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@reaganspies
“Clever,” she said solemnly, raising her brows. “Fortunately for us, these are the portable bombs — should we come under attack, it may come in handy.”
“Portable phones, portable potties, portable bombs. The twenty-first century never fails to amaze me.”
“If that’s all it takes to be a songwriter, maybe it’s time I switched professions. The music industry is a billion dollar industry, isn’t it?”
“You’re already doing more than many do, anyways. Indeed it is, you can play the ‘I’m a spy on my spare time’ card and I bet Jay-Z and Bey would even invite you to their dinner parties.”
“Fuck you. You don’t know me or anything about me and if you ever say that shit again, I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident.” Okay, so losing her cool and smacking them was a terrible idea, but it happened before she could stop herself. Adelasia really had strong emotions, especially like anger, but what they said was inexcusable. It took a lot to make the young girl break, but they had done it.
”Listen, I—.” Reagan was at a loss of words. She was used to talking trash to people but she never expected them to actually get offended by it, let alone slap her for the same cause. It sucked because, even if she bluffed and defied everyone, she didn’t know how to actually fight properly. Poorly, she tried to remember what her training had taught her, and clumsily flocked the girl’s hair in attempt of looking tough.
“Did… did you just call me Einstein-ette? I mean, I’m flattered, of course. Who wouldn’t be? But what was wrong with just plain Einstein?”
“ —Einstein was a guy? You’re a girl? You helped me with something? Never mind, I take my words back. You’re not worthy of being an Einstein-ette anymore.”
“—if something’s going to strike us, I’m going to need for it to just hurry on up and do so. ’m tired of sitting around, waiting in the darkness on something to happen. Almost tempted to provoke them—it—myself, that way, I’ll get to see more action that I’ve seen in days. Unless you count the lights flickering and doors locking ‘action’.”
“You want action? Here’s some action for you.” Reagan took a Draw Four from her hand of cards and placed it on the stack of played cards in front of them. “Seriously though, H. When are you getting us the latest 411? Gaia kicked you out of the group chat or something?”
“If anyone needs me I’ll be in the workshops sharpening knives and making sure these bombs are still functional. With all these system failures, we can only prepare for the worst. Any recruits, regardless of your specialty, are welcome to watch me work provided you aren’t afraid of the dark, and you’re willing to learn.”
“Of course, yeah! I say we start with checking out if the bombs are functional, that way we save ourselves from doing everything else. You know, because we would be dead. Get it?”
“There’s nothing worse than the sound of silence, and the blinding sight of darkness. I absolutely hate this feeling.”
“That almost rhymed. Slide in a sappy quote about how your significant other is the one that saves you from all that. And you, my friend, just turned your mindless whining to an Ed Sheeran song.”
“I could always just let you figure it out yourself; you learn better that way. Maybe I’ll just leave it up to you to fix them. Yes, hairstylist, it’s my secret dream. Honey, you don’t have to go to beauty school to figure out how to do hair. Not that complicated. If you say so, all the more reason to get right to doing yours that color.”
“Is that why you haven’t taught me anything? ‘Letting me figure it by myself’? Great teaching technique, I’ve learnt so much. Oh wait— does this count as sabotage? Making me believe I’ve learnt stuff when I haven’t? Shit, you’re so good at this. I hate talking to you, I always feel like I’m on a social experiment or something of the kind. Yeah, but in that case I would have to read the instructions at the back of the box and we all know how that would turn out.”
“Unless you’re here t’help me sharpen the knives t’pass the time, fuck off. Thanks.”
“Unless you stick that knife to my gut, I’m going to stay here. It’s the safest place around and I mean, it’s not like I really have a choice.“
“You know what, I can’t take this any more. Help me with this table. We can use it as like, a battering ram. Door’s gotta cave eventually.”
“I am trying my best, Frankie. Maybe, if you would help me, and yell ‘Olympus PD OPEN UP’ while you’re at it, it will open.”
“We don’t have access to underground tunnels? What do we have? Other than faulty electricity and weird alarms that go off for literally no reason? I hate Costco, I’d rather be waterboarded then go to Costco. But I can deal with Target. Are you being serious about the shirt? Cause I’d wear it. Probably every day. I’d need two, unless you don’t mind me smelling like a sewer system all day. So if you’re not an interrogator, who are you? You look like you’re a talker. I know a guy back in New York who’s real good at spinning a story. You a shit talker? I mean that comes in handy. No one knows how to spit a lie better than a shit talker. Also, I don’t think you can waterboard a dolphin…or maybe you could. I think it would take a long time. And PETA would scalp you.”
“Technically, we do have underground tunnels. We even have shooting ranges, bunkers, and shit, but what’s the use of having a danger room when the FBI agents can drive underground to actual places. I’m kidding, have you seen this place? It’s a pychopath’s dream bachelor pad. Really, it’s pretty awesome. ‘Alarms that go off for literally no reason’? Is that what they told you? Okay, so you know how in the Hunger Games they fire cannons every time someone dies? Yeah— well, go figure. Of course not, dumbass. The shirt is a fucking joke. You have to use goddamn bullet-proof vests and shit around here to survive. I’m a recruit in sabotage, that’s where all the shit becomes useful. An interrogator? Nah, if I’d want to sit in a white room with little to no decoration, and ask a bunch of questions, I would have stayed at my mother’s house. PETA’s a fucking joke. All they do is put a bunch of ads with naked women in them and try to lure people into helping animals. I bet you dig that, though. I’ll be here torturing my friend Flipper if you need me..”
“Yep, that was all me. Well, I’m glad you like it, I was planning on using it on you during our next session. Haven’t you heard the news? I’m chasing after my dream of wanting to be a hairstylist while we’re stuck here on red alert. Red’s the color of the week.”
“That was sick, H! You need to teach me how to do it. You know what would be great, though? If you could bring them back to normal. I learnt my lesson, you win, it’s okay. Oh wait— you can’t. A hairstylist? Wow, I never took you as a beauty school drop out but yet, here you are. Who knew that you would end up being a super spy? More like, red is the color of the weak. Am I right, Hera?”
“Well I’m not gonna lie, I’d be more than happy to behead the ones who can’t stop complaining about this whole ordeal. But I’m pretty sure they’d manage to keep complaining even when their head is detached from their body.”
“Hey! You could at least stick all of our heads to sticks so we’re nor rolling around in the ground. Does that mean that we’re also able to grow lost limbs? Did you suddenly forgot the latest Spiderman movie? I thought you were a bigger nerd than that, Vic.”
“It’s the Night’s Watch of the bureaucrat system. You go in, you can potentially die. You go out, you’re definitely a cold corpse. For something that stands on the principle of saving lives, we’re pretty wasteful with it. Eh…both. Was that rocket science? Anyone who snaps in solitary, shouldn’t be near a high-risk fucking mission. Anyone who gets himself killed, should’ve held tighter to that gun.”
“Ha— It’s funny because, I can assure you that half of the agents in this place are bastards. Or at least, they all act like they are. That was actually pretty poetic, forget what I said about the ‘weeding out the weak’ being the Initiative’s catchphrase, what you just said is what should be written on the welcome brochures. Okay— stop there. Both of those persons sound exactly like me and its lowkey freaking me out. The way I see it, the one who snaps is most probably going to shoot himself after he shoots everyone else. Whether it’s because of guilt, loneliness or just because he could. In that case, he would be considered the weak one. The way I see it, it’s not about ‘holding tighter to that gun’, it’s about the time and place you find yourself in. How the hell do you find yourself in a place where your life depends on some bozo that has the possibility to snap in any given moment? It’s a never ending circle.”
“Oh my god, I now have a deep need to try it and see if I can make it my little bitch. What’s your high score? Can you play it for an infinity?”
“Gretchen Wieners didn’t deserve the four candy canes. Glen Coco did. He’s one of the few characters we’ve never seen. – Regina George got hit by a bus for a reason, Ree.”
“Hey— I thought I was your little bitch. My high score it’s 2000 something. I don’t know if you can play it for infinity, I’m not an overachiever like you, Mina. Did he? Did he really? Regina George got hit by a bus and survived. No one can do that, M. No one.”
“She was a public relations assisstant, but yeah it definitely was a win for the whole family. That’s true. On the list of priorities, jumping dinosaurs are more towards the middle of the list while world domination is the ultimate priority. Speaking of which, I would like to request to have Canada become my own little country.”
“You can totally take Canada. I bet the five people who live in there will absolutely love you. If we’re taking deserted frozen areas, I’ll take the North Pole. I get free transportation, also known as the flying reindeer. Also, homemade iPhones and I bet that a whole other useful shit that the elves make, and two old people that can make people believe in magic. So, hey. A win-win-win if you ask me.”
“Ah, of course. I should not have doubted your intellectual prowess for a single moment.” He raised his eyebrows, a rare expression of amusement crossing his features. “Tell me, what exactly is your definition having ‘fun’? Are you aware that you are training to become a spy here at the Olympus Initiative? —My apologies, I nearly began to doubt you again.”
“Was that sarcasm? That’s actually pretty rude, you know. And you being 6 feet something tall, just makes it worse. My definition of having fun? Are we really doing this? Do you want me to make you like a list? Or a letter? Dear, Atlas. For the Olympus Initiative experience of this year, the least I expect is a working internet connection. Or you know, doors that actually open. Oh my God! Here’s a good one: lights that are not red. Thank you, Reagan. Wait— did I ask too much? Are my expectations really that high? I’m sorry, Atlas. I’ll just sit here in this locked room, with absolute no connection with anyone, staring at the red lights.“
