Welcome to Town

[kinoindiana]

The Assignment Masterpost

The Assignment is a Spy-Romance novel set in the small town of Kino, Indiana. One of America's hidden cities. A hub for spies, paranoia, and fear. Inez Darío is given the task of watching a potential threat while they're both attending the local college.

Chapter One: Inez

Chapter Two: Temple

Chapter Three: Inez

Chapter Four: Temple

[the-unspeakable-tsar]

Writing Masterlist

Hello, my name is M or Tsar. I write original fiction and I've been posting it on various tumblrs that I created and control If you're interested feel free to find them at the following or on my PATREON!

@kinoindiana - A Spy-Romance Story set in a small college town in Indiana.

@sweetjustice818 - Candy Themed Superhero Fiction, mainly superhero erotica, but that isn't always the case.

@watchers-lust - Fantasy Erotica mostly focusing on different versions of an elf named Ailuin and his wife Glasha the orc warrior. Currently working on a coffee shop au featuring the two of them in a modernish context.

@cavefire - Paleo-Fantasy featuring an elf and an orc in the early years of a fantasy world where the rules are soft and skulls are even softer!

@hamilton-junction-story - a horror story set in the 1980s featuring more nostalgia than you can shake a stick at.

@starshotprogramme - a sci-fi story starring only public domain characters as they navigate life on a distant planet and social issues.

@ghostskilledmyfantasies - a vampire story told entirely in the form of tumblr posts. This one I only seem to add to when I'm plastered on canned wine, but it's an experiment I'm having fun with nonetheless.

[kinoindiana]

The Assignment Chapter Four: Temple

Temple comes to a conclusion while in the car with Inez.

I was grateful that Irwin was not working the day I stepped into the store. I had taken the semi-miniature bus in the direction of what I had started calling the shopping district. My objective was simple: three sets of curtains, one blackout, two shower; some light foodstuffs; pillows; bedsheets; blankets; and a ceramic bladed kitchen knife that I could carry with me into buildings without setting off metal detectors. 

Difficulty only arose when I stepped out of the air conditioned store and out into the heat and sunshine. I could see the little digital timetable for the bus in the distance and realized with some agitation that the bus would not circle back around for another thirty-minutes. Thirty-minutes of the searing heat that would render my soft flesh into charred leather. 

I thought that would be the indignity I would suffer until I heard a voice beside me, a voice soundtracked by the rattling of an engine. “Hey, need a ride?” 

My head swiveled to the side and I was greeted once more by Inez. Inez who collided with me. Inez whose name clicked and tapped along my mind with the elegance of a trained dancer. Inez,who was dressed in a black trench coat like a detective from a film noir, despite the horrifying weather. 

Of course I nodded. It was not a lie. I did need to get out of the sun and heat as soon as possible. I am loath to admit it, but I might have gotten into the car if it had been Irwin from the previous day. It being Inez only made the experience pleasant. 

Inez reached over and worked to open the passenger door. I was immediately struck with the stench of artificial fruit and cannabis. I guess that was a new fact about Inez to add to my internal catalog. It did little to deter me, though. I still entered her car, with my bags piled into my lap and onto the floorboard, freeing my hands to access my notebook. 

I penned, “Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it,” said Inez. She wore that same false smile, though for whose benefit, I cannot say.

What I can say with fair certainty is that my brain was positively swimming in an ocean of oxytocin. Part of me wished that it could be poured out and pressed into a great big bottle of pills to be enjoyed at my leisure. 

“So I was curious,” she said once we were further down the road. “What’s your major? I realized the other day our conversation didn’t make it that far. What are you hoping to do after the Brenton School?”

I felt in the moment that the mask was in full effect. I have given the question thought in the past when self-offered. This necessitated something simple. “Engineering. I plan on entering the private sector. You?”

I will admit that it was not the most calculated move on my end, but I was curious to see how she would respond. She failed to disappoint. 

“The total goal is a job as a security strategist with the Department of Defense,” she said and left it at that. 

I did not see her expression change from the plasticine smile that she projected outwards. She failed to shift even a little bit. Security strategist is one of those jobs that fits the worker like her mask. It is functionally a front for something else. It hit me like a freight train that Inez is a fucking spy. A spy whose car I was trapped in. A spy who was focused on me. I felt my consciousness emerge, gasping for air from the oxytocin sea as my thoughts went to the shuttering and flashes from the night before. A drone?

I stared straight ahead as we cruised down the road towards my destination. 

She snapped her fingers as if summoning a thought, but I suspected that it had been brewing in the confines of her mind even before she picked me up. “That reminds me, do you have any plans for the weekend?”

I continued to stare forward, but responded with a shake of the head.

“Well, there’s going to be this party this Saturday and if you’d like, I could pick you up,” said Inez. 

What was the trick here? That is what the first thought on my mind was. To corral me? Try and see how I react in an overstimulating environment? 

I penned another message, “That works for me. What time?”

[kinoindiana]

The Assignment Chapter Three: Inez

Inez and her roommate Beatrix go to the tape shop and discuss what Inez's next move with her assignment is.

Miller’s tape store smelled like newly printed plastic, thick with an intoxicating, chemical aroma that was going to for sure give me cancer if I sat inside huffing it for too long. Beatrix and I stopped in and stood along a wall of tapes beside the register, thumbing through them until we found anything good. I made off with Family Man when I spotted Beatrix gazing longingly at the dark grey J-Card depicting a photograph of a white popstar with her arms wrapped around her head in an approximation of anguish. 

The front desk attendant eyed us both. Mostly Beatrix, I told myself. 

“Are you two going to buy anything or are you going to just gawk at the tapes?” he asked. His nametag told us his name was Teddy.

“Yeah, Teddy,” said Beatrix, cocking her head to the side. At that moment, she kind of put me in the mindset of some kind of predatory dog. 

Slowly, she stalked up to the register and landed the tape against the glass surface with a smack.

“I want to know if you’ve got any new Crime Junkie tapes in,” said Beatrix. 

Teddy narrowed his eyes. “You came in yesterday bothering me about this shit, kid. It’s been delayed.” 

“What sort of world are we living in?” asked Beatrix, her head still cocked at a weird angle. “I placed the order before I even arrived in this shitkicker town. Why hasn’t it arrived? What kind of cruel game are you and your puppet masters playing, Teddy?”

I stood behind Beatrix, imagining her head erupting in a shower of pink meat as a psionic blast shot through her being. No such luck. I had to simply wait for her to finish bothering the man before I could pay for my tapes and leave. I was starting to get a headache from the fumes in the place. 

Once outside, we filed into my car. British spies get to drive Aston Martins. I get to drive a 2012 Dodge Avenger that belonged to a cousin that I’ve never met. Life’s just sort of like that sometimes. As soon as we were inside, Beatrix slipped a little powder blue vape pod out of her jeans and filled my car with weed tinged blueberry bullshit.

“Could you do literally anything else?” I asked, pulling my shirt over my nose so I didn’t get a contact high in between the cassette store and the dorms.

“I’m not allowed to vape in the car, not allowed to vape in the room, christ alive! It’s like you want to take away my rights,” said Beatrix. 

“It’s not a human right to vape in my car,” I said.

Beatrix eventually stopped puffing on the pod it was then, and only then that I started the engine to life and began to make for the dorm. 

“So, what’s your plan for the assignment?” asked Beatrix. 

I didn’t want to pay her any attention, but in truth. It was weighing on my mind a touch. “I’ve made contact with Temple Mabuse and I will play it by ear from here.” 

“Play it by ear,” parrotted Beatrix.

“Get fucked.” 

“Hey, why the attitude?” said Beatrix. Her hands rose, palms flat, but with the vape pinched to her hand by her thumb. “I have a couple ideas that can help you get the assignment done, quick and easy.” 

I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but the assignment had presented complications that left me with only a handful of avenues to travel down. “Which are?”

“This Temple character is one of those nebulous science majors, yeah?” asked Beatrix. 

I nodded. 

“Well the solution lies right there: Seduction. Just nod and smile at whatever they say until they’re naked and then their secrets are all yours for the taking,” said Beatrix. 

I felt my face start to burn as she brought this suggestion to the forefront. I immediately felt myself longing for old school suicide doors on the car so I could throw her out into the street.

“I’m not doing that,” I said. “I’m not like Britain’s murderous himbos, I’m above that,” I uttered, teeth locked together like I’d been stricken with tetanus.

“Fine, but there is a secondary version that you might like,” said Beatrix. 

I doubted that, but driving didn’t exactly put me in a great position to hit her so I allowed her to continue.

“On Saturday there’s going to be an event, you might call it a mixer. I would call it a party,” said Beatrix. “It’s held at the old Astor House. You should come to it. Bring this Mabuse character with you. You can observe them in an enclosed environment and possibly get them a little drunk. Liquor loosens lips, and all that.” 

That part did appeal to me, but as we continued in our trajectory towards the dorm building, I spotted Mabuse exiting the grocery store with a mess of grocery bags. Too many for them to carry on their own. 

“Get out of the car, Beatrix,” I said in a cool tone. “And walk in the opposite direction, towards the tape store.” 

“What?” asked Beatrix. 

“I see the target and I’m going to engage them,” I said. “I need to be alone when I do it. So please, get out of my car.” 

I slowed to a crawl so she could easily bail without potentially eating shit on the blacktop, but I did not stop. Thankfully, Mabuse had their back to us. 

The doorlocks clicked and with some hesitation, Beatrix exited onto the street, stumbling as she made her way out of the car and back towards the tape store. 

Once she had departed, I started off down and towards Mabuse, my mind singularly focused on the task ahead. 

[kinoindiana]

The Assignment Chapter Two: Temple

Temple Mabuse has arrived in Kino, Indiana. They quickly find things odd from the outset.

Kino, Indiana. That is what they call this place. It fit the town like a surgical glove. When I walked down the street, I witnessed the buildings that were laid out with expressed purpose. Everything seemed to snap together like pieces of a model made large. Drugstores and mom & pop style shops, with everything painted with sunbleached pastels. For me, it felt as though I was stepping into an episode of some gaudy television show from the 1970s, desperately emulating fashions and aesthetics from an older, imagined era. 

These thoughts danced in my mind as I made my way down the street with a backpack loaded with clothing and notebooks. My ears were protected from the natural noise of the town by a pair of headphones and a 2021 Sony Walkman, playing for me the audiobook adaptation of Ron Dodson by Maxwell Shea. As I neared my target, I witnessed a Mercedes Lifejet covered in rusting red paint peel around one corner and vanish behind another. The driver was hidden behind reflective glass that would be illegal in any other town. 

The target was Mitchell's Grocers located on Pryor Street. I felt then and there that I would make it a frequent stop during my duration in Kino. It was located about a forty minute walk from my dorm building. The air of Mitchell’s smelled like slightly burnt cotton candy and a harsh chemical cleaning agent that I could not quite identify. There seemed to be only a singular employee, whose face was hidden behind a Field and Game magazine.

I wandered down the aisles until I found what I needed: black coffee in bags and a plastic jug with a spigot. The employee revealed himself to me when I approached the counter. I could see that his nametag read, “Irwin”.

“Is that all?” asked Irwin. 

I nodded. 

“You aren’t gonna say anything?” asked Irwin. 

I nodded again. 

“Do you think you’re better than me?” asked Irwin. “I could fix that.” 

I felt a chill run along my spine despite the heat of the late-summer outside. I was quick to take my things and leave, without concluding our conversation in any way, I might add. That left the walk to the dorms. I trekked in the heat and sunlight, sweat made my skin slick beneath my jacket and t-shirt. I felt as though I was on the verge of passing out by the time I was at the door. 

I was steady for half-a-second. That single sliver of a second felt as though it was an eternity when looking back on it. That is when I heard a positively thunderous, “Oh shit!” 

I did not have the opportunity to respond when the collision happened. When I registered what had been said, I was already on the ground, my groceries about my feet. I felt saintlike. Standing over me was a figure silhouetted by the sunlight. When she came into focus, the first thing that I noticed was the halo of hair that encircled her head.  

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

I did not say anything, but I accepted her outstretched hand when she offered it. Her knuckles were cracked and I briefly traced the outlines of faded scars as I was brought back to my feet. The second thing I noticed was her height, she was easily six inches taller than me, not that much of a challenge, but I found it noteworthy.

I nodded in response and produced my notebook, quickly scrawling a message for her. “I am alright. What happened?”

“Not much of a talker,” she said as her opening volley. “I was jogging and getting a lay of the land and I guess I lost focus.”

Immediately, I felt a kinship with this person, she too was a stranger here in Kino. I wrote out another message, “Understandable.” 

When she smiled, I was hit with another odd sense of familiarity. When she smiled, it was as though I was glancing at a mask. I could not detect what the emotion beneath the expression was meant to be. 

“I’m Inez, it’s good to meet you,” she said. 

I wrote another message, “Temple Mabuse.” 

“Charmed,” said Inez. “I’ve got to run off, though. It was pleasant to meet you, Temple Mabuse.” 

I must admit that after she departed, I carried the conversation with me, rolling over each and every exchanged word. This was eased by my notebook. I knew that with it I was without error. 

The dorm room was a single, just as requested. Small with a bed nestled in one corner and a desk opposite it. The closet required curtains which I would have to purchase. I would also have to purchase curtains for the single, solitary window that rested in the middle of the wall, the sunlight flooded in and lit everything adequately. There was a bathroom nearby, but I did not require it, I did not want to see what I would have to purchase for that slice of my life. 

I laid down on the sheetless bed, yet another expense I would have to take care of. I allowed the conversation with Inez to replay in my mind and dance along the first few sheets of my notebook. In-ez. The word felt correct. 

As the sun set, its light was siphoned out of my room. It hit me, once I was swathed in darkness that this would be my life. For the next four to six years, Kino, Indiana and the Brenton School would be my entire existence. The people living in this building on Pretorius Street would be my peers, classmates, and eventual coworkers. Life contained in a box and placed among other boxes. 

I flicked on the ceiling light and set about my work. I took the jug from the store and went to the bathroom. Water slowly filled the vessel until it touched the lip of the jug. I sucked off the last bit of water myself rather than let it waste down the drain. The coffee was added and the jug was placed in a reverential spot on the desk. I thought of it for a moment like the altar to a pagan god. In this case, my god was cold brewed coffee. 

That is when I first heard it. A noise, a shutter like plastic was being crinkled quickly and then repeatedly. I turned to face the direction of the sound and my eyes were greeted by a series of bright flashes. Brighter than the sun. 

I fled to the bathroom and crawled into the bathroom. Resting somewhere, anywhere. Somewhere the flashes could not get to me. I would stay there for the rest of the night, but all the while I heard the shuttering in the other room, right outside my window. 

[kinoindiana]

The Assignment Chapter One: Inez

Inez Darío is given her first assignment as a spy while attending the Brenton College in one of The United States' hidden cities.

The air in the office waiting room was cool and sterile. It reminded me of a hospital or a funeral home. My roommate and I sat in a pair of chairs beside a door that was so set into the wall that it looked almost invisible at a glance. Beatrix, my roommate, decided that morning to shave her head, the end result being a patchy black buzzcut. Across from us and next to the door rested the desk of a glassy-eyed secretary who plucked at her typewriter. 

“You know why they do it, don’t you?” asked Beatrix. 

I tried my best to ignore her. The secretary glanced over at us, lightly intrigued, but not enough to cease her typing. I clasped my hands together on my lap, the nail on my thumb dug into the adjacent knuckle to keep myself in check. 

Beatrix continued speaking as if everyone gave a resounding ‘yes’. “All around us are thousands of human computers. Mathematical savants and strategists manning maps, typewriters, or they’re hunched over books. As a result, Kino is incapable of being hacked. Naturally, we stole the idea from the Ivans who stole it from those weird country schools that the Brits have. At least, that’s how my dad sold the story of it to me.” 

I was ready to scream at her. I was ready to stand up and yell at her to shut the fuck up about her father. It was then that I was saved by the secretary. “Darío?” 

I stood at attention and waited. After a beat, there was a soft, almost pneumatic hiss as the door between us and the secretary cracked open, beckoning me inside. 

Within, I was greeted by a set up not too dissimilar from the office of a high school principal. On the back wall were a set of parallel, tchotchke filled bookshelves that sandwiched a little table with a coffee maker. On one of the shelves rested a framed photograph of a blonde woman and an equally blonde child, untouched books, and a baseball signed by the players of the 2012 Indiana Hoosiers. The coffee maker spat crude oil like coffee into a chipped Werekne-Dahmer campaign mug. 

It was a universe assembled by the office’s master: Miles Pine. I knew him as Uncle Miles, though. He was a plain looking man, dressed in a dull brown suit that made me feel underdressed in my jeans and Germs t-shirt. The fun thing about him was that everything within his orbit was entirely artificial. He’d never been to a baseball game in his life, he didn’t even like the sport. The woman and the child in the photograph came with the frame. Even the layout of the office was modeled after something he’d seen in a furniture catalog. When I was twelve, he explained to me the principle of the thing. The government, particularly the cryptic spies of America adored a concept called “human rooms” where everything was purpose built and designed with putting outsiders at ease. 

I think he was in the middle of grilling bratwursts and corn when he explained this to me.

Uncle Miles greeted me with a smile, his arms outstretched and he beckoned me to take one of the chairs in front of his desk. 

“Morning, Inez, how are you doing? Finding everything alright in Kino?” He asked rapid firing off questions. 

I allowed myself to ease up a little as I took one of the slightly comfortable pleather seats in front of his Ikea desk. 

“It’s fine,” I said. “Bringing back a few memories of summers with dad here.” 

“Fantastic, fantastic,” repeated Uncle Miles. “I heard that you and your father were in Kokomo during the summer.” 

“Indianapolis,” I corrected. “It was a hunting trip.” 

Uncle Miles actually laughed at this. “Hunting trip, that’s an adorable euphemism. In this room, let’s call it like it is.” 

My mind immediately drifted back to July. I held my hand against my mouth and inflated my cheeks before exhaling and explaining. “It was supposed to be a simple observation and recruitment job. The man was in the basement apartment of the Fall Creek Building. We were supposed to spy on him with the cameras and mics, then approach him with an offer.” 

“Then what happened?” asked Uncle Miles, his fingers tented in front of him like he already knew the answer. 

“We found out that he was carrying out some kind of bubba-job gene splicing,” I said. “Some communist hick growing himself some extra fingers. So, we decided to fast track the recruitment process. Dad sent me to talk to him. Figured I would come off as non-threatening.” 

I continued to explain it from there. The thing about some targets is they’re paranoid. Highly paranoid. Comes with the territory. I’m not sure what gave me away. I never had any opportunity to really learn what it was that I did wrong. When he opened the door, I might have glanced at his hand, the mess of extra digits on top of knuckles, sticking out in awkward angles. He might have flipped when I noticed. He took off for the back door, I gave chase. You could call it a breakdown in communications. He pulled one of those big hunting knives on me, the impractical ones dipshits buy online thinking they’ll take down a fed with it. He came close. I had a scar on my belly from the fight. In response, I bludgeoned his already mangled face until he ceased thrashing.  

I explained all of that to Uncle Miles, again, even though he already knew all of it. He sat there listening, only asking, “You can see why that is highly problematic, don’t you, Inez?” 

I nodded. 

“But, thankfully, it doesn’t totally tank your career in our intelligence services. You’re just a little green. We just need to formalize your training and education. America needs a scalpel rather than a hammer, if you’ll excuse the metaphor,” said Uncle Miles. 

Now that I was in the middle of remembering it. I did use a hammer on the target. 

“Does this have any bearing on my first official assignment?” I asked. 

“Your eagerness is invigorating, but tone it down a smidge,” said Uncle Miles. 

Uncle Miles took off his glasses and cleaned them with the fat end of his novelty Andy Griffith necktie before returning them to his face. He then slid open one of his desk drawers and produced  a pair of color coded file folders. The sight of the blue one made my stomach ache. It was labeled, “POET” in big, bold letters. It was dad’s operations moniker. Another hand-me-down from him. The bottom one, I couldn’t see the label of. 

Uncle Mile threw open the folder and began examining with feigned shrewdness. He sipped from his mug to fully cater to the illusion that he was reading it. 

“Exceptional grades in most of the places that matter,” said Uncle Miles. 

“Thank you, sir,” I said. My thumb was digging into my palm, the nail threatened to break the skin. 

“I did say most,” said Uncle Miles. “Your social areas are a touch lacking. Then there’s that temper.” 

My thumb dug in a bit deeper. “I have been working on those areas. I’m enrolled in a few foreign lang-” 

Uncle Miles immediately cut me off. “That’s all well and good. It’s fantastic, really. But we need something a bit more substantial. I don’t think your placement with Kuroki is going to cut it. The other half of your social education begins with Temple Mabuse.” 

I cocked my head to the side, I felt as though I should have recognized the surname, but internally I was drawing a blank. 

He slid out the second, orange file folder, handing it to me. It was labeled with those same, big and bold letters, “MABUSE, TEMPLE.”

“The youngest of two children from the Mabuse family,” said Uncle Miles. “A legacy of scientific terrorism, criminality, and horrorshows. My issue is, Temple Mabuse doesn’t speak. I want you to play nice and make friends with them.” 

I opened the file folder and I was greeted by a paperclipped photocopy of an Alaskan State ID card. The card’s subject had a thin face and wide eyes. Androgynous and light haired. Like a young, and vaguely dangerous looking David Bowie. My first thought about them was how fragile their bones looked. There was some light biographical information, very little about them as a person and more about some grandfather from dwindling years of the Weimar Republic. 

“The parents of Mabuse are under our thumb, but I want this control to extend to them as well,” said Uncle Miles. “Could be that they’re completely benign, but if not I want you to report and keep a record of everything. This won’t be a problem you can fix with ultra-violence. 

“I think I can handle it, sir,” I said.