When I was working for Obsidian Inc., I created more than one weapons prototype. Since my swift exit from the company, I’ve done everything I can to prevent any of my inventions from seeing the light of day.
Aaron is standing right in front of Lucinda, making it impossible to shoot without putting a bullet in him as well as her. I consider pulling the trigger anyway, but I can’t help feeling like a man who would risk his life to save children, and who wouldn’t shoot an unarmed enemy in the back, deserves better than to end up collateral damage. Heroes are supposed to die in blazes of glory. Their deaths aren’t supposed to be small, dirty things.
It pisses me off that I care what this government drone deserves, and I only feel a little better when a swarm of FISA agents, all dressed in black like giant hornets in a frenzy, descend upon Lucinda and her people, arresting them in a buzzing flurry of judicial glee. My weapons being in the hands of a British spy agency is marginally less horrific than an international black-market arms dealer. Maybe. I guess we’ll see if Britain ever goes to war with someone again who they actually care about beating.
After Aaron botches Lucinda’s well-deserved assassination, I spend some time following him, my interest piqued. I’m not afan of unknown variables, and Aaron’s already got in the way of two missions. If I have to neutralise him at some point, I’d rather know exactly what sort of life I’m ripping out of him.
It doesn’t take much effort to hack into FISA’s agent files and read up on Aaron. What I find is both surprising and not. Aaron is in his forties although he doesn’t look a day over thirty-five. He’s been a British citizen his entire life and joined up with FISA—Forces of Investigation and Security Agency—when he was eighteen. He’s a legacy, a lifer, probably raised since birth to become a government shill, just like the rest of his family before him. As was probably expected of him, Aaron seems to have risen through the agency ranks rather quickly, earning the title of senior agent handler by the time he was thirty-one. Very young for such a high-ranking position.
What intrigues me the most about his file are the parts that are clearly redacted, most notably in regard to his personal life. After another dig through FISA’s files, I can’t find any reason for the secrecy surrounding Aaron’s life outside the agency.
It becomes clear after a while that he knows he’s being followed; likely he did from day one. There are times when I’m watching him from on top a roof or from a parked car that he turns pointedly in my direction. At first, his reactions are calculating and tense as if he’s assessing a threat. But then, for some reason, he seems to come to the abjectly insane conclusion that I’m not one, and his response to my mild stalking transforms from suspicion to amusement. I can’t decide if that’s a bigger indictment of him or me.
…….
The third time we come into contact, it’s face-to-face again, and I suspect not at all by accident.
I pick up on someone tracking me partway through an op in Ireland, where I’m planning to break into another Obsidian Inc. lab, hoping to find more information about the new Liquid Onyxchemical, like who the hell created it, and who I have to kill to make sure not a single other person gets turned into a mutated weapon for OI to use.
FISA attacks the OI facility much like they did before, when I’m elbows deep in their servers. This time, Aaron comes looking for me. I can tell by the way he steps into the half-destroyed lab that I was, at least partially, his target for tonight.
“You know,” I say drolly, twirling a snapped bit of wire between my fingers, “this is starting to feel like you have a little bit of a crush on me, Senior Agent North.”
Aaron’s blank slate of an expression doesn’t slip when he replies, “Is that what you’re reading into this, Dr. Rohan Stone? A need to get your attention?”
It doesn’t shock me that he knows who I am. FISA has a whole file on me, both because I’m the Stone heir and due to my Liquid Onyx blood. I’m considered a high-level threat to national security, so at least some people in the British government are sensible even if Aaron, apparently, is not.
I roll my shoulders in a slow shrug. “You’re an experienced man of the world, Agent. You’d know that the easiest way to a boy’s heart is wanton property destruction.”
Aaron scrutinises me from across the burning lab. He doesn’t appear concerned about the crimson flames and black smoke rising up all around us. Aaron North is not a man who values his life overmuch, it seems.
As someone who spent their entire life adapting and fighting to survive, I find his lack of self-preservation rankling if not outright offensive. Suicidal tendencies are the mark of the privileged, and I don’t indulge those who practice them.
Aaron must sense my low-level aggression because he doesn’t make any move toward me.
“This,” he gestures at the wrecked lab, “isn’t just for you.”
“That’s right, Agent.” I smirk at him wickedly. “Treat ’em mean. Stoke that insecurity, and soon I’ll be the one chasing you.”
“You came after me first,” Aaron points out. “Stalked me for a whole week last month. Felt your eyes on me everywhere.”
I inhale harshly, dragging my mouth down into a sardonic moue. “Worried I took pictures of you naked? Don’t panic, I only posted the tasteful ones online. The straight-up filthy pics are just for my own personal use.”
Aaron doesn’t let my baiting distract him from his intended purpose for confronting me tonight. “Dr. Stone, it’s come to our attention that you and your father have parted ways. Violently. As such, I’d like to recruit you for a position within our agency.”
His offer isn’t unexpected. I figured that was the point of all this. FISA is well-known for turning enemies into assets.
“And if I say go fuck yourself?” I ask with faked nonchalance, this time taking a few steps toward him, the menace obvious in the predatory slope of my movements.
Aaron tilts his head slightly to the left, staring me right in the face, unflinching. His eyes are a startling golden brown, almost amber, contrasting with his darker skin, now shiny with a thin film of perspiration.
The heat is starting to feel oppressive in here, my chest becoming damp and tight with it, the biting smell of scorched metal itching at my sensitive nose. I resist the urge to tug my hood down due to the unpleasant feeling of my hair soaked with sweat.
“I’m not here to arrest you,” Aaron says, like it’s really that simple. “We just want you to help us prevent Obsidian Inc. from ruining any more lives.”
“I have my own plans for dealing with OI.” And my dad. “I don’t need a sidekick, especially a whole pit crew’s worth.”
Aaron is unperturbed by my easy dismissal. “I think you’ll find that our goals, for the most part, align.”
