Cover story? Of course I had a cover story, what do you think I am? An idiot? No, because I'm nothing like you or those stupid brats that have taken my place on every other case my agency gets. And yeah, it is my agency because I was the first new agent they took on in over sixty years, so yeah, I can call it my agency, and I will.
My cover story was that I was Uncle's niece from Jersey, and we were leaving the country because my mother, his sister, was on her deathbed and wanted her only brother to be with her when she died. And my cover story was flawless…until one of the idiots in a monkey suit who were out to kill Uncle located his sister's most recent address, lot thirteen, Ravenwood Cemetery. Turns out she'd been dead for twenty-one years, long as I've been alive. This just proves the agency wrong and how they should always check everything from every angle to make sure there are no loose ends. And if there are loose ends? We tie them up.
Red grins maliciously at the interviewer and throws another knife into the table, this one covered in blood.
That? Yeah, that's the knife that got me here after your idiot agent found my cover story to be fake. That's right, I called your 'best' an idiot because it only proves my point that book learning don't make an agent good. Street experience does, and that's what I got.
Red taps her head with one finger and leans back in her chair, putting her feet on the table.
So after I located the two scouts and the camera, I knew it would only be a matter of time before they saw my bright red hood. And so with a deep breath, I stepped out of the woods and quickly walked, almost ran, down into the valley, with the wolves fanning out behind and beside me, like and extension of my cloak. Oddly enough, the wolves were still silent and well behaved. Wild animals never act that way around humans, but Uncle later told me these weren't wild animals, they were his pets that he'd been training for over thirty years. They made the best alarm system, you see, for if they weren't used to the way you looked or smelled, you'd be ripped to pieces and eaten. Why were they used to me? Because for months before I came, Uncle would hang red cloaks all over the forest so that the wolves would get used to me. But why weren't the scouts torn up? Well, there's a reason they were in trees.
Uncle stepped out from his home and stood on the sturdy porch to welcome me. We hugged, and made small talk for the scouts and camera. Or at least, that's what they saw. But really, I was telling him how we would get out of the country, and he was telling me about the watchers that were hidden all over the woods.
After a few moments of this, Uncle pulled a silver dog whistle from inside his shirt and blew it once. The wolves almost seemed to bow to him, and then slunk off back into the misty trees. Uncle led me inside, where I slipped off my cloak and hung it on a let by the door. Although large, the cabin was very cozy. There was no real definition for when one room ended and another began, except for the bedrooms. Those had walls and doors. Every other room just blended into the next, like a painting left in the rain. In the first 'room' of the house, I saw why the house was so warm. There was a fireplace as wide as a large bed, and as tall as my waist, with hungry red-orange flames crackling within. It was around six when I arrived at Uncle's cabin, and he had prepared a hearty stew with some kind of meat. I didn't ask what it was, I'm sure I didn't want to know. Uncle was a quiet man, which suited me just fine. He offered me the guest room at the back, but I declined, saying my job was to protect him, so I would sleep on a couch near the door. Uncle shook his head and protested. He said now that I was here, the scouts would try even harder to get inside to see who I was and what I was doing here, and they would find it odd for me to be sleeping in the main room. Uncle was stubborn, but so was I, but I gave in to him because if I hadn't, we'd still be standing there, arguing over where I would sleep.
And so sleep in the guest room I did. Or at least, that's what they thought. See, I'm an insomniac, and I only sleep about one night a week, on a good week, so I was up all night. I heard the scouts testing the windows and doors, and I heard the screams as a wolf got one. But in answer to all this, I did what I normally do at night, I sharpened my knives and made sure that they would be ready for tomorrow. Because tomorrow was when we'd set out for the border.
Red reaches across table and clicks the 'stop' button on the recorder. "I'm done for the night. Leave. Now." As the man leaves, Red pulls out another knife from the sheath on her thigh and starts sharpening it against the table.