The Classix

(2ND DRAFT) chapter ONE

DEFED

    I watch them as they go. Tired yet tireless, relenting yet relentless, indefatigably reaching for something they've no idea doesn't exist. It's evident in their actions––in the roles they take, in the songs they sing, in the people they choose to associate with. It's calculated. It's deliberate. Whatever gains them the most power and prestige, yes, that is the thing they will do. Whatever makes people like them. Whatever keeps them alive.

    What alluded them then, and alludes them now, is the reality of their struggles. None of them are or were in danger of dying. No one was going to kill anyone at the Darkening. That's the sad truth about it. And as much as I didn't want to do what I did, I did it. We did it.

    We did what we had to.

    If it showed them anything, maybe it finally brought to light how powerless they really are––how pointless their efforts were to gain control over a life they don't even own. Their old lives, they had. Miserable as they were, those lives were theirs. But they gave those up so quick and willingly. God, it's astounding how fast they let everything go. They handed their faces and names over like clothes they somehow borrowed, washed and folded neatly at the feet of a woman they met not an hour earlier. Did it never occur to them the choices they were making? Did it ever occur to them how futile those choices were?

    Maybe they started to realize this. Maybe some goodness came out of that mess months ago. That's all we can really hope for as of now.

    "He's back, boss."

    My eyes avert from my screen, settling on a girl we call Rinna. If I was the type to have a second command, it would probably be her.

    "Hmm?" I ask.

    She gestures to the door behind her with a firm expression. "The newest spy's back. Just got in a few minutes ago."

    "Has he been . . ." It trails off as I look back at my screen, distracted by the faint mutters coming out of my speakers. Rinna couldn't have come in at a worse time, really. Unless this spy has the details of my current investigation, the matters at hand are a bit more pressing than their usual, scheduled return.

    "Debriefed?" she guesses. "Yes, just now. I have the transcripts in your inbox. Once again, doing all your work for you. Finley's out there talking plans for the next move you were discussing with him yesterday, if you'd care to join"

    I chuckle at the firmness in her expression. Rinna is firm with the lot of us, but me especially. And while I wouldn't dream of letting anyone else speak to me so informal and pointed, I allow this of her. We knew each other before we knew of this––of these secrets and threats and dark soil surrounding the roots of the way we grew up. We knew each other. And even though I'm trying now to do the right thing, she knows how wrong I've been before. I take her firmness as a punishment.

    "Good," I say. "I guess I'll check on them then."

    "Might as well do one part of your job."

    As Rinna excuses herself from my office, I take off my reading glasses, placing them carefully into their soft leather case. I look one last time at the screen at my desk, my finger hovering over the power button.

    We have only a few cameras scattered around the Metropolix. They're not in the most preferred of places––mostly wherever our spies could get them without raising any suspicion. Surveillance has always been more of Finley's work, but after everything that happened before the Darkening, surveillance is now in everyone's job description.

    It's not too hard of work, watching the cameras. I've even sort of taken a liking to it in the past few months. Seeing the way the Famoux has been responding to their late Foster Farrand's death piqued my interest enough. Would they sit and wallow about their friend, or would they respond like they did Bree, and snap back to work with the new member we, in a sense, brought them?

    The answer, thus far, has been no. Despite our best efforts to put scenarios and opportunities in their view, they regard these things with as much attention as they give the paparazzi that follow them down the street: look down, look away, pretend it isn't there, bugging you to look it in the eye.

    Rinna tells me that things were so much simpler the first time around, with Bree a few months back. I wasn't here yet for any of that, but she tells me they had it under control. They knew what the Famoux was thinking about before Bree had even set foot in the Fishbowl that fated day. They knew exactly what they needed to do, exactly how they needed to prepare. And while the dust flew about, nowhere near close to settling, they pushed Norax Geddes straight into their preferred line of sight. She found the golden girl. The golden girl found the clues we'd left for her. Everything was working out without a hitch.

    Things are working out a lot less this time around, and we couldn't be in worse shape to deal with it. I am in charge, and it's clear to everyone including myself that I'm the least qualified for the job. But you can't argue with a dying wish, and my reign over DEFED was our last leader's one and only decree.

    I watch my screen intently, squinting my eyes at the scene before me. Within the time it took for Rinna to come in and tell me our spy is back, however, the meeting I'd been peering in on from Norax's office had concluded.

    I curse under my breath. The audio on the camera was weak to begin with, but I'd take any inch I can get right about now. We've never been so in the dark as to what they're planning to do next.

    Taking a deep inhale, I flick through the other cameras, landing on a grainy view of the Analytix room. Our golden girl Emeray sits on the metal stool, taking in whatever the public has next to say about her. By the look on her face, it's another day of positivity. This makes me frown. No. The general people are supposed to be against her, or at least pretty divided about her. I would've liked it if we were at least doing one thing right today.

    "Enough with the good work. Try and keep up the bad work," I murmur, and shut the screen off.

    The main room is more crowded than usual this afternoon. My office leads out directly into it, and at any given time I usually find two or so of our people corresponding at the tables. Most of our work is done in the offices, with a bigger collaboration at the end of the day. And yet, with the end of the day no where near us, here everyone is, crowded together as if they were staging an intervention. Granted, everyone only constitutes to less than ten people, but it overwhelms me all the same.

    I look to Rinna, who's seated closest to my door. "What's this?"

    Finley pipes up before she can answer. "Spy's got some info for you, boss."

xxx

Oh hey. Tell me your thoughts on this DEFED bit.

While writing the earlier draft, I realized that a big issue of the book was how we didn't hear anything from DEFED. I mean, we ended book one with that bomb drop about Finley being in DEFED, and all we've done since is listen to Emeray wail about her problems! THE LACK OF ORGANIZATION.

I am so excited to be showing you these new chapters. I had a really, really hard time with writing and my general confidence with it, and knowing that you were here with me while I worked through this was so inspiring to me. I am as always so grateful that you're here, reading this with me.

That being said, comment your name right here. New draft means even more opportunities for your name to be in the book. COMMENT YOUR NAME BECAUSE I LOVE YOUUUUU.

Okay. That's all.

It's so good to be back on Famoux Friday. See you soon?

Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.