“A paper from the science department got mixed in with the assignments for the English class.” I reported, handing Zarina the stray paper.
“Oh! Thank you,” she hurriedly returned the paper to the science department file cabinet and grinned.
“No, thank you for your time.” I nodded slightly and left the room.
My work was done at the school for today, and so was the day itself. I filled out my time sheet and left the office. I’d already been through all the office information, nothing important. Just like the sad little town of Sunstreak City.
It was a thriving metropolis before the hero’s Great Downfall. The famous heroine Rebelle guarded over the city, combating every evil that threatened the town. Most believed the Rebelle to be dead. I, on the other hand, think otherwise.
We the agents of V.A.N.I.S.H. have one main goal; take down the agents of G.O.N.E. without the world ever knowing they, or we, exist.
I walked down the muddy side walk passed the gymnasium to my apartment complex; also known as the cheapest place to room in Sunstreak City.
Before the Great Downfall, it was a four-star hotel, serving only the best in town. However, the grey three-story building looming in front of would never be considered a suitable place to stay by anyone non-local.
Personally, I don’t blame them. The Summer Morning apartment complex has to be the worst place I’ve ever stayed undercover. However, V.A.N.I.S.H. only gave me enough to afford a room there, a room on the third floor. . .
I marched up the outdoor fire escape stairs to access the third floor. There’s an elevator inside the building, but the operator will only take you to the second. Why? Because the third floor of The Summer Morning doubles as the town ghetto. All the riffraff live there nearly for free. It’s the cheapest, and most appalling place to live. I don’t mind it much, though. Nobody bothers me in my room at least, privacy is all I really need.
I stepped over heaps of garbage and sleeping bodies to my room. It’s one of the few on the third floor with a whole door and a working lock. I can’t express how grateful I am of that.
With a flourish, I yanked the white sheet off my board of suspects, just a little something to help me pinpoint possible Goners. I had several suspects, however, I hadn’t gotten close enough to any of them to find any solid evidence.
I studied the board carefully, going over each suspect.
Tracer Dell, the martial arts instructor. Evidence, mostly behavioral. In need of more proof.
I glanced at the next photo, in it, a woman in her thirties flashed a triumphant smile.
Renia Sharpgaze, the English teacher/my employer. Evidence, her secret hatred of her job/possible cover. Will continue investigation.
My gaze then fell on the photograph of a man, a rather nervous looking one.
Peter Jackson, drug store clerk. Evidence, his mysterious off-goings. He could possibly be meeting other agents.
I stared at his photo a bit longer, considering his character. The agents of G.O.N.E. did their best to tear down goodness bit by bit and give the former super villains a triumphal return to rule a fallen world. Peter Jackson, on the other hand, didn’t seem to attempt any such thing.
Thing are never as they seem I reminded myself. Then, another thought came to mind.
Note: check archives for records of medical perception poisoning
I recovered my board and removed it from it’s stand to slide it under my cot. I uncovered a hole in my under-stuffed mattress and felt about for my communicator; my one and only way of contacting my V.A.N.I.S.H. manager.
Just as my hand closed around my communicator, I heard a knock at the door.
Not him again I thought irritably.
Why salesmen even bothered climbing the fire escape stairs to advertise to the dwellers of the third floor, I couldn’t imagine. We could barely afford to survive! Why on earth would we buy your product?
Then, an idea came to mind. Quickly, I recovered the hole in my mattress, slowing my pace to approach the door.
“Hello?” I asked, trying not to sound too annoyed.