xxxxii. FUCK THE BOURGEOISIE

Ace and I retreat to the training room after the meeting. In the very beginning of my basic how-to-survive 101 training, I had absolutely bombed the "firearms" chapter. To be fair, I bombed everything else too, but the way I managed to miss almost every shot was especially discouraging.

Chase was my teacher in that subject. When I first got to the agency, Chase didn't really teach me either. He just sat around while munching on popcorn. I felt like a contestant on American Ninja Warrior while he was the audience, though I couldn't control the "American" part and was actively avoiding the "ninja warrior" part.

Maybe I could be classified as a "ninja napper" or "wussy warrior".

Mental note number one: alliteration doesn't make things funny. Mental note number two: scratch the last one; that would have been an oxymoron. Mental note number three: stop saying mental note as if you'd actually remember any of this.

"Alright, you ready?" Ace asks. "This is pretty easy—just don't miss."

I deadpan him. Right, because for the last couple of months, which feel like at least forty chapters if my life were to be written as a book, I've been missing just for fun.

The target was about twenty yards away from me. Ace was replacing Chase as my teacher since Chase didn't give an unpopped shit about anything that wasn't popcorn.

The timer was also running out on the code on the USB. That was a larger priority for Ace and I, but the Director took this time to monitor my progress as an agent. "Okay Octavia," the Director says, tapping on his trusty clipboard. The clipboard was the toolbox to his Bob the Builder. Oh my god how do I still remember that show?

"I just need you to evaluate your athleticism for Project Callister's updates. This is pretty standard procedure," he continues.

"How come no one else has to do this?" I object. "You just checked off everyone else on this team."

"Don't make me say it Miss Snow," he shakes his head. "We both know why you're here."

Ace stifles a chuckle. I can't believe the Director just roasted me like that.

The smell of butter suddenly drifts into the room. Chase's blond head enters the room with a bag of freshly cooked popcorn, and his eyes are practically sparkling with delight. He stands with Ace by the windowsill with a look of amusement. I want to shoot him, but I'd definitely miss.

"There are no shots on the target yet... so I can't tell if we've started," Chase grins. "I'm ready to be entertained."

"Kingsley, you are a complete asshole," I sneer. "Once I pass, you're the second person I'm shooting, right after Banana Bread."

Ace holds up his hands defensively. "Hey, I know you can do it—" wait, is he being nice? "—if the target was an inch away from your gun and you had infinite bullets."

I spoke too soon. The Director glares between us. This was clearly the cue for hurry-up-and-start-I-don't-have-time-or-faith-in-you.

I put in the magazine for the 50 caliber pistol and the noise canceling headphones, then aim at the target. The bullets somehow all hit the wall—all twelve of them—without even grazing the paper.

The three men look to each other with wide, unbelieving eyes. "Who taught her?" The Director questioned. "Or rather, who was assigned to teach her but failed?"

The spy and the gang leader point to the other.

The Director sighs. "You people are unbelievable. I don't have time for this. Ace, if you remedy this problem, you'll get your raise."

"Looks like I'm never getting a raise," he groans.

~

Ace and retreat to my room after my failure of an evaluation. He's flopped against the bed, taking up most of the space, tired after scanning through my father's hard drive for hours. Darkness had already engulfed the city.

"We've been scanning the hard drive for hours," he sighs. "Maybe it's time to try another route."

"No Banana Bread. My father was once the Sergeant—he has to know something."

I purse my lips together. We've been combing through the entirety of it. So far, there was nothing but expense reports and arrest files. Ace flicks a pen back and forth. It's annoying, so I throw a legal pad at him.

"You're kinda rude," he grins.

"Thanks for your contribution, how could I do anything without you?" I make a snide comment. "You're sitting around, doing nothing like the bourgeoisie, and fuck the bourgeoisie."

"Well if you want to," Ace smirks.

I chuck a pillow at him with all my strength. He nonchalantly dodges it. "You'd probably die without me."

"Well you'd probably die without me too."

Ace cocks an amused eyebrow. "Really? Now why would I die? Do enlighten me Socrates. You hit a marathon wall just walking to the kitchen for french fries."

I shrug with a grin. "All I know is that you need me to keep your annoying ass in line."

Ace suddenly pulls me into him, causing me to crash into his arms. I push against his chest at first; he doesn't move. I stop struggling. He was wearing a warm maroon sweater that actually felt pretty comforting.

"So what I'm hearing is, you monitor my annoying ass, a lot."

I'm speechless. "Um... should we get back to the hard drive?" I stammer after a while.

Ace sighs. "Sure, Cupcake."

I unwittingly get up from the bed, drumming my fingers against the table. The 2002 PC that we got from a pawn shop sat dormant withholding information. Wait. What if the extremely sensitive data we were looking for was completely hidden within the system?

"I'm going to try using the operating system," I suggest.

Ace rubs his stubble. "Good idea. We haven't looked there yet."

The operating system opens up to the standard command line interface. "Hold on," I stammer. "This computer is a 2002 PC model, meaning it should be OpenBSD or its derivative. Why is the CLI Linux? By the looks of it, it's also a later version."

"You're right... that operating system came out way later."

The system pops up a password input for the root. I type in the password for my dad's home computer. Hopefully, the password would work for this other hard drive as well.

n1ght1ng4l3.

Or in other words—nightingale.

The computer whirls alive. Seconds later, all the filler code had disappeared, leaving only one command written on the screen: "{usage=root009}//run PROJECT_PHILOMELA//"

Ace and I look with uncertainty at one another.

What's Project Philomela? And what's it doing on my father's hard drive?

I run the command. My breath begins to quicken and my fingers begin to shake. Hundreds, Thousands, millions of letters begin to fill up the screen. The entire program consists solely of the letters A, T, C, and G.

"What... what does this mean?" I whisper.

"I... I don't know," Ace says, jaw agape. "But it looks like... a DNA sequence."

"And what's it doing on my dad's hard drive?" My breath caught twisting like a vice in my chest. I already know the answer to this question, but I was too afraid to believe it.

"Your father—I think he was Agent 009."

Chase [comes in with fresh popcorn]: "I'll give you a piece of popcorn if you vote. Wait... are you okay? What did I miss?"