𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕔𝕒𝕥 | 𝟲 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗚𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗

17 | Three Blind Mice

One had fucked up. Royally.

Everything had been going perfectly to plan. The four of them - that is, One, Two, Three, and Five - had entered the building with guns blazing, scaring out the civilians and gunning down the guards in the entrance hall. They had quickly cleared the first ten floors of guards, and bar a near-miss with a grenade - which Three had hastily thrown back at their opponents before it could go off - they hadn't had any slip-ups.

They left Five on the tenth floor, and she bunkered down in the stairwell to catch anyone who decided to investigate what was happening downstairs. Then One, Two, and Three had descended into the basement.

That was where things got ugly. When One had tried to use his electromagnetic glove to quickly disarm a guard that managed to sneak up on him from behind, the frequency set off another circuit, magnetising the whole room. Their kit pinned the three Ghosts to the walls, and One cursed himself - Two did too, both in French and English - for not using the non-metal kit this time, though he certainly had not expected it to turn on him like that.

He had, however, expected the confrontation that followed. Once the guards had managed to tie them all up, they were taken to a dark, grey-painted room with no distinguishing features except a grey chair, which One was tied to. His unfortunate teammates were dumped unceremoniously on the floor by the wall, much to their voiced distaste.

"What is this, some kind of Casino Royale setup?" One complained, twisting his wrists experimentally between the armrests and the rope holding him there. It didn't budge, but the burn made him wince. "Hey, fuckwads! I'm talking to you!"

The guards remained silent and still, staring almost unblinkingly at the door behind him. One craned his neck to look just as it opened and a woman in a short black dress appeared.

The blood drained from his face as she circled around, and she broke eye contact with him only to dismiss the guards with a flick of her thin wrist.

One leaned his head back against the rest. "You've done it. You've finally got my full attention," he said, enunciating every syllable carefully. "This isn't the reunion I had in mind, 'Circe'."

Circe quirked a brow and placed a hand on her hip. "You've been ignoring me for three years. You didn't have a reunion in mind at all."

He shrugged. "Maybe your petty shows haven't interested me enough."

One swallowed thickly as she looked ready to snap at him. Maybe he shouldn't provoke her; she clearly had the upper hand in this situation.

She schooled her expression into a calm mask. "My last resort was the damsel in distress. Blake. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist," she explained with a satisfied smile.

One rolled his eyes dramatically. "Alright, Miss Chiffre. Don't beat around the fucking bush. What do you want?"

Circe paused for a moment, a little surprised by his bold demand. "I had a whole speech planned out," she pouted. "You won't deny me that too, will you?"

"By all means, wax lyrical," One said. Her mention of Blake had suddenly reminded him the other half of the team was in the building; any time he could buy would be useful. "If you're going to keep us here you might as well tell those two why." He jerked his head at Two and Three, who were very confusedly watching their interaction. He didn't blame them.

"I wasn't stupid enough to put myself in a team," she said, her eyes sliding over to them. "I wasn't stupid enough to care about my agents. You collected people in numbers, and I collected them in letters... Poetic, isn't it?

"Blake was perfect, desperate, the underdog I knew you would help." Circe began to pace, shooting One a smug smile. "She's prone to feelings, but that's how I got her in the first place. A few drops of poison in her brother's food and she put him into my care for specialist life support, no questions asked. I admit I was pleasantly surprised by her... Skill. Determination is one of her finer qualities."

One figured this was a good time to ask the cliché question. He never thought he'd be in this situation, but he rather fancied himself as James Bond, so he asked anyway. "Why are you doing this?"

"You abandoned me," she accused. "You abandoned your own sister!"

One winced as she snarled in his face, turning his head against the flying spit. God, he hated angry people.

"I knew you weren't stupid enough to fly a plane straight up," she continued, finally backing away.

"I'm flattered," he replied, deadpan. "But there were things that needed to be done-"

"Don't you think I needed to know?" Circe snapped. "Didn't you trust me enough to tell me, to include me in your stupid save-the-world stunts?"

One exhaled heavily and resisted rolling his eyes again. What was the usual placation? Oh, right. "No. I didn't want you to get hurt-" he began.

"You hurt me more than any physical damage." She pulled a knife from her boot and stroked the edge.

He instantly regretted his words and eyed the knife nervously.

"And I resent you for that. So now, I'm going to hurt you."