Five Years Later
The message that so rudely wakes you at 11 in the morning is from the chief, and doesn't give you any clues. It just requests that you present yourself at your earliest convenience – which you've learned means right now, or else. Of course, nothing good has ever happened when you got one of these in the past... so better at least make yourself presentable before you go in. Armour up, so to speak.
You even bother to throw on a pretty face, practice having made you a lot better at the art, and take the time to unpack your finest dress: the one you usually reserve for funerals – and it's seen more than a few of those since your life changed, and you found a new purpose, albeit involuntarily. Too many. You just hope it won't be an omen for things to come. However, you draw the line at wearing the matching heels. For starters, they hurt your feet, still... and secondly, what if you have to run out of there? Again.
"What did you do, Winters?" the chief slings at you the second you walk into his office. The big, bulging vein on his forehead throbs accusingly.
You blink, taken aback, mind working furiously. Reviewing your last couple of months. You haven't done anything bad recently, right? Nothing that would warrant this much anger, anyway. In fact, you've barely had any work come your way at all, now that you're flying solo once more. For the same reason why you didn't have to dig very deep in your closet for this dress.
"Do, sir?" you ask slowly, confused, as you take up your familiar spot on the left side of his desk. Next to the visitors' chair, not in it. The last time you'd tried to sit down, you'd set off an even greater tirade of curses, so you just assume something that could laughably be called parade rest. "I'm afraid I don't understand, sir." you continue, trying to stay on your best behaviour.
"I've never liked you, Winters, or wanted you in my division, but I tolerated you because of your... unique situation." the chief waves his thick index finger in your face, then slams his fist down on the desk, hard enough to make the little plate that says 'Rhapsodist Budowski' rattle and fall over. "But this time, you've gone too far!"
"... Sir?" you query helplessly, staring at him with absolutely no clue as to what might have set him off. Whatever it is, he's beyond pissed off, but... you really can't think of anything. You've barely left your place in the last... has it been over a month already? And you definitely haven't been part of any missions, so... what could it be?
Eyes narrowing suspiciously, he stabs the intercom button on his desk. "Send her in."
Send who in? What the hell is going on?
The door opens behind you, and a cheerful voice calls out "Oh, there you are, Nathalie. Wow, you look really different! But in like, a good way! Much more you, you know!"
Wait. What? Who?
Whirling around, you stare at the willowy girl – no, young woman – framed in the doorway, still clueless. You're pretty sure you've never seen her before, and nobody at the agency calls you Nathalie. You're always 'Winters'. It's not like you have any friends to call you by your first name either.
You look back at the chief, and manage another weak "... sir?"
Budowski chews something over and points at the newcomer. "Are you really going to pretend you didn't tell this civ all about us? About what we do?" he demands, sneering. "Because she sure as hell just walked in here this morning asking for you, 'Nathalie the Lyre, but like, the instrument, you know?'" Every word is dripping with enough sarcasm to drown you with.
What? Shit. To say this isn't good is an understatement. If this is true, you are screwed, and why would your boss lie to you?
You, unfortunately, are still lost at sea. In fact, you've drifted away from the calm coastal waters around 'no clue', out into the treacherous, monster-filled deeps of 'what the fuck'. You glance back at the young woman. Shrug. "I... have no idea who this is, chief. Never seen her in my life. Honest." Please believe me, your eyes plead.
The chief's disbelieving snort is swallowed by a pouty "Aw, don't say that! I like, owe you my life and stuff!" from behind you.
You turn and take another good look at this stranger. Noticing your attention, she poses and smiles at you. You frown back. Nope, still nothing. You're sure you'd remember meeting someone like her. Talking to someone like her, which has never been your strong suit.
"Oh come on, silly, it's me! Laura!" she exclaims.
Something scratches at the edge of your memory. It's more like a half-remembered nightmare. It's on the tip of your tongue...
"Hello? You saved me from like, a dragon?" Laura adds, and your mouth falls open.
That Laura?! Talk about looking different! Someone sure had a growth spurt. Then your penny drops. She remembers? Fuck. She remembers. But that's –
"– impossible." you blurt before you can stop yourself, and hurt flashes across her face. No time for that now. Who'd been on the cleanup detail that day? Come on, memory, work... "Sir, we need Letheia Johansson. Now."
Something in your voice gives the chief pause, and he slowly looks from you to the girl, and back, before reaching for his intercom button again.
When Johansson walks in with a "You called for me, sir?", Laura turns to her and smiles warmly.
"Oh, hey, it's you! Sorry, I didn't catch your name last time. How've you been?"
Johansson stops dead in her tracks, and stares at the stranger in the room. Looks at the chief. "Sir? Who is this?" Well, at least you're no longer the only confused one in the room.
You grimace. Decide to help her out. "Five years ago. Fantasy Film Fest disaster."
"See? I knew you remembered me!" Laura interjects.
Johansson is already shaking her head. "Impossible. We processed that survivor without problems, sir." She gestures at you. "Winters told us about what'd happened, asked us to do a thorough wipe. And we did. Total oblivion reading when we were done."
"You sure did." Laura agrees. "I didn't like, remember anything until last week, when I took a shortcut through the science building, and passed the memorial. Caught the picture out of the corner of my eye."
Sorry, what? You haven't been back there for obvious reasons, but... The university has a memorial for what happened to you and your... maybe not friends, but colleagues at least? Really? That's... kinda gruesome, isn't it?
At the same time, the chief growls "What memorial? What picture?"
Laura blinks. "You know, the one for the like..." Her voice drops to a whisper, and she keeps darting glances at you. "... pre-graduation slaughter of the Physics Bachelors of 2007?" Her voice returns to its normal level, and she points at you. "I recognised Nathalie's eyes in the group picture, and bam, suddenly, things started coming back to me." Makes a face. "As well as the like, really bad nightmares, you know?"
Johansson is still shaking her head, and you have to agree. Things like that didn't really happen after a total oblivion reading. Couldn't happen. Not unless it was someone like you, who was the sole survi–
"Fuck."
All eyes turn to you, and that's when you realise you just cursed out loud.
The look the chief gives you has no patience left in it. "Yes, Winters?"
You take a deep breath, glance at Laura, who is still beaming at you, and swallow loudly. Yeah, that would explain it. Unfortunately. For everyone involved.
"I think she might be... a Final Girl, sir."
The condescension in Johansson's voice is thick enough to strangle someone with – preferably you, knowing her. "How can she be, if you were there? Isn't that why we exist? To make sure no new Final Girls are created?" She never was a big fan of yours. But then, not many people at work are. Too many of them have lost friends, and blame you. Rightly, in most cases.
You wince. Hesitate. You do not want to tell them this, but... this is your mess. Your fault. The chief was right. You did this. Time to face the music. "I might have... technically... not quite been there when the Outsider was sent back, sir, making her the sole survivor in that moment."
"Oh yeah! You turned into that vampire lady to fight the dragon. You were badass!"
Your eyes desperately try to send Laura signals to please stop helping.
She gives you a hero-worshipping smile and a big thumbs up.
Fuck.
The chief stares at you. "You. Did. What, Winters?!"
No way out but through. You square your shoulders and stare straight ahead, not meeting his eyes. "Theoretical experiment in the heat of the moment, sir. I was all alone, no backup, and needed to distract the creature long enough for the civ – Laura – to get away. So I uh, theorycrafted myself a way." You swallow. "And uh, it worked? Briefly. Long enough."
You dare a glance at the chief's face, and are suddenly very worried for his health, because that can't be a healthy shade of red. The growl in his voice sounds practically demonic this time. "Get the hell out of my sight, Winters. I'll send someone to find you when I've decided on your fate."
What can you do after that, except acknowledge with a curt "Sir.", and take your leave?
Well... Shit. That went about as well as you'd predicted, all those years ago. Never mind that what you did saved your life, and Laura's. Potentially a lot more people, if the dragon'd gotten out. None of that mattered. Not according to the rules. According to what the agency stood for. Its principles. You'd really outdone yourself. Truly amazing work, you.
You should probably start looking for a new job – except they can't just release you into society. Nor would you want them to. You're too dangerous. Literally. So... what now? Are they going to put you in narrative jail? You'd heard the rumours, but'd never actually seen it. Of course you would probably be the one to find out if something like that really existed in the end. Story of your life.
Laura gingerly takes a seat next to you, a worried expression on her face. Touches your arm. "I like, really messed things up for you, didn't I? I'm sorry." she apologises.
You groan, give her the stink eye. "Why are you here?"
"They told me to like, wait outside while they deliberated. I'm glad to be out of there, really. That conference call is like, loud."
You shake your head. "No, I mean: Why are you here? How are you here?"
"Oh." Laura thinks for a second. "I don't know? I woke up this morning, and I like, felt I had to come here?" She shrugs.
You frown. Now that you think about it... "How did you know how to get in? There are safeguards against walk-ins. There's a whole byzantine secret combination lock deal. Changes every day."
"Huh." Laura shrugs again. "I don't know, I just... knew, you know?"
A chill runs up your spine, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up. Something is... wrong. In fact, this whole situation is off. You're not sure what's going on, but there's too many impossibilities happening, all at once. Things like that only occur in movies. In stories...
Before you can probe deeper, ask more questions, the chief's door opens, and you stand up. After a beat, so does Laura.
"Sir...?" You're ready to accept your punishment. Whatever it may be.
His expression is hard to read. "Congratulations, Winters. You're now a team leader."
Your mouth drops open. Surely you misheard him. "Uh... Team leader, sir?" What team? There are so many reasons why you've been a solo operator on and off – more on than off – all these years. Nobody wants to work with you. Absolutely nobody. Not after what happened to the ones that did. "Are you... sure?"
Ignoring you, he turns to Laura. "And... Welcome to the agency, trainee... whatever your last name is. Your team leader will bring you up to speed, initiate you into your new role. Your new life." The grin he gives you is downright malicious.
Wait. What?!
