Chapter Text

Opération Clandestine; Clandestine Operation

APRIL 16TH 2007

It had been raining for days and didn't look like it would be letting up any time soon. One of the worst hurricanes in years, the news had said. Droplets of rain, some the size of one's fist, clattered on a window pane adjacent to a group of secret agents. The sound made their ears ring like someone had began playing drums in the middle of the stairwell. The weather provided a fortuitous distraction for the men infiltrating the building; the sounds of their hurried steps were hushed by the downpour outside. Puddles which were formed on the floor from rain falling through an open window were stomped on and made the base of Link's trousers wet, his feet becoming damp and uncomfortable. Even through his combat boots and two layers of socks, his feet still managed to get wet. Just his luck. Three men accompanied Link; one in front and two at his rear, acting as protection from whomever they may encounter inside the condemned building.

There had been copious amounts of men in the floors below, but the gross number seemed to have thinned out as they ascended the stairs. It was troubling. It felt like they were walking into a trap. Stealthy movements and accurately timed stun gun charges allowed the men to rid the trouble in the lower floors, making Link feel regrettably under dressed. He wore an entirety of black—a thick, woolen sweater and combat pants—and he carried a small but heavy briefcase in his right hand, wire rope attached to his belt loop and a stun gun hidden in his left boot. The other men, however, were armed to the teeth with body armor and machine guns, along with their stun batons. Strictly zero bullets had been fired upon Link's request. There was no need for fatalities that could be avoided, and they had enough hand ties to go around. Minimal fatalities was always Link's number one priority.

The man in front of him—Eddie—used the torch light attached to his helmet as a guide to get the group up the stairwell and toward their impending doom—at least, that's what it felt like. Thunder rumbled outside and echoed through the walls as they reached their target floor. Lightning illuminated the otherwise pitch black stairwell for a long second as the number nineteen became visible, painted on the wall in thick, yellow numerals to indicate the floor number. An old office building, the report had said, but Link didn't know of any office building that required a hidden 19th floor. The men had to take two separate stairways to reach it, both of which had been suspiciously absent of human resistance. A blessing, perhaps, but Link didn't omit enthusiasm about the accessibility of the building.

An abrupt hand signal from Eddie, who was positioned in front of Link, indicated that they were pushing through. Without hesitation and in absence of noise, the door to the nineteenth floor was barged open using Eddie's broad shoulder. Guns were raised. Link stayed behind Eddie for protection, as per his orders. He didn't feel like being filled with holes, either. They braced for a firefight that didn't come, and after a few agonizingly long seconds, the three armored men cleared the floor. Link stole a chance to look around.

The building was in a poor state of decay but it was felicitous considering the report said it had been vacant for an entire year now. Surprisingly enough, the government had not issued a demolition contract in the time it had been unoccupied. That's where Link and his team came into play. The building was harboring some pretty clandestine information inside its walls.

No graffiti decorated the walls of the building, but there was obvious wear and tear from the weather and who knows what else. Pillars were scattered across the empty floor, cylindrical concrete marking where the structure was at its strongest. Link circled a few of them until he located the pillar he was looking for—the one that had the data buried deep within it's concrete. Link knelt down next to it. Wordlessly, as the armored men marked his position and remained on guard, he laid his briefcase on the ground beside him and opened it, small locks clicking out of place as he did so.

"You got three minutes, Neal." Eddie barked from somewhere behind Link, voice stern and distant.

"Yeah." Link grunted. Inside the briefcase was a small drill designed for this mission and this mission alone. A tedious one it was turning out to be, if Link could admit. Delicate fingers maneuvered the drill out of the case and attached it to a battery source, then placed it into position on the pillar. Link felt around the concrete for instabilities, and after finding none he drilled a hole slowly but deliberately, knowing how careful he had to be. Behind him, a pair of eyes were drilling their own hole into the back of his skull—no doubt from one of his guards. A new kid on the job, he recalled, but Link barely had time to remember the guy’s name before the mission had been thrust upon them. Eddie was the only one he could identify by name and stance, having known him for years. And Eddie didn't seem too confident in his teammates abilities, which wasn't exactly a confidence booster for Link.

It didn't take long for the drill to break through into a small hollow in the pillar.

“Jackpot.” Link withdrew the tool and placed it back in the briefcase, then reached for a pair of extraction tools similar to tweezers. He positioned them carefully inside the newly drilled hole in the concrete and retrieved the item in question—a small electronic chip of some sort, similar to an SD card. Link could understand the urgency of this mission as he inspected the chip in his hand before placing it safely into the briefcase beside him. Some kind of encrypted file, he assumed. Encrypted files typically contained some of the most compelling information to date; it was what led Link to specialize in this kind of mission in the first place. He could decrypt almost anything, given the right tools and time. It was his specialty.

That's when he heard small movement. A shadow passed in his peripheral. It slithered by one of the guards and just as Link rose to his feet in warning, the shadow figure reached around the guard's neck and easily—almost professionally—snapped his neck through three thick layers of armor.

There was a short second where no one moved whilst the men's brains registered what had happened. Then the gunfire began, and Link wasn't about to go down without a fight. As the dark figure—a shadowy image of a man—ran past the dead body on his left, Link made a break for the now unoccupied firearm laying on the ground, one arm raising to cover his head from gunfire. He had made it halfway across the floor when a sharp pain hit him like a brick and he tripped over his own feet before collapsing face first onto the floor below him. His cheek scraped along the concrete it as he skidded to a stop just short of the deceased soldier he had been aiming for.

It felt like a knife wound, sharp and pricking at his skin, but Link knew better. He had been shot in the crossfire, but by whom, he didn't know and he didn’t care. It wasn’t important. Friendly fire was expected and the pain wasn't excruciating enough to hold a grudge. A brief tensing of his arm confirmed that it was through-and-through. It would be good news if he could move his bicep, which he could not. A stretch of his uninjured arm was all it took to grasp at the firearm next to the deceased guard before Link rolled onto his back with a pained groan and blinked up at the scene before him. Flashes of gunfire assaulted his vision nothing like action movies lead people to believe; it was much, much worse than that. And much more frightening. Link had been under fire before, sure, but he had never been shot and left helpless on the ground. Bullets flew from left to right. There was shouting. He heard his name, but he was unable to respond. He heard his name once more, this time in his ear piece but he felt his throat seizing up in fright. He was panicking; probably going against rule number one in the guide book Secret Agents 101: How To Act During A Firefight.

Gunfire from multiple weapons; more than two, which meant their attacker had brought armed back-up. Link propped himself up on his elbow, hair and face soaked from the spray of rain entering through bullet holes in a broken window to his right. Using both hands to steady the machine gun, Link open fired on the offending men to his left who had yet to spot him. Or so he thought. Another sharp pain hit him in his side, right in his rib cage. He fumbled the gun in his hands to grip at the wound. He saw stars and his hearing began to fade, the ringing in his ears overwhelming him. Someone shouted his name in the distance but he was unable to respond before the darkness overcame him and he went under.

MAY 23RD 2007, one month later, present day

"You're being transferred."

The room suddenly seemed too bright for Link's adjusting eyes. He barely had a moment to gather himself as he sat down before the news was thrust upon him. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Neal,”  Eddie's voice sounded sincere, “But this is how it is."

Link blinked in frustration, gritting his teeth. He had to ask; "Why?"

Eddie hesitated. "Given your recent achievements, the boss thinks it would be best for you if you were to be transferred to Los Angeles. M.Y.T.H.U.M.I.N.T. unit, otherwise known as Mythical Intelligence. Your decryption skills would be best suited there.” He paused, then added, “Y'know, buddy, this is a great opportunity."

Link shook his head, knowing damn well that he did not deserve the commendation he had received after being in the hospital for a month after what had happened in that office building. One fatality; the soldier whom Link had learned was named David, neck broken by at the hands of an enemy intelligence agency which had picked up on their case file and had planned to arrive before Link and his team to retrieve the data chip with deadly force. Eddie and the remainder of his team had managed to subdue the gunmen and yet, somehow, Link was the one to receive praise.

"L.A.?" Link asked.

Eddie nodded, a small grin on his face as he clasped his hand around Link's shoulder in a friendly, encouraging gesture. "Yeah, man. You're going to be working with the bigwigs, looking down on the likes of us."

Link shook his head but returned the grin. "I'm glad you're so pleased about this, Eddie. Sounds like you're ready to get rid of me."

Eddie laughed shortly, then moved around his desk and took a seat in front of Link, the desk positioned between them. It was sunny then; the storm had passed and the world had moved on from it. No more devastation and no more constant days of rain. Maybe things were looking up.

"How long do I got?" Link asked, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Los Angeles was a great opportunity, but he couldn’t help but feel his transfer was in bad taste.

"Leavin' tomorrow, Neal." Eddie said simply, double checking the transfer sheet in front of himself before confirming. Truthfully, Link would miss working with these guys. He had worked with them for around seven years now, and damn did it feel like home. Los Angeles was on the other side of the United States and Link had barely even left the state before. The furthest he had been from North Carolina was a week long field trip to New York for an engineering convention back when he was in college.

Eddie scratched at his beard absentmindedly, looking out of the window to his left and up at the blue sky neither of them had seen for a long time. "You better empty out your locker and say goodbye to the guys. No doubt they'll wanna go out tonight for a farewell."

Link bit his upper lip, drawing it between his teeth in thought. Saying goodbye to friends of so many years would be difficult, but he figured with the advancement in technology nowadays, maintaining contact wouldn't be too difficult.

Clearing out his locker was the first thing on the list and it was pretty easy given that Link didn't keep much at work. Nothing like clearing out his old high school locker and having to rip off stickers, tear down posters and whatever the hell else he had tacked to his locker door in the years he attended there. His locker at the agency was much more dark and grey; painfully generic. But Link didn't mind; if he had minded he wouldn't have stuck around for so long. He packed his things into a cardboard box like in the movies, and braced himself for the goodbyes to follow him.

Everyone was happy for him, and it warmed Link's from head to toe. Awkward, one armed hugs turned into emotional embraces once he had discarded his things onto Jen's desk to wrap his arms around her properly. He and Jen were partners for a few years until recently, working together during missions and such. That sort of trust could never be broken; he had a bond with Jen that no one else would understand.

"I'm gonna miss you, buddy," Jen admitted, her Canadian accent thick with emotion, "You take care of yourself, y'hear? No heroics without me."

Link smiled wholeheartedly. "Yes, ma'am."

Jason and James gave Link strong handshakes, with cheerful good lucks and goodbyes, until Eddie chirped in, leaning on the door frame which led into his office. "Drinks tonight?"

"You betcha." Link responded.

The drive home was easier than Link thought it would be. Saying goodbye to the town he lived in his entire life would be the hardest part. When he arrived at his apartment he kicked his door closed with his right foot and threw his keys into a bowl next to the coat rack. He fed his fish and mentioned that they'd be moving in with Jen from now on, and that she would be taking care of them. He then repeated this process with the plants that he kept. Link had always spoken to his pets, and this included his plants. And science did  prove that talking to your plants helped them grow with the increase of carbon dioxide his breath offered, so he never bothered to stop himself. It was a conversation starter when ever had dates or friends over.

He threw out a lot of old clothes, decidedly hanging onto his uniforms and a great deal of tactical shoes. No doubt he would need them—the assigned boots were always hard and uncomfortable on the soles of his feet. Agencies tended to supply the clothing for tasks, so Link did not need to pack much outside of his shoes. He had been in the business almost a decade now and he knew the score. He squeezed his entire life into one suitcase and a duffel bag, before shifting them from his empty bed to the floor. He then packed a bag to take to Jen's which consisted of things she would want; books and old records mostly, along with some family photo albums. Afterwards, he took a shower and decided to cut his hair. It had grown out a lot over the past few years, and Link had neglected to tame it. But given his new start he figured it was time. He shaped it around his face, just coming short of his ears, just enough that he could see without having to flick it out of his eyes. His stubble seemed darker once he had finished.

"You cut your hair." Jen noted the moment she opened the door to her apartment an hour later and saw Link standing there.

"Yeah." Link stepped inside once she had welcomed him and made his way to her coffee table to place the packed bag down for her. Her stare was making him feel self conscious. "That bad, huh?"

"No, you just..." Jen hesitated, eyes wide and voice quiet, "You look like you did when you first started working at the agency."

Link nodded at this, not wanting to push the matter further. He had been hired during a dark time in his life, full of regret and self loathing. It was not something he wished either of them to relive. Though, his self-deprecating personality is what drew he and Jen so close in the first place. Her unwavering determination to be there for him, and her insistence that he could be so much better than what he was, created a bond between them that they could never break. She was like a sister and he was admittedly more close to Jen than he was his real sister, whom he hadn't spoken to in years.

"You're giving me these?" Jen asked once they had settled and were waiting to leave for the bar. She pulled out two family photo albums from the bag packed for her, seeming shocked.

"Yeah."

"Neal..."

"They'll be better here," Link cleared the lump in his throat, "Besides, I kept a few pictures for the road. I'll find a frame or something when I'm over there."

Jen seemed to mull over his statement for a long moment, before placing the albums back inside the bag. They shared some quiet, pleasant conversation over some iced tea whilst waiting for it to get late enough that they could meet the guys at the bar. Jen gushed about how much she would miss him, and how he had to keep in contact via phone calls or emails. Link had agreed; he would miss her too.

Around eight thirty they headed out to the bar to meet the guys, who were cheerful and once again wishing Link their best. They reminisced about the good old times, when Link was still a rookie and Jason knew so much more than him. Or the times where Link made a fool of himself in front of Eddie before they had become friends. It made Link feel like this was his retirement party and not his going away get together.

Three rounds of drinks later, Link having bought nothing whatsoever aside from a pack of peanuts for Jen, he excused himself for the evening. The men exchanged one armed hugs and pats on the back, best wishes for the future and some tell me about the California women 's. Eddie gave Link's shoulder a quick squeeze. Jen gushed at him and shed a few tears, hugging him a couple of times before letting him go. Link was thankful for the break; he wanted to be alone. He would miss his friends, but he had to mentally prepare himself too. He had never gone anywhere alone before, never mind to the other side of the country. The thought was all kinds of intimidating, but only time would tell.

MAY 24th 2007, present day

Link had to change flights twice to get to Los Angeles. The initial changeover was from North Carolina to New York, where he caught his connecting flight for Kansas. He called Jen in between flights, supplying her with brief updates and to ask if she had gotten into his apartment okay, if she had taken care of his fish and plants. She seemed cheery, talking about something Eddie had done at work, laughing away and already Link felt like an outsider. He fell asleep on the way to Kansas and thankfully didn't wake up drooling on the shoulder of the person he shared a row with. The man beside him gave Link a peculiar look before returning to his reading.

Link had to run to his connecting flight for Los Angeles, his gate being on the other side of Kansas City International. He made it with seconds to spare, the attendant at the desk having just given the order to seal the gate. He was thankful to her and she smiled and let him board, having taken pity due to him sweating like an ape from the run there with a duffel bag. The seat beside him was not occupied on the way to L.A. and he willingly put his feet up and rested his head against the plane window, watching the clouds fade past.

He must have fallen asleep because when he awoke it was dark and the plane was stationary. A flight attendant informed him that they had arrived at LAX. Link scrambled to his feet, momentarily forgetting he had put in earphones before falling asleep, and immediately fell backwards from still being attached to the seat. The attendant did her best not to laugh, but when she did, Link laughed too.

He caught a cab to his new apartment, the address written by Link's messy, rushed hand that morning before leaving North Carolina. Somewhere in Santa Monica, adjacent to a museum. It was a decent area and far from what Link had expected. He tipped the cab driver generously, the hour and a half long drive to his place having done a number on his backside, and legs leading him to pity the poor guy having to drive all that distance. The walk to his apartment consisted of a staircase which led up to a single door which he opened with his key and stumbled inside. There were people living beneath him; a Hispanic couple he had spotted before he had entered. They hadn't stopped to say hello or welcome Link to the neighborhood, and he was okay with that.

The apartment was roomier than Link's old place, and much more modern. It felt like a beach apartment Link had seen on TV. He locked the door behind him and discarded his bags onto the floor at his feet to explore his new home.

Immediately to his right were two doors next to one another, the one closest to the entrance led into a small foyer where the room separated into a small bathroom and bedroom. The second door led into what was presumably the master bedroom, which had a view of the car park next to his apartment across the street. It was too dark to pick out any passersby aside from a few nomads who were illuminated in the street light.

To Link’s left, the room opened into a living room and kitchen area, the two rooms separated by a concrete archway and bar area. From where he stood at the front door, Link noticed the balcony. He actually had a balcony, he thought, mouth agape as he approached the sliding doors and opened them, roughly pushing one aside so he could step out and breathe in the cool night air. Los Angeles was not what he had expected; it sounded much like New York had when he had landed—loud and busy—but now that he was farther away from the city and next to the beach, it was quieter. Still the occasional chatter and drunken babble from down the ways, and some soft club music coming from the pier, but other than that it was peaceful. Link could still taste the salt from the sea on his tongue when he retired for the night.

MAY 25TH 2007, present day

Link was awoken abruptly by a persistent knocking at his door that didn't seem to subside despite his obvious attempts to ignore it. Scrambling to his feet, he hadn’t bothered to fetch a robe before he threw open the door angrily, dressed only in an overnight shirt and boxers. Greeting him was the harsh light from the sun and he had to squint and raise an arm to see the man standing at his door. He wore some sort of uniform and had a stern look on his face.

“Charles Neal?” The man asked, voice deep and rough. He had raised a brow at Link's appearance, and surveyed his undeniable bed head.

“Who's asking?” Link responded groggily, raising an eyebrow back at the guy before a package was thrust into his arms with unnecessary force. True enough, the package was for a Charles Lincoln Neal III in Santa Monica. But he hadn't registered his address with anyone yet, and getting mail was peculiar.

“Sign here.” The delivery guy almost barked at him, holding out something for Link to write on.

Link juggled the package, shifting it under his left arm as he look the electronic device from the delivery guy's hand and signed his name on the screen. His hand was still asleep it seemed, as a small child could have forged a better signature. The man who had delivered the package was halfway down the staircase before Link called out to him, half hanging over the railing to see him, and demanded to know where the package had come from.

“Dunno, pal. I just deliver 'em.” was the response he received.

“Charming.” Link muttered as he closed the door behind him and locked it once more, before giving his eyes time to readjust to the lighting inside his home. He spun the package around in his hands and felt its weight. It was relatively heavy, and it only fueled Link's curiosity. He took it into the living room and held it in his arm as he opened the drapes, readying himself for the day ahead. He managed to rip open the package with his hands and peer inside, eyes narrowing at the contents. The package contained two separate boxes; one contained a hand held device, presumably a cell phone, and the second contained a small laptop, smaller than Link had seen before. Underneath the two boxes was a small earpiece wrapped delicately in bubble wrap, and a piece of paper. Naturally, Link put down the electronics onto the small coffee table at his feet and opened up the folded sheet of paper.

YOU WILL RECEIVE A TEXT MESSAGE WITH INSTRUCTIONS.

“Specific,” Link thought aloud, re-reading the note in his hands a couple of times. Eddie had mentioned to him that the dealings with the new agency would be primarily cellular, which was an extremely new thing for Link. He was used to dealing with people face-to-face and not through a screen. Maybe he wouldn't need to make new friends at this rate, not if everything was going to be handled virtually. He powered up the phone and waited for a text, but after ten minutes of biting his nails and daydreaming out the balcony window, Link gave up and went to get dressed for the day. He still had to gather supplies for his home, most importantly food. His stomach chose that moment to announce that he had not eaten since breakfast the day prior, having been too exhausted from a day of travelling to prepare anything. He glanced at his watch then made the necessary adjustments to it, having almost forgotten about the change in time from North Carolina to L.A.. Three hours was nothing, really. The length of a nap or the time it took to write up a report. He would cope.

Link was in the middle of writing out a few essential items to purchase on the back of the note from the package when the cell phone vibrated on his coffee table a couple of meters away. Link regarded it for a second before rising to his feet from his position at the bar and making his way to the device. The screen had lit up a dark green color and it alerted him to a new message. He swiped the screen to unlock the device and then selected the message.

Good morning. You will receive a phone call in a few minutes. -H

Link stared at the phone, unsure of how to proceed. Was he to text back in confirmation? Or just wait to be called? He re-read the text a couple more times, taking a seat on the sofa next to the coffee table where he had left the laptop and earpiece prior. At least whoever had contacted him had enough manners to say good morning, Link thought, unlike the grumpy-looking couple beneath him.

What did the H stand for? A name, or a code name? Link wasn't sure; this was entirely new to him. He scratched at his week old stubble in thought and peered out of the balcony doors at the boardwalk across the street. It seemed peaceful enough. A few women and men would pass every now and then in their swim suits; it felt like Miami, Link thought. Or at least how Miami looked on TV.

The phone buzzed in his hands and startled Link. He collected himself and answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Please state your name for identification purposes.” Another man's voice said from the other side of the phone, deep and raspy.

Link hesitated, glancing around himself, suddenly paranoid, “...Neal.”

“Your full name, please.” The voice replied, the whisper of a southern accent in Link's ear.

“Charles Lincoln Neal III.” Link grunted, feeling like a child having to state his name on the first day of class. Which, essentially, was what he was doing.

“Please state your date of birth for identification purposes.” The voice replied, sounding more and more like a machine as the questioning continued. Link felt himself get physically irritated by the questions, but he knew he should comply.

“June 1st, 1978.”

There was a short pause compared to the previous responses from the other male on the line. Link assumed he was double checking his file with his answers. After a moment, the voice spoke again, “That would make your age twenty-eight. Correct?”

“Yes.”

Another pause, shorter this time. “Alright. Transfer #021295, North Carolina to Los Angeles?”

“Yeah.” Link replied, sitting on the edge of the sofa with his elbows on his knees as he held the phone to his ear. “That's me.”

There was another pause, this time longer. It felt like an eternity. The other man's voice sounded similar to Link's when it came to accents. Was this guy from the south too? Maybe he was just another transfer like Link was. It would be comforting to not feel so alone in all this.

When the other man did not respond for a few minutes, Link spoke up. “What's going on? You gonna question me and then not say anything?”

Link was met with a short, breathy laugh on the other end of the line which made his lips quirk up into a slight smile.

“I had to check you were who you said you were. Standard procedure.” The man on the other line replied.

Link snorted, “Right.”

“You're going to need a lot more patience if you're going to get ahead in this job.”

Link raised an eyebrow at that, feeling a challenge in the words. But before he could respond, the man spoke again, “In order to skip the tedious task of taking you through this questioning process every time you answer a call, I'm going to assign you a security question. Next time you get a call, pick up and answer the question. Got it?”

“Yep,” Link responded, a little tired of phone guy already. This would be a hell of a long trip if everyone at the agency was like this guy.

“First grade teacher?”

“Ms. Locklear.” Link stated factually. There was another long pause, but this time Link didn't pry further. His curiosity bubbled, wondering what the other man was doing on the other side of the line. After a while, the man spoke once more.

“Alright. You're all set,” He confirmed, voice rougher and louder than before, “so save this number under “H” in your phone. You've been given this receiver for tasks and potential mission assignments. The laptop and earpiece are to aid you during those assignments. However,” the voice trailed off, then came back, sounding a little mischievous, “you can use it for recreation, too.”

Link felt himself roll his eyes, but refrained from saying anything. If he was going to be given orders he'd rather get them sooner rather than later. Outside, there was a small noise of cats fighting, and Link stood up and made his way to the balcony doors to peer outside into the alleyway next to his house. He saw nothing. The voice in his ear spoke again. “Any questions?”

Link paused, then asked, “Yeah, who are you?”

There was a deliberate pause. “You can address me as H.”

Link grunted down the line at that and he swore he could hear  the other man grinning on the other end. Must be truly wonderful to hold all the power in a phone call. “Well, H, any idea when I'll get an assignment?”

“Tomorrow. 0900 hours.”

That was soon, Link thought. His old department gave them weeks of preparation, classes and cooperation tests before putting him out on the field. L.A. sure seemed to do things a hell of a lot differently than a little town like Buies Creek. Uncertainty crept into his brain and gave him goosebumps on his neck. He'd better get prepared.

“Consider it your initiation into the company. You will be debriefed beforehand. I recommend getting used to the tech you have been provided with.” H stated, his voice echoing in Link's head, “Settle in, get used to the area. You'll be there a while.”

Link opened his mouth to respond but heard a small beep from the device in his hand. He pulled it away from his ear to see that H had disconnected the call. Typical. Link figured H was his case officer then, having not been in contact with anyone else. That meant Link was part of an agent network, working alongside other agents without actually coming into contact with them.

He did some digging on the agency before leaving his apartment, using the laptop like H had suggested he do. M.Y.T.H.U.M.I.N.T. pulled up few search results, which was expected, however the internal database built into the laptop had much more interesting information on the agency.

The Mythical Human Intelligence Agency (MYTHUMINT) was a high ranking government agency which operated in the shadows across the United States, having agents placed throughout the states and across the globe. Spies and diplomats gathered information and stole technology from enemy states and reported back to those in charge. The database did not list anything about case officers or about any other agents, though it didn't stop Link from digging into this H guy to see if he could outsmart him during their next exchange, but he came up empty and got frustrated enough to close the laptop and leave the apartment.

It was a fifteen minute walk to the nearest food market, and Link decided to take the scenic route along the boardwalk to admire the beach. There hadn't been many beaches in North Carolina, save from a few creeks and lakes to explore when he was younger. He would go on hikes, mostly by himself, to explore without having anyone to disturb him. He enjoyed the solitude but truthfully, he could admit, it might have been more entertaining to take someone along with him. He didn't feel the same now, walking along the boardwalk. He didn't want company.

The food market was expensive compared to North Carolina, so Link only purchased what was necessary. Some eggs, apples, bread and butter. He picked up some milk and cereal on his way to the cash register, too. Link could live on cereal alone, and had for some weeks on the job before. He would probably do it again soon; this was the kind of job that needed his entire attention. Like being a doctor, but a doctor for the state. The job came first, not his own health or personal life. The cashier smiled at him politely as she packed his bag and he gave a fleeting smile back, offering her his thanks.

“You new here?” The cashier asked whilst she scanned his half-gallon of milk with a smile.

Link hesitated before answering, masking his uncertainty by fumbling with his wallet, “Yeah, just moved here yesterday.”

The cashier smiled at him and packed the milk into a brown paper bag as she spoke, “I could tell you weren't from around here. Southern?”

Link laughed, momentarily forgetting that his accent would be significantly different from those in Los Angeles. “That noticeable, huh?”

“I didn't say it was a bad thing.” The cashier laughed and punched in a few numbers into the till. “That'll be thirty-six fifty, sir.”

“Neal." He responded, handing her two twenty dollar bills. “My name is Neal.”

The cashier's cheeks turned a light maroon, partially hidden behind her brunette hair as she accepted the money from him and placed it into the extended drawer of the till, seemingly having trouble working out his change, “I'm Jessie.”

“Nice to meetcha, Jessie.” Link replied as she handed him his change. She had given him two dollars too much for change, which he politely handed back to her, only embarrassing her further. “See you around.”

Jessie nodded and offered a small smile, before turning her attention to the customer behind Link and chatting away to them.

The walk back to his apartment was considerably longer as he took his time admiring the view of the pier. The Ferris wheel hadn't become illuminated yet, but it was still relatively early. He would be able to squint at it from his little apartment balcony in the evening, he thought. A man jogging stopped him to ask what time it was, sweat decorating his features as he jogged from foot to foot, but otherwise Link made it home without any disturbances.

It was around four o'clock in the afternoon when he reached his apartment, having taken longer than he originally intended to on his waltz home. Fearing his milk would be overheating, he was quick to place it inside the refrigerator before putting away the other items he had bought. He placed the apples into a bowl and put them on display on the bar-top. As he assumed so, he poured himself a bowl of cereal and milk for dinner and sat down on the sofa to watch some light television whilst he ate. Los Angeles television was acutely different from what Link was accustomed to, being bombarded with non-stop commercials in between reality shows. Naturally, his eyes wandered to the laptop in front of him, mind not being able to focus on the soap opera he had decided to put on. Placing his bowl down on top of the coffee table, only half finished, he picked up the laptop and placed it onto his lap and opened it. It was still sitting on the page of the database he had left open a fit of irritation. Wordlessly, he scrolled through the database and began reading. After a while, he maneuvered to pick up his bowl again and finish the rest of his cereal, despite it being slightly soggy.

All agents must complete a series of security questions before being able to converse with a handler. The handler may assign a single security question to speed up this process.

Link grunted around a mouthful of cereal at that; it seemed H was his case officer after all. He was correct in assuming so. Something about that fact seemed to sit strange in Link's stomach, but he pushed it down and dismissed it as hunger.

A handler (also known as a case officer) is not permitted to reveal their identity to an agent in an agent network, nor a singleton of variation. Handler's may, however, use code names or code words to converse with an agent, should the handler so wish to do so. A handler is strictly prohibited from forming companionship with an agent, in all senses of the term. They must remain a platonic third party and maintain complete control of situations.

Link stopped chewing for a moment in thought. It seemed like H had a pretty tough job; to not be able to form friendships with his co-workers must be a difficult thing to do. He sort of felt bad for the guy, then wondered if a basic agent had similar rules. He scrolled through the database and located the agent files and pulled up an article to skim through.

Agents are permitted to form bonds of friendship and/or companionship with fellow agents. Such relationships must not interfere with the workforce or workplace.

Link snorted at this. H definitely had a rough type of job, but from their conversation earlier, his handler didn't give off the impression he minded being alone. Link remained on the laptop until the power cut out on it and he realized that the time had reached almost midnight. Time to retire for the evening. He placed the laptop on charge and picked up the cell phone to take it into his room. Putting his empty cereal bowl into the sink, he dragged his feet to the master room, both brain and body drained from the day's events. He climbed into the bed, which seemed extremely empty with only one body in it, creating a numbing feeling in Link's chest. He pushed it down and placed the cell phone on the bed side table and closed his eyes. He had to be well rested for the day ahead.