Oh my gosh are you still taking fanfic meme asks? Am I not too late to realize my dream of personalized Tea fic? OK, so I am a 5'9", white, skinny-jean-wearing nerd with hipster glasses. Also I am non-binary and have hair kinda like the hottie in my avatar.
Your DREAM?! Oof, I hope I can meet your expectactions.
Okay, so I feel like you’re one of those characters who doesn’t start with an origin story: when we meet you, you’re already part of an elite covert ops organization. You’re the supergenius hacker analyst who sits behind a desk and says clever things to the field agents. And sure, sure, because of your place of employment, you can handle yourself in a fight-- mostly-- but combat’s never exactly been your particular skill set, you leave that to the professionals.
You’re overseeing an op that has the rest of your team, six other people, in the field, in different locations, when, suddenly, everyone’s emergency alert signals sound off at once. In unison. You’re a little freaked out; it’s never happened before and for a moment you think maybe there was a malfunction, a signal jam, something to make this happen? But you can’t make that assumption, because those are your friends and partners, and their lives are on the line.
Comms are dead. You can’t get audio, and you start to go cold, a sinking feeling in your chest. You keep feeling as if there are eyes on you, as if someone’s watching, as if they know where you are as you frantically try to bring communications back up, tap into a video stream, anything.
One of your agents was located in a heavily-trafficked part of a large city, so within moments, you tap into a security camera on a local building, commandeer it to see if you can find your agent.
Instead, you see a woman, with severe features, high cheekbones, long hair, and a blood-red lipstick-stained smirk.
“Hello there,” she says. “I suppose you’re wondering what happened to your friends.”
Of course, this is one-way broadcasting, you have no way to transmit a signal back, so all you can do is watch.
She--or her people, whoever-- hijacks the video feed to show you pictures of the rest of your team, bound and gagged in different locations.
“There’s a job I need you to do,” says the woman. “Here’s what I’m offering.”
She tells you that you have six days to complete the task: she needs someone to assist with break-ins at six major museums: The Rijkmuseum, the British Museum, the Louvre, the Uffizi, the Prado, and the Hermitage. She won’t say what she’s looking for. For every successful assist, you’ll get one of your teammates back. For every failure...well, she doesn’t say it out loud but the consequence is obvious.
Two minutes off the transmission ends, a plane ticket to Amsterdam shows up in your email. Your private email. The one for your job, and not the fake one your family has that sounds like the name of the finance consulting firm you supposedly do IT for.
You realize, with the information she’s giving you, that you’ll know exactly where her teams are at what time.
So the question is: do you play her game, or do you fight?
