V50891. That was my identity; it was my name, descriptor, and life history. One letter, five numbers. Qualifier: V—bred for Project Vixen, an intelligence agent. Rank: five. The highest rank of field agents, cleared to dish out orders on the field. Clearance level: zero. I didn’t have access to any info that I didn’t report directly.
The rest were ‘suitability’ scores. We got them at eighteen. This separated the paper-pushers from the field agents. A computer to weed out those who were unfit to serve and those who were. Temperament: eight. Level head, receptive, good at taking orders. Physicality: nine. A perfect score. And, of course, resistance: one. I was made to take orders. To listen. Do.
I wasn’t programmed to get any new ideas. I never would’ve on my own. We were no better than machines, never taught how to feel or think, but better than machines—flesh and blood, able to adjust. Adapt. Overcome.
Leander was, in the crudest way of describing it, a spy for spies. He stalked Project Vixen, found our agents before they found what they needed, and made them disappear. We called him the Cheshire Cat. He was practically invisible. There was no proof of who or what he was; we just knew he existed.
It was my job, for the last three years of my life as a soldier, to find him. It was the only case file I had unlimited access to, as if there were any reports in it other than repeated missing cases that filled it. I followed teammates by a day or two, trying to catch any glimpse or hint of the cat, but he eluded me. He never was on cases I followed. Always just out of reach.
Then I found him. Or, more accurately, he finally found me. We were both good, he was just that much better.
There are two distinct periods of my life. Before Leander and after him. The moment separating was minute, ephemeral and without ceremony, but it was enough—enough to begin my journey.
He was leaning back on the bed in my hotel room, holding my notes up to his face as he read through with an expression I could only recognize as mild amusement, maybe surprise. Even I’m not arrogant enough to say he didn’t notice me until I cocked the gun, but it wasn’t until that moment he turned to me. “You’re finally back!” He exclaimed, tossing the journal to the side and hopping off the bed, apathetic to the weapon I held. “Aw, come on now. It’s me.” He waved his hands in the air, with some celebration, only to be met with a dead reaction.
“I don’t know you.” I replied shortly. It would be a mess for the clean-up squad to deal with, but I couldn’t let him out with what he read in those notes.
“Yes, you do.” He replied, rolling back and forth on his heels like a child with too much stored-up energy.
I didn’t respond. He was wasting my time and his with this game. I wasn’t made to play games. I wasn’t interested.
Obviously, he noticed, furrowing his brows and putting his hands on his hips. I knew that expression as well as night from day—it was disappointment. “I don’t have the wrong room, do I? V-five-zero-eight-nine-one.” He enunciated every number carefully, as if reciting it to a machine. “You’re assigned to my case.”
Quickly I examined his face, trying to discern if I had made a fatal error. Was he a missing agent? Tall, maybe six foot, five inches, blond hair, dark blue eyes. I couldn’t remember his face, and I had scanned those files hundreds of times. Regardless, it was enough for me to falter. Either I had made a mistake (unlikely), or he was lying (likely). “What’s your ID?”
“I thought you were closer than that.” He said softly. Then, under his breath, “Maybe Shal was wrong.”
“You have five seconds.”
Blue eyes turned back in my direction, as if he just remembered I was there. It was that amused look again, a handsome grin on his face. “You can call me Leander. I think you used to call me…” He tapped his foot, putting a hand on his chin as if trying to recall a long-lost memory. “The Cheshire Cat? Am I right?”
“Fuck off.” I replied, steadying the gun back at him. “Absolute bullshit.”
“I am right, then.”
“Die.”
He frowned, putting his hands in his pockets. For a moment he glanced at the window, likely deciding his next move before taking a deep breath. “V. Can I call you V? I think we’re friends now.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Listen. Look. It’s absolutely me. You don’t have to shoot me; I’m not planning to leave.” He tapped his foot, showing all the signs of general impatience but not any, really, of lying. “V30764 missing in sector fourteen eight months ago. Researching a weapons ring. V40853 missing in sector nine seven months ago. Researching the dragon. V50945. V40874.” He steadied his gaze, seeming calm but restless. “I am who I say I am. I’m not here to steal your information or test you or whatever. I want to talk. Give me a chance.”
“If you are who you say you are, Leander,” A name. He wasn’t military. “The room is bugged, you’re an idiot, and I’m sure reinforcement is already on its way.”
Leander was an expressive person—more so than I was used to. In the moment, he was absolutely exasperated. “If I am who I say I am, V,” He stopped himself. “That’s stupid. You’re a person too, get a name.”
“Shut up. Hurry up and get on with it.”
“No. Absolutely not. Pick a name.” He replied.
“I don’t know any names.”
“That’s so sad.” He was taunting me. “Okay. I’ll give you one. V. V five zero. V zero. Vero? Veronica. Great. Fantastic. Veronica.” I hated it. “Okay, Veronica, since I’m obviously me, why are you too dense to think I didn’t debug the room already? Idiot.”
I hesitated, a bit flustered from the interaction but mostly baffled. “Fine. Tell me everything. But you leave with me or you don’t leave at all.” I was tired of the conversation. Of his hyperactivity. I thought I had all the power. I thought I was in control.
“Promise?” He said, with a new expression. I couldn’t identify it yet. It was pride. “I certainly promise. We’ll leave together first, and then I’ll tell you everything.”
That sounded wrong, mostly, but I couldn’t quite place it. Still, I put the gun back in its holster and sat down in a chair across from him.
The surprise was when he knelt in front of me. He grabbed my hand, held it like I was his queen, looked up at me with those expressive blue eyes and smiled. I was alarmed, uncomfortable, annoyed. Who was this guy? Why was he touching my skin like I wasn’t a machine, I wasn’t a manufactured soldier, like I was a person?
“What’s your goal, Veronica?” He asked, not letting go.
I frowned, tugging away from him. “What goal? Why would I have a goal?”
His expression darkened. “Are you really okay living like this? Taking orders? Without friends or free will or something to fight for? Do you even know what you’re fighting for?”
“I don’t care.” I replied. Resistance: one. I was loyal to my higher-ups.
A sigh. “He wasn’t lying. Huh.” He stood up, checking the window one last time before leaning down, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Start caring.”
Outside, there was an explosion.
It was my mistake to turn and look. When I looked back, he was gone.
Vanished.