three | undercover

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𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 | 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛

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𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 | 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛

Hundreds of hours have been spent watching Subject 1031 from a far. After he was released from custody, he has been living his life on an unbreakable routine. The poor kid doesn't want to give the Feds any reason to throw his ass in jail.

Even though he's innocent.

My watch dings approximately six times each day with the movements of Archer Hawthorne.

First ding: He leaves his apartment in the morning.
Second ding: He picks up his morning coffee.
Third ding: He arrives on campus.
Fourth ding: He leaves campus.
Fifth ding: He goes to the police station for updates on the investigation.
Sixth ding: He goes home.

Off the record, I have been spying on Archer Hawthorne for over three months.

On the record, I have only been spying for one month.

My investigation room has gotten a makeover throughout this past month.

Many, not all, of my assumptions and questions, have gotten answers.

Answers from Commander:
-Diane and Anthony were not stabbed. Their throats were slits. A quick and efficient kill.
-The two assailants that killed Diane and Anthony, went to crack the safes in the apartment.
-None of the three cared about where Archer was.
-His whereabouts meant nothing to the assailants.
-The assailants have four murders in total that are known. Diane Petrov, Anthony Scardino, and Secret Agents Vivian and Bruce Alderidge.
-If the abduction is the result of the pills not being found at the residence, then the assailants believe that the Hawthorne's can lead them to the pills. Or maybe have them recreate the technology.

Sneaking into his apartment does nothing for my information. What's written on paper is fabricated classified ideas. No one in this God forsaken city can confirm or deny what precisely was in the three safes that were cracked. No one can prove what was taken or not taken that night.

I've recently come to a conclusion that will be controversial in the eyes of the organization. I told the Commander that I would be using my own methods for completing this mission. I refuse to compromise my integrity as a secret agent to begin following tedious rules from a woman that doesn't respect me as an agent.

My conclusion is probably a bad idea.

"Hey Gray. Did Thea make any food?" I asked.

"There's a fridge full of meals she made for you," he said. "Thea and I are going to Maine for a week to visit her family. Her mother inquires further investigation into our choices for the wedding. We'll be back next Sunday."

"Careful there, dear brother, your English is showing," I mocked, enunciating my words to enhance my depraved accent.

Grayson had the privilege of being born in London. He grew up in a lovely flat in Kensington. He holds it over my head, because I was born in dirty grimy crime-ridden New York City.

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