Determined to find out the truth about her superiors, a woman begins investigating the leader of the science branch, finding out a few secrets about her alternate identity within the run down areas of the country's capital. However, even as she discovers these truths, she can't help but fall for a woman she long held in contempt.
Jannicka was never, ever good at organisation, but this time she needed her faults and flaws to melt away in order to seek the truth. Being the head of intelligence within the Special Ops branch of the Invisible Empire wasn’t affording any worthwhile details that suited her role, and all the other nooks and crannies had been sniffed out months ago by her underlings. Was it boredom? Or was it the hidden lust of the intelligence officer? Whatever it was, Jannicka pondered long into the night, scouring the older, rugged leather booklets for leads and minute details not copied into the vast computer system sustaining the Alvar Wastes outpost. What was the point? Well, as she told herself time and time again, it was to have the upper hand. After all, her superiors were not the nicest folk.
Scratch that. They weren’t nice at all. She’d go as far to substitute ‘not nice’ for ‘devilish bastards’.
And yet, they were efficient at expunging their information. Jannicka tore at her hair in frustration digging through the back catalogues and finding nothing but dead ends for her troubles. Once or twice she struck the desk with a clenched fist, surprising herself each and every time. At least she was alone this time, especially after the embarrassment last month with the broken table and twelve stitches. Her frustration only grew as she dug up her name, and all those little details, right down to how she got those damn stitches in the first place.
If the walls weren’t soundproofed, her scream would’ve woken up the entire building. She was halfway through tearing up the notebook as her sudden anger washed away bit by bit, now whispering ‘oh crap!’ under her breath again and again. She flitted around the room like a wasp in a vault of sugar, slumping back in the office chair with a sigh and a wheeze. She was done, defeated, resting her legs on the desk as she felt her eyes fade. That was, until she noticed the very back page of the notebook, bold and left for all to see.
Valerie McKinley’s signature. The crazy, paranoid scientist who listened to electronica as she devised new ways to expand the organisation’s horizons. A woman, she assumed, to be devoid of any hint of emotion except cowardice. Seeing her signature sent waves of wonder and dread equally through her body. Jannicka, pondering this a moment, typed out the lead scientist’s name into the staff database. As she read through basic information, her eyes darted to a simple geographic detail. One which utterly surprised her.
Her first lead was a night club. The “1991” in the run down Olive Crossing district. Here, she’d find her answers about the first of the many superiors she longed to topple. With a tired, renewed smile, Jannicka left the room to find her civilian clothes and to ‘doll up’ for the night ahead. It was certainly going to be a long and eventful one.