#mark grey

Her mother had died when Rhian was five, but Rhian was six when she asked her father what had happened to her.

“She’s dead, lamb,” he’d said, and the tiny part of Rhian that had been hoping that she’d just transferred bases and was going to come back any day felt something shatter.

“Oh,” she said. “But Mum wasn’t old.”

“She wasn’t,” her father said. “But someone in her office had let an important file get corrupted, and the blame fell on her head.”

“Did the corruption kill her?” Rhian asked, voice small.

Her father chuckled. “Something like that.”

They didn’t talk about Rhian’s mum again - it simply wasn’t done in the organisation to dwell in the dead when life was moving on, after all - until they recieved news that they were to be transferring from their base in Wales to one in England, when Rhian was eight, almost nine. It was the main base of the GA, her father had said, and a very prestigious location. That’s where Mark Grey, the head of the GA himself, lived, and where their mother had come from.

“We’re going to Central?” Rhian had yelped, stars in her eyes, Trystan standing beside here with an expression of quiet awe. “How come? Will mum’s friends be there? Do we have any aunts or uncles there?”

“Naw,” her father had chuckled mirthlessly. “I don’t know where your aunts and uncles have been stationed. We’re going to Central because of you, Rhian.”

“Me? How come?”

“Someone in the Academy was very impressed with your scores, lamb, and they want you in Central.”

Rhian would regret the glee that overtook her heart for a very long time afterwards.

At Central, she’d been put in a smaller class of ten other kids by the Academy adminitrators.

“The Grey Alliance Academy has recognised your proficiency in the STEM disciplines, Vaughn, and we have chosen to assist you in achieving your highest potential,” someone had told her, and Rhian had been informed that she was going to be specialising in that discipline from now on.

She was slightly disappointed that she didn’t get to choose her classes, but she pushed that aside rather quickly. She was in Central, after all - that more than made up for it.

In her class, she worked diligently.

She was approached by a classmate a few weeks later.

“Hi. Vaughn, right? I’m Alice Kingsley. Congrats on being first,” she said, her sallow face betraying no emotion.

“What am I first in?”

Kingsley’s surprise showed both on her face and in her voice. “In our class! And you’re ninth overall for Division Four trainees. Don’t you check the rankings?”

“Oh. Not really,” Rhian said. “I don’t really care about that stuff.”

Kingsley almost choked. “You don’t care about the rankings? The single most important thing that determines your future in the GA?”

“I don’t really mind what I end up as.”

“Not even if you end up in Division One as field operative? They have the highest mortality rate, you know, and that’s where you go if you don’t score high enough!”

“My dad was in Division One for twenty-five years, and he’s still alive. My mum worked in Division Two in data analysis, I think, and she died when I was five.”

“Yeah, but that’s probably an isolated incident. Field ops are-”

“My dad says incompetence gets you regardless of division,” Rhian cut her off. “So I don’t care where I end up. Just so long as I can do whatever it is I’m doing well enough.”

“Oh. Okay.” Kingsley lapsed into a momentary silence. “Anyways, I was going to ask, do you want to study with me? I could really use the help of the smartest student in class.”

“Okay.”

True to her word, Kingsley showed up that night to study with her.

And the night after that.

In fact, Kingsley showed up at the Vaughn flat to study with Rhian most nights.

Over the next few months, Rhian got to know Kingsley - Alice - rather well. She found out that she was from an important family - the Kingsleys were part of the Grey clan, and Alice’s father sat on the Grey Alliance Council. Rhian had had a minor freak-out over this revelation - the GAC, after all, was a gathering of all of the most important members of the whole Alliance - and Alice had laughed at her face. More importantly, she had found out that Alice’s favourite food was strawberry milkshakes, and immediately had an intense debate with her friend over whether or not milkshakes could actually be classified as a food. She found out that Alice had a tattoo of an ornate key on her lower back (“You should get a lock done, Rhian, then we could match!”), and that Alice knew almost all of the secret passageways within the GA Central building.

“We have to explore them,” Rhian had said suddenly, a picture of seriousness, when she was twelve.

“You’ve been saying that since we were nine,” Alice laughed.

“I’m serious.”

“You chicken out ever single time.”

“I won’t this time.”

“You’ll eat your words the next time we encounter a patrol,” Alice snorted.

“Do you want to bet on that?” Rhian challenged, eyes glowing with determination.

“Absolutely,” her friend smirked.

They dodged the patrols with practiced ease - or rather, Alice did, with Rhian stumbling along behind her, barely managing to keep silent. The first passage was behind the statue of Praetorian - the founder of the GA and a man apparently uncreative enough to steal a name from the Romans - in the corridor leading from the reception area. It was, according to Alice, the main passage, and the most expedient way to access the prohibited areas of Central. The second passageway was revealed to be behind a large tapestry of Elizabeth Hawthorne in the centre of the one wall of the GAC meeting hall that was free of balconies. Rhian had had a vague idea of who Elizabeth Hawthorne was at one point, but since she was terrible at history, she had long since forgotten what Elizabeth had actually done. It was apparently significant enough that the GA had at once been called the Hawthorne Alliance, but not so much that Rhian would actually remember what.

After that day, Rhian and Alice spent most of their free time exploring the Central building’s passageway and discovering new ones, to the point where Rhian, as well as Alice, knew them all as she did the back of her hand.

They were entirely unprepared for the one day, when the two of then were fifteen - and yes, Alice, if one’s fifteenth birthday was withing three weeks, that did indeed count them as a fifteen-year-old - for the encounter that awaited them as they stumbled out from behind the coat of arms belonging the now extinct Harrow family.

“Ordinarily,” mused a deep voice, one that was oh-so-familiar from so many speeches and broadcasts, “I’d consider the usage of restriced passages to enter areas that are out of bounds a criminal act, but I’ll make an exception for a pair of future Council members.”

Mark Grey himself stared down the two terrified girls.

“S-sir?” Alice choked, Rhian standing behind her, red-faced and sweating.

“I’ve made my selection,” Grey said. “As you know, the heads of division are usually members of the Grey clan, with the first-ranked trainee of that division becoming their second-in-command. Ordinarily, we’d wait until you were seventeen, or at least sixteen, but with the… unfortunate circumstances surrounding Markowitz and his deputy, we’re appointing you two early.”

“W- we’re just kids, sir,” Alice stammered. “We don’t want to d- disappoint you. Sir.”

For a second, Rhian wondered, fear seizing her heart, if Grey was going to reprimand Alice for questioning him, but the leader of the GA merely chuckled.

“Don’t worry, Kingsley, I’ve accounted for that. I’ve appointed an advisor to assist you in the running of Division Four until you turn old enough to do so independantly. Congratulations on your promotions to Head of Division Four, Kingsley, and you to Second, Vaughn.”

Rhian’s dad had cried at the news, and Trys had been indescribably jealous. Rhian had had to move out of her family’s flat, into a luxurious two-storey flat in the same corridor as Alice’s slightly larger one. As Rhian stood in the flat, she marvelled at the engineering prowess of whoever it was that had managed to build the quasi-city of Central into a hill that contained a buried castle and over seventy underground storeys of GA architecture, whilst still managing to conceal the entire thing’s existence from the general public.

For a while, life was perfect, as Rhian and Alice adjusted to running the Technology, Engineering and Research Division of the GA.

Then, of course, the whole idyllic illusion shattered.

Rhian and Alice had found a new passageway, which seemed to lead to Floor 74.

Nothing ever led to Floor 74.

Rhian went first, elbows pushed against the sides of the cramped passage, preventing her from slipping on her stomach down the steep downwards slope that the passage lay on.

The end of this passage seemed to be an observation window, looking into a dim room with stone walls, housing a single, solitary metal chair.

Alice shot her friend a look of confusion, to which Rhian replied with a minimal shrug of her shoulders, as much as she could without losing her support.

They were about to retreat up the passageway when a young woman - barely a woman, even, mostly a girl - entered, dragging with her a bedraggled and bloody man in cuffs, who she threw at the chair with a strength unsuited to her slight build as harsh interrogation lights snapped on. They knew who she was - Allana Julian, the 18-year-old prodigy who had recently recieved a promotion from second-in-command of Division Zero to its Head after her boss’ unfortunate demise, becoming the first non-Grey in over a century to command one of the Divisions.

Division Zero dealt mainly with external affairs and threats, but also with internal ones when the opportunity arose. Julian, renowned for her cold and calculated efficiency and efficacy, seemed like the perfect fit for the job.

With a start, Rhian realised that she recognised the man. His name was Wolfgang something, she knew - a coworker of his father’s after his transfer to Division Two after coming to Central.

Division Two specialised in data management and IT. As Wolfgang tried his best to right himself on the chair, Rhian remembered a conversation she’d had with her father one night, back in Wales.

“But someone in her office had let an important file get corrupted, and the blame fell on her head.”

Was this what had happened to her mother?

“Schliemann,” Julian’s voice said, the authority it carried not even slightly mitigated by its raspiness. “We know that someone in your office botched the report regarding that damn Underworld pub in Leeds. We know this, because a full success was reported, and yet our very own operatives took three of the damn renegade psychopaths into GA custody yesterday. So, how is it that the report claims that all the patrons, who we have spent months building profiles on, were confirmed dead?”

Wolfgang spat blood as Julian’s fist collided with his face and he collapsed to the floor.

“It wasn’t me! Vaughn filed the report!”

As Julian’s cold, calculating eyes studied the man, Rhian’s blood ran cold. She barely felt Alice’s hand on her shoulder.

“Vaughn will be punished accordingly for filing incorrect information, rest assured. Congratulations on signing your friend’s death warrant, Schliemann, but it won’t save you. We have all the information. I just want to know your reason for writing it as you did.”

The desparation in Wolfgang’s eyes was swiftly replaced by terror.

“Please…”

“Hm?”

“Please don’t kill me.”

In an instant, Julian’s calm and collected persona vanished, and was replaced by something else.

Something angry, and terrifying.

“Answer,” she screamed, delivering a forceful kick to Wolfgang’s ribs, prompting more blood to escape from between the man’s lips, “the god-damn question, you pathetic maggot!”

“I-” Wolfgang wheezed. “I felt sorry- If Hernandez reported another failure, they were gonna- get axed.”

“Hernandez,” Julian said, and the calmness returned as abruptly as it had vanished. “Of course.”

She reached out an arm to help Wolfgang up, and he took it.

Julian pulled the man up, and spun him around, so that he was facing away from her, legs splayed, being supported completely by Julian.

“Thank you, Schilemann,” she whispered into his ear, so quietly that Rhian had to read her lips.

She snapped Wolfgang’s neck like it was nothing.

The lights dimmed as Julian walked out, with guards entering to clear Wolfgang’s body away.

“Jesus,” Rhian gasped, sobs choking her, and Alice looped an arm around her chest, hugging her as best she could without losing purchase. “Liss, she’s coming for my dad. She’s gonna kill my dad for- for something that wasn’t his fault!”

“I-” Alice lapsed into slience.

“I’m gonna get him out,” Rhian said.

“No,” Alice whispered. “They’ll kill you, too, if you betray them.”

“It wasn’t even his fault! Is this what happens to everyone who messes up?”

“I don’t know,” Alice whispered. “I don’t know, Rhian.”

“I’m gonna help my dad escape,” Rhian said. “The GA aren’t gonna kill him for something he didn’t do!”

“Rhian,” Alice said, softly, barely speaking. “I’ll do it with you.”

There was obviously going to be CCTV operational in all areas of the Central building, with no exceptions made for privacy reasons, save perhaps in the cases of the highest-ranking members of the GA.

They would surely be caught.

No.

There was no CCTV in the passages.

This was a hypothesis they’d confirmed a while ago, simply out of idle curiosity. The structure of the passges simply didn’t allow hidden CCTV to be installed, and, given that they had seemingly been constructed for GA business that was not to go on record, it made sense that they weren’t being surveilled.

The GA also did not record audio, presumably for the reason that it was stupidly inconvenient to go through, and as such the expenditure wasn’t justified.

And there were indeed gaps between each floor for pipes, wiring, and the occasional unofficial GA search of each floor.

In an instant, the two girls had set off to enact their plan.

“Don’t react, Dad!”

“Rhian?” Her father clearly had not expected his daughter’s voice to echo from the ceiling.

“Did you react?”

“Not visibly,” he said, and the wryness in his voice was so, so unbefitting of the sitiation.

“You need to leave. Grab Trys and leave the GA, forever.”

In an instant, her father’s voice grew more guarded. “What’s going on?”

“Wolfgang had you file an false report,” she said, barely able to contain her hysteric sobs. “Julian’s gonna kill you, dad.”

Her father swore loudly, and called into the kitchen. “Trys, leave your phone, grab your jacket, and get ready to fucking run.”

“Dad- what?” Rhian’s younger brother’s voice was high and confused, and she curled her sweaty, shakint palms into fists.

“Rhi, get out of there now and create an alibi. Give them no reason to suspect you.”

“Yes, dad,” Rhian choked. “Take Exit 7B, that’s got rookie guards stationed.”

“Your friends.”

“Please try not to hurt them.”

“Go, Rhian!”

Alice and Rhian stumbled out of the Praetorian statue kissing passionately.

The tunnels they’d spent so much time exploring made for such a sentimental date venue, after all.

A natural talent that Rhian posessed, perhaps fortunately, perhaps not, was the ability to lie like it was second nature to her. Perhaps it was her simple, straightforward demeanour, perhaps her unassuming appearance that pushed people to trust her, but regardless, Rhian could say that she was secretly the Queen and still sound just as sincere as normal. One might even have half a mind to believe her.

Rhian herself, though, strove to be an honest person.

She practiced no honesty when Julian pulled her into her office for an interrogation.

Rhian looked the would-be killer of her father in the eye and pretended like the betrayal of her father had stung her and that his disloyalty weighed on her heart.

Rhian may have been a good liar, a fantastic one, but she was fairly certain she had just been very luck that Allana Julian had chosen to believe her.

“I feel like I’m going mad,” Rhian whispered into Alice’s shoulder at night. “I’m going madder than Ophelia.”

“You’re not mad, Rhian,” Alice mumbles into her hair. “You’re just too decent a person for this place. That’s all.”

“No. I’m desperate, I think. I want to forget the truth. That’s what’s driving me mad.”

“You’re fifteen, Rhi. It’s gonna be okay when you get older.”

When Rhian was sixteen, she stood before the GAC and publically renounced her family and their actions, in a Southern English accent that wasn’t her own, hiding another connection to her Welsh family. It wasn’t Rhian Vaughn who left that room - the Vaughns were traitors now, after all. She’d chosen a new name, a name befitting of an upstanding member of the GAC. Division Zero agents had been assigned to get them, and there had been posters and a broadcast made.

Slowly, the girl who’d given up the right, she knew, to call herself Rhian Vaughn, got used to the sick feeling that haunted her.

The next time she entered the passages, it was for her real first date with Alice.

Life continued on, and the two of them managed Division Four with the expected efficiency, working on their own projects beside their management roles as the GA expected of such high-ranking individuals.

The plain, dark-brown hair characteristic of the Vaughn family was dyed a navy blue colour for no other reason that she liked the colour.

At nineteen, Mark Grey approached her with an assignment. Kite Jansen, a problematic case with deserters for parents and no regard for who she hurt other than her sister, was being transferred to central, as she was proving too much of a handful for the American branch to handle.

“Their incompetence will not go unaddressed,” Mark said, waving a hand, “but we need a solution on the interim. I’ve assigned her and her sister to a team, and I want you to lead it, and keep her in check.”

“Me? But I’m-”

“Your duties in Division Four - where you’ve performed admirably, mind - will be reduced, and you will be offered protection in the field. However, since you and Jansen come from similar sitiations, I thought you would be tbe ideal candidate to keep an eye on her and mitigate her rebellious actions. Understand, though, thar I’m entrusting you with this task because I trust you, not because I’m dissatisfied. I consider you one of my most competent subordinates, despite your circumstances.”

“I’m honoured, sir.”

Mark Grey gave her a smile, and she immediately shoved down the instinct that she was doing something wrong, instead pushing open the door to meet her new team.

Inside the room sat three women - or rather, two women and a girl. The girl - Kite Jansen’s sister, she assumed, looked nervous, blue eyes focused on the floor, and her hair falling over her face. One of the women was Luca Horváth, a transfer from Hungary, who had been brought to Central after the GA had recognised her skills as a fighter and an instructor. She looked none too happy at her new assignment.

Finally, Kite Jansen sat confidently at the table legs crossed and arms behind her head. She was one of those people who stood out just by existing, and the gaze that looked over the somewhat awkward figure in the doorway was critical and somewhat unimpressed.

“Who’re you?” she drawled, with a thick Brooklyn accent.