uh, about that hydrazine trick… how did you even think of that?”
Viper busied herself with sterilizing the test clamps. “I’ve worked with Radianite longer than you’ve been alive. Patterns repeat. Chemistry is only habit written in code.”
“That’s a poetic way of saying you’re brilliant.”
“I prefer efficient.”
Killjoy’s laugh bounced off the glass. It was too bright for the sterile lab; Viper felt it reverberate in her chest cavity like static.
[VP Internal Note – S. Callas]
Subject K-01 demonstrates instinctive risk analysis and appropriate improvisation. Further mentorship recommended.
She tapped the note into her tablet, then hesitated before saving. Mentorship. The word tasted foreign. When had she last taught anyone anything that wasn’t meant to kill?
Killjoy peered over her shoulder. “What’s that? A report on me?”
Viper turned the screen away. “Classified.”
“C’mon, I bet you wrote something nice.”
“Stop betting.” She sealed the file with a quick swipe. “Go calibrate your sensors for the corridor test.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
The enthusiasm was genuine, unarmored. Viper caught herself watching her go—long strides, jacket too big, humming under her breath. So loud. So alive.
She adjusted the filters on her mask again, as if that would clear the faint warmth in her lungs.
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The corridor smelled of new steel and ozone. Fluorescent strips hummed overhead while Killjoy rolled her creation into the center of the room. Her pulse ticked faster than the machine’s sensors.
“Systems ready,” she called.
Viper stood at the control console; gloved hands poised above the interface. Her voice carried across the room, low and even.
“Begin diagnostic. If the readings climb past the threshold, you pull power immediately.”
Killjoy swallowed. “Got it.” She flicked the switch.
Radianite light spilled across the floor, painting both of them in shifting green. The Alarmbot’s core pulsed. Once. Twice. Then steadied. A grin started to form on Killjoy’s lips until the sensors screamed an overload warning.
“Energy spike!” she shouted. “Something’s feeding back—”
“Vent channel two,” Viper said sharply. “Now.”
“I already—wait—”
The temperature graph shot upward.
Viper crossed the space in three strides, hit the manual override, and dropped a containment veil around them. The chamber exploded with static light, then dimmed. When the air cleared, the Alarmbot sat in the middle of a ring of scorched tiles, quietly humming as though nothing had happened.
Killjoy coughed, half-laughing. “Totally meant to do that.”
Viper’s heart thudded once, heavy and unscientific. “You enjoy frightening your supervisors?”
“Only the interesting ones.”
Something behind the respirator might have been a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, functional.”
Viper looked down at the stabilized readings. Perfectly balanced. Against her better judgment, pride slipped through the armor she wore as habit.
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Brimstone’s voice crackled over the comm line, a hint of relief beneath the authority.
“Good work down there. Wrap it up.”
The connection cut. Silence returned, filled only by the soft cooling of metal.
Killjoy knelt to check her drone, brushing ash from its chassis. “You think the Director liked that?”
“I think you survived it,” Viper said. “That’s usually enough.”
Killjoy straightened. “So… I’m in?”
Viper logged the final data set. “You’re in.”
The words were simple, but Killjoy caught the faintest trace of warmth behind them. She opened her mouth to reply, but Viper was already turning toward the corridor.
At the threshold, Viper paused. For the first time her voice lost its laboratory precision; it came out softer, almost human.
“Try to keep up, Böhringer.”
The automatic door hissed shut between them.
Killjoy stood there a long moment, replaying the sound of that sentence.
Then she bent to her drone and whispered, “Yeah. I can do that.”