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“Welcome back,” the Director motions 163 to the seat in front of his desk as he speaks. “Between you and 99, our completion rate has jumped 13%.”
“Thank you, sir,” 163 crosses his legs with a small, proud smirk, which the Director promptly returns.
“We’ve been watching your time trials.” The Director leans back in his seat for a long moment, studying 163 carefully as though sizing him up, then abruptly straightens.
“Agent 163, congratulations,” he says, “the board and I have promoted you to Rank 2. From now on, you’re on doubles.”
“With 99?” asks 163 straightaway.
“No, not her,” the Director surprises him. There’s no one else who can match up, 163 knows. “Listen-”
With a flick of his hand, 163’s file is projected between them.
“Your statistics have shown us a potential for growth we hadn’t expected for years,” says the Director, his eyes following the graph. “With your data, the board and I have decided on an…experimental course of action for our 600th unit.”
“You don’t mean-”
The Director nods once, emphatic. “We’re birthing a new agent directly into Rank 2, using your genetic data. If this works, agent, you’ll be the new code for the entire Rank 2 line.”
“And agent 600…will be my partner?” 163 asks, stunned.
“That’s right,” says the Director solemnly. “Make us proud.”
“I will, sir,” 163 assures him.
Most of the three week gestation will be spent growing bones, muscles, and organs; hardly a view to admire.
But 163 is entranced. Between training and maintenance, he stands for hours by the incubator’s tiny window, mesmerized with the slow formation of a new human body. After all, it isn’t against regulations.
When their new room is assigned, 163 arranges it meticulously, settling his meager personal collection of books first on the shelf, then piling them high on the desk instead. 600, 163 has decided, will have the bottom bunk, with every volume within easy reach.
He dreams of a home that is truly theirs, perhaps a cottage on the grounds, someday.
The pod is detached on the 21st day, just as projected. 163 watches as the technicians wheel it away to the final intel installation, and waits patiently outside orientation for the long afternoon hours.
600 emerges shortly before dinner, his eyes sliding back and forth in the hall before landing on 163, who smiles warmly and welcomes him to the agency, to his life.
The mess hall is crowded, perhaps too much so for a newborn. 600 seems uneasy, as 163 can well remember of his own first days. He requests they be allowed to eat in their room; it’s against regulations, but permission is granted.
“Thank you,” 600 murmurs, seating himself on the bed. “It was…too loud out there.”
“Of course,” 163 nods, dropping down next to 600 and digging into his meal. “Not to worry, though. You will get used to it all, I promise.”
“So I heard…” 600 sets his tray between them and reaches for the pile of books on the desk, turning a leatherbound novel over in his hands. “Are these yours?”
“Ours,” 163 assures him with a smile. “And I’ve already read them, so.”
“Mm.”
163 waits, but 600 is quickly engrossed, a slow smile appearing as he turns the pages, showing no sign of slowing down.
“You…do need to eat,” 163 attempts to interject, nudging 600’s tray closer. “Regulations.”
“…”
No response, save the gentle flipping of paper.
Amused, 163 lifts a spoonful of 600’s dinner and loudly clears his throat.
600 cranes his neck and opens his mouth expectantly, but does not look up.
163 laughs.
The mess hall is nearly empty by the time 163 returns their trays, reassuring the staff that all is indeed well.
600 is nearly halfway through the novel by the time 163 returns, his feet swinging lazily through the air as he lays on his stomach, turning each page with wonder.
“You know, it’s the first in a series,” 163 tells him, leaning against the bunkbed ladder. “You can read the others in the library…or order your own copies, if you like.”
He waits, patiently, until 600 has finished the chapter, then touches his shoulder.
“Just a moment, 600,” he insists gently. “We still nee–”
“Castiel.”
“Hm?”
“My name is ‘Castiel’,” he informs 163.
“‘Castiel’? …” 163 murmurs thoughtfully, “that sounds so familiar…”
“It’s from the book,” Castiel taps the page as he reads on.
“Ah! yes, of course,” 163 falls silent as it all comes back to him. “You don’t like ‘600’, then?”
“That’s an ID number, not a name,” Castiel explains.
“It’s a unique identifier,” 163 chuckles. “What’s the difference?”
“Then…you don’t want one, too?”
“I-” 163 blinks, startled. “N-no, I didn’t mean that…”
Castiel glances at him over his shoulder with a small, inquisitive smile.
“Did you…have one for me?” 163 asks slowly.
“Balthazar.”
“‘Balthazar’…” 163 flushes, “–oh, that’s-”
“We’re partners, right?”
With a smile, Castiel sits up to face him, his unease and newborn disorientation seemingly vanished.
“Y-yes…” 163 stammers, touched. Somehow, the word sounds different through that smile.
“Right,” Castiel nods, brightening as he holds up the book. “Then, you must be Balthazar.”