Chapter Text
“I don’t trust you.”
He gets a short bark of laughter in response. “Same.”
They scowl at each other. Pale versus dark. Wind versus fire. Another voice slices the tension between them.
“I’m not asking you to get cosy.” Says Viper. It’s as if her glare pierces through their earpieces, into their brains and out the other side. “You answered the call of Valorant – act as agents, not petty children – or should I feed you both to Kingdom as fodder?”
Neither of them have the gall to snap back, but they do break their staring contest.
“Good,” Viper continues, “now link up your comms. I see you have yet to do so.”
Silence.
“Do it. Now.” The venom in her words kicks them both into gear. They raise their hands to their earpieces.
“Agent 9. Phoenix.”
“Agent 10. Jett.”
Their comms beep once in recognition. Jett scoff, “tacky callsign.”
“Why don’t you shove –”
“Enough.” If Viper was venomous before, she’s downright murderous now. “Don’t fail your mission. If you die, there’ll be no one to pick up what’s left of you. Contact me once you’re done.”
Her voice leaves them ankle-deep in the snow and bundled head-to-toe against the cold. Water spots Phoenix’s clothes where his Radiance has melted the flakes. Jett lets out a breath that sends snowflakes swirling. Was this the beginning of some butterfly effect? A single puff from her now, a hurricane later…
“I don’t wanna die in there.” She says, jerking her head towards the building before them. GMS Hospital – or at least, that’s what the letters would say if they were in English. She can’t read Russian.
“Aw, you scared?”
“Yeah.” She raises her eyebrows, “you’re not?”
For a moment, fire licks across his shoulders. Then he slouches and it’s gone. He rubs at his nose. “Well… yeah.”
“Let’s not get each other killed, fire boy. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Light steps next to heavy ones. Warmth greets them past the hospital doors, chairs stand sentry for the ill and people in green scrubs mill about, disappearing into doors and behind curtains. Their murmuring falls deaf on Phoenix’s and Jett’s foreign ears. The nurse behind the desk looks at them. Smiles.
“Hey,” Jett says and takes out her pistol.
Phoenix clicks his fingers to bring his flames alive. His Radiance jumps forward and races along the floor, carving a bright line that rises into a wall of fire. It blocks them from the cameras. Most of them. Jett shoots the one that Phoenix can’t cover, shattering it along with the peace and quiet.
“Let’s go!” Phoenix shouts over the screaming. There’s a moment when the smoke alarms kick in and a memory tears through his concentration. The floors are no longer clean white; the walls are filled with pictures of old students. He shakes it off.
A woosh of air and Jett’s already at the stairs, a mere blur of movement, taking them two at a time. She turns, curls the wind in her palm and throws it out behind them. It blooms into a cloud of white smoke.
“Holy shit I’m glad the floor numbers aren’t in Russian.” She says as they sprint up. “Five… six… Okay – stand back!”
With another blast of wind, the doors to floor seven crash open and she rushes right into the wrong end of a gun barrel. Phoenix opens his mouth to yell or do something other than watch her brains get blasted out. She springs up into the air as it fires. A bullet grazes past Phoenix’s shoulder. He swears that Jett hovers upside down for a moment before she puts her own bullet through the guard’s head.
He tries to keep his gaze on the corridor and not on the corpse.
“Here, take his gun.” Jett says, pressing something cold into his palm. “Ammo too.”
Phoenix nods. Reloads. Despite his best efforts, he glances down and catches a glimpse of a Kingdom logo. “Two more guards, yeah?”
“Probably waiting for us with the target.”
Light sparks as he clicks his fingers again. He sends it flying down the corridor and it detonates with a brilliant flash, one they avert their eyes from. They hear someone stumble, swear, and they push up far enough to see a door slam shut.
“You got another one of those in you?”
Phoenix nods, already rubbing his fingers together in anticipation. “Can you get that door open? Could be locked.”
They look at each other for a heartbeat. Then they burst into action.
Now, this is a door that opens outwards. Jett barrels into it with the force of a gale behind her and it’s hinges snap inwards instead. Phoenix’s flash explodes on her heels. This close, it still causes spots to appear in his vision no matter how quickly he screws his eyes shut.
There are guards waiting for them alright. One immediately falls to Jett’s next shot. Blood now splatters Jett’s cheek and stains the Phoenix’s boot as they push onto their objective. Phoenix raises his gun at the final guard but falters at what he sees.
The guard isn’t pointing his gun at them. Instead, he aims straight down at the hospital bed – more specifically, someone in said hospital bed. The guard’s finger tightens around the trigger, “drop your guns, or I’m shooting your friend.”
“Woah now –”
“Do it.”
“Okay!” Jett shouts. Something metallic glints behind her shoulder. “Here – watch this. I’ve dropped it. See?”
Her gun clatters to the floor. Phoenix’s follows suit. Faint steps echo behind them, no doubt more guards on the way as back up. Of course, the guard in the room with them doesn’t budge, motioning them to back up. They do. From this angle, Phoenix gets a clearer look at the shine of metal floating around Jett’s shoulder. It’s a knife. What –
She flicks a hand forward and the knife buries itself in the guard’s forehead. He collapses in a heap.
“Shit, I didn’t know you could do that.” Phoenix hisses. He steps over the body for the bed as Jett peeks out the door behind them, knives twirling about her head.
The man in the bed is hand-cuffed to the side rails. Beneath the harsh hospital lights, blonde hair takes on a white sheen and his face looks even paler, bloodless. What really worries Phoenix are the man’s eyes. They can’t seem to focus, tracking Phoenix’s face but never locking on. One blue and one brown.
“They’re coming!” Jett shouts, “get him up!”
“On it, on it.” Phoenix grips the handcuff’s chain, pours his Radiance into the palm of his hand and turns the metal a glowing red. As it melts, he waves his free hand over the man’s face. “Hey bruv, can you hear me? Gonna need you to tell me your name. I’m Phoenix.”
Eyebrows furrow and, for a moment, the man looked too confused to give a straight answer. But eventually… “Sova.”
The chain dissolves under Phoenix’s heat. He props Sova upright, slings Sova’s arm over his shoulder, and drags him off the bed – oh fuck he’s heavy. Phoenix grunts, stumbles a little, but manages not to crumple to the floor. Upright and close to each other, Phoenix finally notices the bandages that peek out under Sova’s shirt and his pin-point pupils.
“Jett,” he calls out, “move out of the doorway!”
She flits away as the sound of approaching enemies grows louder. He forces out the last of his fire into a molten ball of heat that he hucks at the entrance, covering the floor in flame. “That won’t hold them back long.”
Jett swings both arms in a wide arc, sending all her remaining knives smashing through the window like it was nothing more than paper… the tempered, reinforced, Kingdom-technology window. “Jump.”
“What!?”
She leaps.
Phoenix gapes, too shocked to stop Sova from shrugging his arm off. Sova’s legs shudder and he leans heavily against the wall. Phoenix spots drops of blood when Sova catches himself on the window frame and slices his hand open on broken glass.
Sova… Sova has no Radiance. It said so in the mission brief, yes, but Phoenix feels it too. There’s no hum to his energy, no strange static between them unlike Jett. There’s nothing to save Sova from a seven-storey drop. And yet he rolls himself out the window with little more than a pained grunt. Sova’s gonna die; he’ll hit the frozen pavement and his skull is gonna pop like a pinata –
Phoenix cranes his neck to watch. Snow swirls around the two falling figures. The wind. It cradles them and sets their hair fluttering, slowing their fall.
“Fucking, come on.” Jet shouts up at him and he finds himself tripping out the window too.
Phoenix can’t catch his breath. The air must be doing more important things like stopping them from splatting to death. It… doesn’t feel as slow as it looks. He tries to right himself, but there is nothing to hold onto mid-air so he hits the ground shoulder-first. Pain bursts down his side.
“Get up, c’mon we have to move!”
How the hell did they land on their feet? Phoenix scrambles upright, brushing the snow from his hair. Something stumbles against him – Sova.
“Holy – dude you’re colder than ice.” He fumbles to support Sova again. Red is starting to seep through Sova’s shirt, blooming across his abdomen. “Oh shit. Okay. We’ve just got to get to transport.”
“I’ve got our backs.” Says Jett. She’s faced towards the hospital. There’s no one after them. Yet. “Go!”
Phoenix takes one step and Sova’s feet drag. Faintly, he registers Jett calling in to Viper. Groaning with the effort, he surges forward and they forge a path through the snowy streets of Moscow.
“- one of his old wounds must have opened up.” Phoenix grits out. “Does the aircraft have medical supplies?”
“Oh, it does.” Replies Viper. Phoenix is panting too hard to ask for an elaboration.
Gun shots pierce the air as Jett empties an entire round behind them. Don’t look, Phoenix. Don’t. The aircraft is there it’s right there –
Phoenix literally hauls Sova up the ramp and drops the man on the nearest seat before collapsing into one himself, clutching his shoulder. Another gust of wind and Jett blurs into the plane. Metal clanks against metal. The entire world tilts sideways. As the ramp closes, Phoenix catches a glimpse of Kingdom guards growing tinier. Oh, the plane’s already off the ground. Wonderful.
Quiet overtakes them, interrupted by their harsh breathing and the buzz of the aircraft. The buzz grows louder, more high-pitched, then Phoenix nearly falls off his seat as they hit the right altitude and accelerate.
A beep – to announce autopilot, Phoenix thinks – and someone clambers out of the cockpit to greet them.
“Sage has picked them up. If Sova dies –”
“He will not.” Blue and silver glints between Cypher’s fingers as he fidgets with one of his gadgets. “Or did you forget? Our friend, Sage, can even bring people back from the dead. Sova will live.”
“I do not forget things.” Viper hisses back. She doesn’t look as imposing when she’s wearing a puffy winter jacket. It’s all about the silhouette. “Go back to watching your cameras.”
“Ah yes, our guest is already here.”
Her head slowly turns towards him, a truly frosty expression on her face. Cypher shrugs. His shoulders are very expressive – makes up for the mask.
Outside the windows are branches dipped in ice, a monochrome view into the forests that fringe Stockholm, Sweden. Inside their little cabin though, a fire crackles merrily and its smoke funnels out a chimney. Pine and fresh paint still linger in the air. Cypher dons his hat and tips it towards the door just as the crunch of footsteps approach.
Three knocks fall against the door. “Hej! Open up.”
Viper pushes off the wall she’s been leaning on. “Identify yourself.”
Muttering makes its way inside – not in any language Cypher or Viper can understand – and ends with: “BREACH! It’s Breach. Now let me in you toxic bitch, I’m freezing.”
She does so, glare affixed, “one day you will rush into a situation with that bull-headed attitude of yours and die.”
Against the snow, Breach’s green and orange colour scheme was a dash of Summer. He must duck to get through the doorway, dusting off bits of frost that had crept across his mechanical arms. “Ah, but today is not that day! Cypher! Nice to meet you in the flesh.”
“Likewise. Your country is charming, but I’m not built for all this snow and ice. It’s terrible for vision.”
Breach flicks a tiny disc at him. Cypher snatches it out of the air. “Are you sure you haven’t come across me before? Or is someone else planting bugs in my gear?”
Cypher only chuckles in reply, pocketing it. The door clicks shut and Viper stalks closer to the fire as well. “Breach. The Valorant Protocol is gathering all its agents. Something big is happening.”
“Ah yes, you did mention that. What is the English saying? All the chickens must come home to roost?” Says Breach. “And you had me meet you in an off-the-grid cabin I built myself last year, not invasive at all.”
“The identity of our agents is paramount.” She replies. “If a cabin in the middle of nowhere is the safest option, we’ll take it. And we need you to recruit one more.”
“Oh?”
“You have a partner in crime, Breach.” Says Cypher, leaning forward in his seat. The brim of his hat hides the sharp glow of blue, pupil-less eyes. “One with, ah, similar morals and alignments to yourself. She’s quite explosive. Would she like a chance at… more firepower?”
“HA! You speak of Raze. Are you sure? Brimstone must already be frothing at the mouth with me – can the old Kingdom dog take another criminal in the ranks?”
“Brimstone ,” says Viper, “has learnt that more agents means more tricks up our sleeves. We have discussed it with him. All that is required now is for you to make contact. Will you?”
Breach strokes his beard, “I’ll need a plane ticket to Brazil.”
“That can be arranged, as well as transport back to us.”
“And where would I find you again?”
“Venice.” Viper holds out her hand, offering two sets of comms. “These should sit on your right ear and won’t muffle any sounds. They’re already connected to Cypher and me. When you touch down in Venice, contact us through this.”
Chunky metal fingers dwarf hers, gently picking up the comms. They disappear into a pocket. Breach nods, “she will join, if given the offer. But if Brimstone has a bone to pick, he’s doing it with me.”
“Oh mein gott, this is ridiculous!” A green beanie pokes over the last bump of hills North of Venice, followed by round glasses and wide eyes. “That… cannot be real.”
South, towards the sea, where the hills flatten into fields and alluvial planes, an island rises into the sky. It defies gravity as if its rules didn’t bind every single atom in existence. Smaller rocks float around it and water pours in a rush to the Earth below.
“Alright, kid. We can get a closer look soon.” Says a voice behind her.
“How is this even possible – oh there are so many tests to get to, Brim!” Black hair gets in her face and she puffs it away, takes her glasses off, cleans them, and puts them back on. “We will have a place to set up, yes?”
Brimstone pats the hood of their truck, an old red thing that has tanked its way here from Germany, and polishes off the last of his sandwich. “We will, and you won’t be alone. Great minds will be there. Now finish your lunch, Killjoy, we need to get moving.”
She’s barely halfway through her own sandwich, too busy ogling at the sight of a torn Venice, and doesn’t stop staring as she munches it down. “Where are we trying to claim as base? I know there’s a couple options, but the best?”
“That’s what the meeting is for kid.” He stares off into the distance as well. Occasional showers of dust and silt fall from the floating chunk of land and he thinks of kicked-up dirt and gunfire. “If everything goes well, we’ll be right on top.”
She whips around to face him. A heartbeat of silence. Then – “On top of that!?”
“Help me lift him.” Sage urges and Phoenix complies, propping Sova up so she can reach his back. Her Radiance seeps into Sova’s wounds in crystalline patterns, casting an aquamarine hue to his skin before dissipating. “You may lay him back now. My abilities quicken the process of healing but he should not make any sudden movements until the pain is gone.”
When Sage had first removed the bandages, Phoenix could barely watch. That’s what gunshot wounds looked like up close. Cool. Good to know. Usually he’s got enough warning to turn away or distance himself. Now, as Sage helps Sova slip the hospital top back on, all that’s left of the wound are puckered scars.
“I feel no pain,” Sova murmurs.
“That is the morphine. You will feel pain when it leaves you. Do not try anything except rest during this journey.” Sage touches his forehead gently. “We will wake you if there is the need.”
Sova’s eyes close. Several quiet seconds slip by. Is he… “Is he asleep already?”
Sage laughs quietly, “it is a gift of his, one I wish I had. Come, there is a bit of space in the cockpit if you wish to join me. Both of you.”
So that’s how Phoenix and Jett get squished into the gap on either side of the pilot’s seat, hyperaware of the dials and knobs that did who knew what.
“This is faster than the wind has ever taken me,” Jett whispers. Her focus is on the clouds whizzing by. They’re high up enough to see the blue sky that hid behind the snowstorm. “How many of these planes do you have?”
“Just the one.” Answers Sage. “Our expenses are not flexible enough for more. I also do not wish to ask the others where some equipment comes from.”
“And how many people do you mean by others?” Phoenix asks. Nausea rises whenever he looks onto the open air outside, so he keeps his gaze safely trained on his feet.
“As far as I know, there will be eleven of us total in Venice.”
“As far as you know?”
“Some may not answer the call. Some may bring others.” Sage reaches for Phoenix’s shoulder, pausing a few centimetres away. “May I heal you? I can sense your pain.”
He rolls his shoulder experimentally, meaning to shrug off her offer but freezing instead as every muscle down his left side seizes. Wincing, he says, “yeah. Yeah, sure.”
A chill seeps from her hand into his flesh and spreads, numbing. It runs next to his flame, and, when it fades, prickles rush under his skin before fading into warmth. He rolls his shoulder again. “Damn, that’s so much better. Thanks.”
“You are welcome.”
“So… Venice.” Phoenix can almost smell the burnt air, air that danced away from his fire. Bodies lie in the rubble of his memories.
“I’ve never been.” Says Jett and Phoenix tilts his head at her. “What?”
“It’s hard to believe – I saw you there, bruv.”
“That wasn’t me –”
Sage raises a hand between them, the eye in the middle of their storm. “That is something we will discuss with the others when we meet. There is more to this, Phoenix, than you know. You too, Jett.”
They settle into sullen silence and Jett seems perfectly content with the dizzying view out front, so Phoenix returns to the seats beside Sova. His heart skips a beat as he notes Sova’s utter stillness. Then he clocks the slow rise of Sova’s chest and relaxes.
“What the hell was Sova doing anyways? That got him like this?” Asks Phoenix.
“I am sure that Viper has warned you against knowing each other too well.” Says Sage. Oh yeah, that was a fun talk. No real names. Leave your lives behind. All that. “Our habits and skills are cultivated from years of work – whether it be military or otherwise. The activities we engage in outside of Valorant Protocol are our own. You may ask him what happened when he wakes, but he might not answer.”
Welp. Phoenix shrugs, partly to get rid of his curiosity, partly to make sure his shoulder really didn’t hurt anymore, and leans back, ready to get some sleep himself. But, before consciousness slips away from him, one tiny detail sticks out.
A faint blue glow dusts Sova’s cheekbone. Sova’s eyes are still half-opened. This close, Phoenix picks up on the faint gold wiring within with blue one. He looks away for a split second and then the pupil is trained on him. Goosebumps sprout down his spine. Bionic eyes were like other enhancements, right? They didn’t work when someone was asleep unless it’s a malfunction.
He closes his own, 100% normal eyes, and decides against asking Sova afterwards. He doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t particularly want to, either.