"Who are you?" she asked, her voice raspy. "Where exactly am I?"
Just then, the grand bell of the city clanged seven times, marking the morning hour. Immediately, the low murmur of voices swelled, and everyone in the building—including Reno—stood up and began reciting the Preamble of the Red City Empire, a mandatory morning ritual. Joan, despite her confusion, instinctively tried her best to stand. As the last part of the preamble ended, a chorus of voices, including Reno’s, recited with chilling, unified conviction: "For the Empire!"
Joan sank back onto the white sheet.
"Good morning to you, too," Reno said pleasantly, as if they were discussing the weather. "Do you have memories from last night?"
"Yes, I do," Joan replied, her mind racing. "What about Corvin?"
"He escaped. He had help," Reno said, his tone flat. "Now, about you. We've been following you for days now. Not out of malice, but observation. We know all about you." Reno paused, making the statement feel invasive. "Your brother. Your dead-end job. Your boss, Wesley. Even the little synthetic flower you still bother to water in your window—the one that hasn't needed a drop of water in three years."
"Who are you people?" Joan demanded, pushing herself up on the bed. "Am I being held here as a prisoner?"
"Perish the thought. You are free to go if you like," Reno assured her. "You were unconscious when we found you." He paused again. "As for your other question: we are a group called the 'Red Operatives,' a simple name, yes. We are sanctioned by the Empire. We track down terrorists, criminals, and unknown forces that are threats to the Red Empire—yes, even those beings of the dark that look like your friend, Corvin."
"Okay, good," Joan said, her relief mixed with rising determination. "So can I go now?"
"Sure," Reno replied, gesturing slightly. "You have all your belongings beside you."
Joan looked and saw her crude iron rod weapon resting on the floor. She checked her body and clothing; they were still her own.
"You can go now," Reno repeated, watching her every movement.
Joan stood up and quickly smoothed down her clothes, trying to look composed. She walked past him, a nervous energy propelling her forward.
"That's it?" she asked, stopping just a few feet away. "I'm free to go? You're not going to stop me or tell me anything else? And I don't even know where the exit is in this building."
"If you want to go, then just go," Reno said calmly, his dark eyes fixed on her. "If you require assistance, I will have my men assist you to the nearest exterior door."
"Fine!" she said, resuming her walk, fury building inside her. Corvin had the answers she needed, and the Empire, which represented everything stable, was now offering her nothing but a polite dismissal. She felt the unnatural power in her right hand hum faintly, demanding to be understood and controlled.
She took only two more steps, then abruptly stopped dead. She spun back around to face Reno, her shoulders set, her gaze fierce.
"No! This won't do," she declared, her decision solidified. The time for confusion was over. "I need to understand what happened to me. I need to understand that energy. Corvin wouldn't tell me. But you know about 'beings of the dark.' I have nowhere else to turn. Let me join you."
Reno was not taken off guard; it was more like he had been expecting Joan’s sudden, insistent plea. "I thought you'd never ask," he said. "What about your life, your brother, your job?"
Joan replied, "I can leave my job, but not my brother, for obvious reasons. It seems you already know what I am. Will I get answers if I join you?"
Reno replied, "Answers? Is that your motivation? Well, depending on what answers you're seeking, we may have them. But be warned, it's ugly... dirty. We, after all, deal with trash. So are you willing to get your hands dirty? I think you already have your fair share of dirt."
The organization was officially named R.O.P.E. - Regional Order Preservation Executives. The bureaucratic, official-sounding name highlighted their mandate to maintain the Empire's status quo.
One of the instructors was discussing their duties with a group of new recruits: “Technically, we do not exist. Our job is to make sure people enjoy their lives as what they see it.”
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One recruit asked, "So what do we do then? And do we kill people?"
The instructor replied, "In a way, yes, but that depends on what department you're assigned to. Perhaps all you’ll do, depending on what you’re good at, is pure paperwork."
Joan, already a patient recruit, was diligently taking down notes on every word the instructor said. Great, she thought. I’ll definitely be a field agent and join Captain Reno’s squad.
Following her initial orientation, Joan was immediately funneled into the advanced training track reserved for the high-aptitude R.O.P.E. recruits. She didn't merely adapt; she blazed through the curriculum. Her performance was nothing short of spectacular, suggesting that the very power she was trying to understand had subconsciously been preparing her for this life all along.
In the physical drills, Joan displayed a terrifying natural athleticism. Her reflexes were nearly instantaneous, her movements efficient, and her resilience unmatched. She effortlessly mastered close-quarters combat against seasoned instructors, quickly moving beyond their standard simulations.
During combat training, Joan successfully knocked down a fellow trainee. "Good job, Joan, you seem to have a knack for this," the instructor commented.
Joan said, "Well, I did try to join the soldier program, but I was somehow not admitted."
The instructor replied, "Well, you're way ahead of the other trainees, so I think I should refer you to another department." This was exactly what Joan wanted: to prove to them that she should join a special field unit.
Her technical assessment scores for CDE (Controlled Dark Energy) aptitude were among the highest R.O.P.E. had recorded in years. The reports circulated among the instructors, often with the same cryptic note attached: A born operative.
Three months later, Joan was in a briefing room for a special unit.
"Now for the Black Assimilation Process," a different instructor began. "Most of you here have a high CDE aptitude, and somehow, by a stroke of luck, you weren’t part of the soldier program. Let's say it's a blessing in disguise. You guys are not defects; just different. Most of us here are.
"The Black Operatives are not a unified force like the Red Soldiers; they are a collection of individuals, each possessing a singular, heightened trait—a unique mutation tied to their dark energy aptitude. The instructor explained the tiers: 'The Black Operatives are categorized based on their dominant trait. Some of you exhibit incredible, unnatural Strength; others gain impossible Speed and agility. We even have operatives whose minds are their greatest weapon, exhibiting unparalleled Psychic Resistance or tactical processing. Your potential is not universal; it is specific.'"
This explained the unique arsenal utilized by the operatives. R.O.P.E.'s engineering division customized weapons to complement each trait. Joan was quickly identified as having a dominant trait focused on Precision and Control.
"The Red Soldiers have weapons they call 'Ego Red,' special weapons created by the Red Empire. But we have 'EGO Black.' Our nature is different from theirs; it doesn't mean we are weaker than them. Technically, we can't dream of becoming like the Empire's super soldiers, the most powerful they produced—the Crimson 10. But our kind makes use of this black liquid. It’s a special vial the field agent uses for extreme missions."
One trainee said, "So it gives us power like that of the super soldiers?"
"No, no, you have it backward," the instructor corrected. "The Black Units from R.O.P.E. don’t have those things... this black liquid is to restrain us, to make us roped to reality, not losing our consciousness. You all have your 'episodes,' not having control of your rage. This will let you use your full potential without losing your awareness. Each one of you can acquire this from the armory as part of your weapon assignment and arsenal, but it is strictly monitored. Use of it will give you more paperwork, so I actually advise not using it if not necessary. Use only for extreme cases."
Her unprecedented performance led to her clearance level being fast-tracked. Within a few short months—a timeline that normally took years—Joan was listed as a Level 9 Black Operative. This was the designation reserved for agents who had proven the complete control necessary to handle and utilize the Ego Black liquid for extreme missions.
This focus on unique traits reminded Joan of Captain Reno's unique weapons: the two curved, blackened daggers, shaped like a cross, designed for an agent specializing in lethal close-combat.
In contrast, Joan's own assigned arsenal was practical and direct, complementing her control and precision:
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Two Black Pistols: Highly customized energy weapons designed for pinpoint accuracy at mid-range.
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A Black Rod: A retractable, dense iron rod, similar to her original weapon but reinforced with dark energy conductors.
She understood now that every piece of gear, every mission, was a reflection of her unique nature. She had traded her dead-end life and confusion for a path where her strangeness was not a defect, but a weapon.
...Weeks Later.
A pistol aimed at the head of a demonic being. Bang. "Rest in peace," Joan said as the dead body of the demon slowly turned into that of a human.
Another agent arrived to see the scene. "Ah, you're done with it now. Agent, we’ll take care of this. Good job."
For Joan, this was already an everyday occurrence: another possessed being, another cover-up. It's okay. This is okay, the people need not know.
I wonder if Corvin is part of this. I will find you soon.
...Another Day.
"Hey Joan, the Section Chief wants to see you," Greg, another agent, said. "He said something about a special field assignment."
"Okay Greg, thanks. I'll go there now."
The signboard on the desk read Section Chief Gin Ral as Joan glanced over it. Sitting beside the Chief was a man with eyeglasses, looking like an everyday office staffer.
"Sir, you called?" Joan asked, stepping in.
"Come in, Joan," the Chief said. "This is Field Agent Aaron Sader. He focuses on intel and other covert operations."
Aaron gave a slightly awkward greeting. "Nice to meet you, Joan."
Chief Gin continued, "You will be working under his team on a special assignment. Aaron will brief you on the details. So, you will be under his command effective immediately. Now get out of my office, I've got more paperwork to do."
Joan wasn't sure how to react, but she was certainly excited for any mission she could get, though this time it was different—a covert mission.
Gin, who looked nothing out of the ordinary and was even shorter than Joan, said to her, "I guess you should meet the rest of the team."