Chapter Text
The rickety van pulled up to the agency building, an uncharacteristically nervous Agent Phoenix behind the wheel. From their position, they could see countless bright, multicolored beacons of light that cut through the dark sky, accompanied by muffled, debatably over-the-top music. Drunk agents could be seen stumbling out into the street and vomiting into the bushes, but still seemingly having a good time.
We’re practically begging Zoraxis to attack us.
Resting their forehead on the wheel in front of them, they sigh rather overdramatically before shoving the door open and stepping outside. A cold gust of air slams them in the face, at which they sigh once more.
This was a terrible idea, and they had made sure to tell Reginald as such. Much to their dismay, he was quick to argue that this whole party technically was for them. After saving everyone’s heads from exploding during Operation: Kboom, it seemed that the agency was rather…appreciative. Overly so, if you were to ask Phoenix. After all, it was their job. They had argued that a party was the equivalent of celebrating an average Tuesday, but alas, the agency had insisted.
Smoothing out their dress clothes and yanking on their black leather gloves, they began walking in. The lawn was littered with discarded garbage and spilled drinks, leaving Phoenix half-heartedly dodging both people and trash as they approached the building.
Vaguely, they hoped that nobody would recognize them, but they knew that it would be considered a miracle if that were to happen. Whilst they tried their best to cover their face on all of their missions, they weren’t as harsh on themselves around the agency. Plenty of people would know what they look like by now.
The wide double doors seemed to have been shoved open long before, either by the wind or by excited partygoers. Stepping over the threshold, Phoenix took a moment to examine the interior of the building. Having arrived at the party late, they had been expecting some chaos, but this was obviously getting out of hand faster than anybody had anticipated. In retrospect, what had the agency expected to happen when they put a bunch of borderline insane agents with telekinesis in a building with a lot of martinis?
Phoenix stood in the doorway and watched as countless objects flew through the room, agents and their telekinesis on the other side of them. Tipped over bowls of food and drink dyed the floor, along with several drunks who had long since become soaked in the mystery drinks. Music blared, lights flashed, and people danced across the floor, completely out of time to the song.
The handlers are going to be pissed about this tomorrow morning.
All things considered, it wasn't too bad for an agency party, but they continued to list the countless ways that things could go downhill. It was their job to think about these outcomes, after all.
Eyes darting constantly, they moved through the different rooms of the building, looking for a place that was at least somewhat tame where they could camp out for the remainder of the party. Any other day, they would’ve been chugging martinis with the rest of the agents, but this party felt…different. Dangerous, maybe? Through their years as an agent, they had adopted an ability to sense when things were off, and now was undoubtedly one of those moments. Unsuccessfully trying to shrug the feeling off, they continued walking.
Relax, it’s probably just nerv-
“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?”
Shoulders tensing beneath tight dress clothes, they turn, revealing a man with excessive face tattoos who was standing unnervingly close. He wore the cocky expression of someone who had never experienced refusal.
“Why don’t we go dance?” He steps closer, hand closing around their wrist before they’re given a chance to object. Evidently glimpsing the look of revulsion on their face, he only grips them tighter. “C’mon, you know you wan-”
Before he could finish, Phoenix reared their arm up, punching him across the face with what was debatably more force than necessary. With the sickening snap of a broken nose, he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Allowing a moment to smile at this, they turned to continue their search. Before their eyes had even left the man, a new hand touched their shoulder.
“Well, that was a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
Rearing up once more, they whip around, expecting another creep. Standing behind them however, was their handler. Their fist paused just before colliding with his face as his eyes widened and he raised his hands in mock surrender.
“Relax, agent! It’s just me.” Reginald chuckles as he glances down at the man on the floor once more. “You really sorted him out, didn’t you? He’s in HR. I always thought he was rather…unnerving.”
Phoenix arches their eyebrow, and they raise their hands to sign. “Really? No lecture?”
“Not tonight.”
The two sat in silence for a moment, watching an alarmingly drunk couple sing a rather screechy rendition of “I Want to Know What Love Is”. A slight intake of breath could be heard before Reginald turned.
“You, uh…look nice, agent! I’m glad that I could convince you to come.”
Visibly reddening, Phoenix’s hands twitched as they desperately tried to think of something to say. “You look nice too.”
He smiled at this, offering them a polite nod before his head snapped in the direction of a large crash. It seemed someone had fallen into a potted plant. Or the potted plant had fallen into them; It was impossible to tell. Reginald was quick to shake his head in disapproval at the ensuing chaos.
Scoffing at Phoenix’s laughter, he hesitated a moment before speaking. “You know, Roxana is here too, if you feel like saying hello.”
Phoenix startles, eyes widening slightly. Before they could respond, Reginald spoke again.
“I know your last meeting with her was…non-ideal, but you two really do have a lot in common.”
The agent raised their brows judgmentally. “What makes you think that she would want to see the person that destroyed her life's work?”
“On the contrary, agent, she seemed rather excited to see you.”
They were unsure how much they trusted this statement, but they nodded their head anyway and allowed Reginald to lead them from the room.
Upon walking into the next room over, it was obvious where the beacons of light had been coming from. Massive spotlights were set up all around the perimeter of the room, the colors spinning around each other in such a fashion that it was difficult to look away. Accompanying those was one large table that contained food on the right side of the room, whilst several smaller circular tables for seating were to the left. Couples swayed around the center, surprisingly sober for a party like this. The most noticeable detail however, was the ceiling. Or rather, the lack of one. Obviously, it was the reason that the lights had been so apparent from outside.
Noticing that Phoenix had stopped, Reginald followed their gaze up, watching alongside them as the multicolored lights flashed through the sky.
“The agency spent hours setting this up. I can’t say that Director Morales will be thrilled about the damage…”
Phoenix smirked, their head drifting back down. “There’s the lecture! I’ve been waiting all night!”
Sputtering, he stumbled for words. “That was not a lecture. I was simply stating that-”
“Phoenix!”
What would have turned into a very long argument between the two was cut short as they turned to see Dr. Prism breaking through the crowd. She wore a navy blue dress that stretched down to her ankles, paired with a pair of black high heels. The signature messy bun seemed to be a favorite of hers, as it still remained on her head.
Before Phoenix was given a chance to react, she barrelled into them, wrapping her arms around their smaller frame. Wondering if this was perhaps the work of the Mimic Mask, they turned a concerned gaze to their handler from over her shoulder. Upon finding that he was smiling, they awkwardly touched her back with their hands, not quite a hug.
She pulled back, stiffening as she saw their face. “Oh! I’m sorry, I’m being weird, aren’t I? I just…don’t really know how to…interact? With people.” Her face dropped into her hands, and she groaned. “God, robots are so much easier.”
Phoenix simply stood there, looking nervous. They weren’t entirely sure if she knew sign language, so they ended up settling on a small thumbs up that hopefully conveyed supportiveness.
Reginald, who seemed to find this whole interaction comical, finally stepped in. “Don’t worry, you’re doing great. I, for one, love ‘interacting’ with you.” Phoenix could then do nothing but watch as he leaned down and kissed her. The agent’s mouth dropped open, and without warning, they began pumping their fists in the air, startling both Reginald and Roxana.
Seeing their expressions, they stopped for a moment to sign; “I knew it! I’ve shipped you two from the beginning!” Seemingly thinking that this is a valid explanation, they continued their small celebration.
Shooting a judgmental but amused expression at them, Reginald decided that he would not even attempt to understand what they had meant by that.
They stopped suddenly, turning to stare him in the eyes with an intensity that was rare in the agent. “That was the worst flirting I have ever seen, by the way. ‘I love interacting with you’? Seriously?”
“I- agent!”
“Don’t worry, I can teach you some tricks later.”
“Agent!”
—
The rough wood of the chair dug into their back as they leaned back, taking another sip from their dry martini. An increasing number of people swayed around the dance floor, Reginald and Roxana amongst them. Phoenix smiled at the image of them dancing together. In this field of work, relationships were few and far between. It was nice to see Reggie looking so happy.
Maybe this party isn’t that bad.
“Agent Phoenix, I presume?”
Okay, it’s that bad.
They glance up from their half-finished slice of cake, eyelids half lidded in quiet disappointment at being recognized. “What, do you want an autograph?” Their signing was clumsier than usual as a result of the drinks that they hadn’t bothered keeping track of.
The person that stood over them wore a suit that was such a deep shade of blue that it could be considered black, along with a matching fedora. Shadow cloaked their face in a sort of cartoonish fashion, preventing their features from being viewed.
“Sure, let’s go with that.” The person passes them a folded piece of paper, which they open without question.
—
There’s a bomb in the basement.
It goes off in ten minutes.
—