Chapter Text
The water is black and inky, waves lapping against tankers and yachts tied to barnacle-crusted docks. South stares down at the murky depths while running one last weapons check. It’s muscle memory at this point, and when she’s done, she turns away from the harbour to the real target.
It’s foggy, this close to the water, but the shipping warehouse sprawls out behind the mist in a patchwork of rusted metal and dusty brick. Pretty ramshackle for holding such an important piece of equipment, South muses, but there are probably limited options when it comes to staying under the radar when your important equipment is also sketchy as fuck.
“Comms check,” her brother’s voice crackles to life in her ear.
“Yeah, I hear you,” South replies. She sidles along the building, careful to avoid the locations of lights and cameras that she’s memorized just for this.
"Okay,” North says, “you know the drill. Quick in and out. Don't be seen. And South? Set your motion trackers. Carolina isn't here to bail our asses out this time."
"That was a long time ago," South mutters, glaring at the nearby rooftop where her brother is perched. It's pitch black out, but she knows North is up there somewhere. "And it isn't fucking happening again."
She thinks she hears a quiet, "Language" through her earpiece, but she ignores it and enters the compound. And she sets her goddamn trackers.
The heist goes off without a single weapons discharge, so South is counting it as a win.
“Director’s gonna shit his pants when he finds out this is missing,” she smirks, holding up the sturdy black case before locking it safely in the trunk of the car.
North is frowning. “He’ll know it was us, South.”
“Good,” South declares. “Bastard’s gonna have to take us seriously soon, whether he wants to or not.”
They get in the car. Stealing one little piece of tech is really the tiniest of victories, but South feels a sense of satisfaction nonetheless as she puts the car in gear and they speed away from the warehouse.
They’ve come a long way from being the Director’s mindless dogs, and what started off as a tiny rebellion has been built into their own empire, with North at the head and South by his side. The Director’s corruption runs deep; it’s still a David and Goliath scenario, but slowly, they’re putting dents in his operations, in plans built on gallons of blood over years of torture.
The twins’ escape was messy, and they’ve burned just about every bridge they’ve ever crossed. Not many of Project Freelancer’s employees were convinced–or wanted to be convinced–to join them, but the handful that were have grown into a full working force, and while the twins’ company fronts building and construction on the outside, they’re doing everything they can to make the Director’s life a personal hell behind the scenes.
He’s not going to get away with what he’s done. With what he wants to do.
"Slow down, it’s a school zone,” North chastises.
“No self-respecting kid is gonna be at school at two in the goddamn morning,” South huffs. She contemplates speeding up just to spite him.
"Use your turn signal."
"Jesus fucking christ, North! You're worse than Mom!"
"Language! And you're driving irresponsibly!"
South thinks their goal of fucking over the Director is the only reason she hasn’t also killed the motherfucker sitting in the passenger seat…yet.
South grits her teeth. "I just want to get this thing," she jerks her thumb in the direction of the trunk, "back to the lab. Quit it with the backseat driving."
North is doing that stupid almost-smile that means he’s pleased with himself for getting a rise out of her. South glowers, but North’s quiet after that, yawning and stretching and settling down in the passenger seat. South turns on a radio station she knows he hates, and makes short work of the rest of the drive back.
Their building stands tall amongst the cityscape, modern architecture stretching high into the sky. Hiding in plain sight, North had called it. Ritzy douchebag, South had called him, though she admits to herself that the ritzy douchebag lifestyle isn’t all that bad as she’s pulling the car into their private underground lot.
Dakota Tech, the signs and logos all read. A little on the nose, South thinks, but then, her brother has never been very creative.
She leaves North at the car to handle unpacking their gear and delivering their freshly stolen tech to the lab.
Security doesn't take long to check her in—they know damn well who she is, she hired and trained them, after all—and then South is putting in biometrics to ride the elevator to the top floor.
The twins share the penthouse at the top of the building. North designed it, and it shows, in the fancy furniture, the open concepts, floor to ceiling windows, and all the funky lighting fixtures and weird art.
South never really cared how it looked. She cared that they had somewhere to call home base, and that they were together. The space is theirs, both of theirs, despite being overrun with North’s newfound bougie CEO tastes.
South shucks her gear as she makes her way towards the kitchen, first boots, then guns, knives, gloves, and finally the bulletproof vest that’s become like a second skin. North will probably bitch at her for leaving her stuff all over the place, but there’s a leftover box of Chinese takeout sitting in the fridge that’s calling her name and nothing is going to stand in her way.
She retrieves her precious cargo and takes a seat at the huge kitchen island, shovelling it into her mouth on autopilot without even bothering to heat it up. Bedtime, definitely, after this. She’s exhausted after tonight.
Morning finds her slumping over the same spot in the kitchen, rested but by no means awake yet.
“Mornin’,” North greets her, much too cheerful for someone who was up most of the night, and plunks a mug of coffee in front of her.
South grunts in reply and accepts the drink, steadying it with both hands so it doesn’t spill when she lifts it groggily to her lips.
North is hauling out pans and cutting boards, and South thinks that he’s probably going to be making omelets for breakfast again because that seems to be his newest obsession.
“Listen,” he says, his back to her as he rifles through the fridge for ingredients, “I was thinking– hey, wait, did you eat my leftovers?”
“No,” South deadpans.
North doesn’t look like he believes her for one second, but he lets it go, and that should be her first hint that she won’t like where the rest of this conversation is going.
“Anyway,” he continues, cracking eggs into a bowl now, “company gala is this weekend. Y’know, for all the funding execs and stuff.”
South nods along, even though she doesn’t really know. North always handles the business side of things, and she stays on the sidelines, watching his back and keeping operations running smoothly. The Freelancer stuff, they do together, but Dakota Tech was North’s idea, a way to get money while hiding what they’re really doing behind closed doors.
“You wanna come this year?” North asks.
South actually scoffs. She’s not even going to answer that.
“Come on,” North coaxes. He dumps the eggs into a pan and they start to sizzle. "You're my partner."
"Silent partner,” South glares down into her coffee instead of at him. “I don't want my face plastered on every news station within ten miles of here." She can picture it now, headlines questioning who the Dakota Tech CEO's VIP guest may be.
North sighs. "No one will know who you are. You don't even have to sit near me."
South looks at him skeptically.
North's face is calm, but South catches a muscle twitch in his jaw as he’s flipping the eggs. He's wrestling with himself under the surface, trying not to admit to her that she's got the upper hand here.
"Why do you care if I'm there anyway?"
"We built this together," North gestures at the room, the building around them. "And you're my sister. It would just mean a lot to have you there." He smiles his stupid sappy smile at her.
"Fine," South huffs. She crosses her arms and pointedly avoids meeting his eyes. "But I’m pretending I don’t know you.”
North sets an omelet in front of her, loaded with little peppers and onions and chunks of ham, just the way she likes it, and he grins.
“It’s a little… revealing,” North tells her tentatively.
“It’s a widdle wevealing,” South mocks him, “shut your bitch ass up. We don’t know each other, remember?”
“Right,” North mutters. “How could I forget.”
South smooths a hand over the gown she’s chosen. She quite likes it; it’s black and sleek, and okay, yeah, a little revealing, but she looks good, so who gives a fuck? Besides, it was still easy to hide a couple blades under, just in case.
North reaches over to adjust the clasp of her necklace so it’s hidden beneath her hair, and she straightens his tie for him.
“You look nice,” he says.
South rolls her eyes but doesn’t stop a slight smile from crossing her lips. “Whatever.”
The elevator doors open with a ding, and the twins step out in opposite directions without so much as a glance at each other.
The event hall– and what sort of a crazy world does she live in where she owns a building with its own event hall; it took years to make this, it’s been years, and she’ll still never be used to it– is decorated in glittering gold, candles lit at each table, and caterers are making rounds with trays of champagne and those fancy tiny hotdogs on toothpicks. South helps herself to one of each, sticking to the outskirts of the crowds, heels clicking over the polished floors.
She’s spent years mastering the perfect resting bitch face, and she puts it to good use now so no one tries to approach her. Across the room, North is the opposite, greeting people and shaking hands with the fakest smile South has ever seen plastered on his face. All the executives are falling for it, though, tripping over themselves just for a turn to kiss his ass.
Again, South thinks to herself, what a crazy world.
The glass of champagne doesn’t last long, and she finds herself at the bar next for something a little more substantial. She’s certainly going to need it to make it through an evening of listening to posh assholes talking just for the sake of hearing their own voices. Usually during these events she’d be out of sight, out of mind. Running security behind the scenes, if anything, but more likely upstairs having some much-deserved me-time. Now, she picks her way through the crowd, trying to imitate the way they sip their fancy little drinks and pretend to admire the venue.
The shallow socializing drags on, and more than once she considers just leaving, but every time North manages to catch her eye from across the room and smile at her. Damned idiot, he probably actually enjoys this.
Other than a brief check in with a couple of her security team members that are milling around the premises, South doesn’t talk to anybody. They insist they’ve got everything under control, and South insists on helping them check the perimeter just for something to do. Big room, big windows, big crowd. A few old, crusty stakeholders give her funny looks, but otherwise there’s nothing out of the ordinary.
There’s a small stage set up at the back of the room, framed by the massive windows, and the voices of the mingling crowd seem to reach a crescendo just as microphone feedback crackles to life. Finally, the evening is going somewhere.
Or, maybe not, South thinks when the speaker takes the podium and it’s just more of the same old thank you for coming, it’s so good to see everyone, we’re so thankful for your support and blah blah blah. They introduce North next, and it’s weird to hear his real name said out loud. South wonders if she should be mad, that the names the Director gave them are the ones that stuck, but really, there are more important things at stake than names. Not worth the effort.
North starts his speech, and South is convinced that this time she really is going to die of boredom. She should have remembered there was a reason she never comes to any of these ass-kissing festivals. If only this crowd knew what their money was really going towards.
All eyes are on her brother as he waxes about the virtues of the company and the value of community support, and probably a bunch of other crap that South quickly zones out of. She lets her gaze wander, and eventually meanders to look out of the large windows overlooking the city.
The sky is dark, but the city below never really sleeps, continually glowing with signs and infrastructure and humming with traffic, both ground and air. South sweeps an uninterested eye over the urban landscape. There’s a flickering billboard nearby advertising protein powder, a quick flash of red and blue from a passing helicopter, and the slow, rhythmic blinking of wifi towers.
North drones on, and it all blends together, a whirl of sound and light and color, until a single thread of red breaks through it all.
The thin beam of rigid light casts through the windows, slinking across the floor and onto the stage.
With mounting horror, South realizes what it is when the laser finds its target, settling over her brother’s back.
She’s running before she’s consciously aware of her feet moving. People cast strange looks as she leaps onto the stage. North pauses his spiel, bewildered.
The window shatters in the same moment she tackles her brother to the floor.
People are screaming. That’s the only thing she can make out over the ringing in her ears. South picks her head up off the ground, glass tumbling from her hair. Her arm feels warm and wet.
North groans and rolls over, and the rest of the room comes crashing back into clarity.
South shoves herself to her feet. She spares another quick glance at North—dazed, but unharmed—and turns to the chaos unfolding in the event hall.
The guests are scattering, dropped champagne flutes shattering and chairs and tables scraping. Her security team flocks the scene, taking up positions in front of the destroyed window and around the twins.
“Ma’am, you’re bleeding.”
South glances down at her arm, where a steady trickle of red cascades from her bicep.
“Just a graze,” she says distractedly, still surveying the unfolding pandemonium. The sniper outside will be long gone, but she needs to make sure no one has infiltrated the inside, too.
South feels her temper flare when she sees her.
The formal attire is unusual, but the mane of red hair is unmistakable. Agent Carolina meets her eyes over the crowd for only a moment before she turns and runs.
“Give me a gun,” South says to her nearest grunt, then more frantically, “gimme your damn gun!”
She’s passed a handgun and she brings it to bear at Carolina’s retreating figure, darting through the crowd.
“Hey!” she barks to security. “Stop her!”
There are too many people to get a clear shot. South curses herself for her choice in footwear when the heels slow her down and she watches Carolina round the corner. South and her security team chase her through the lobby and to the parking lot where she disappears into a waiting car.
South gets a few rounds off into the bumper, but the car doesn’t slow, and then it vanishes into traffic.
“Fuck,” South mutters. The gun dangles loosely in her grip, and she kicks uselessly at the ground. “Shit!”
The director just tried to kill her brother. And now Carolina is gone, too.
North catches up with her, panting, and together they stare at passing cars in defeat.
"Fuck," North echoes.
South nudges him, getting a little blood on his fancy suit jacket.
"Language," she mumbles.
"Shut up."