T h i r t y O n e

- P a r t F o u r -

T h e L e t t e r

I loved the historical places that I called my temporary home. The campus of Cambridge University appeared similar, only little disdaining changes made the whole place newer.

I looked outside from the window of the office, gently balancing the cup of tea on my hand.

"I wasn't expecting you to come."

A pair of calm eyes glance over to me but returned themselves looking on the papers on the dark oak desk. As the sound of the fountain pen scratching on the surface, I let my lips touch the rim of the china cup once more.

Slowly, I placed the cup down under my chin. His rimmed eyes focused back on mine, heavily analysing my move.

"How did you come to know double oh five?" The aging man asked me.

"Connections." I simply answered. "Entered my life as I was younger."

Professor Archibald Well's, now a rather conservative and yet prying man stopped writing and searched for any elaborations in my facial expressions. But all I could do was purse a monotonous look back.

There, I placed the cup down. "Never knew his position until I was recruited. And that was a year after I began my doctorate here."

I knew the man well, but with such a lack of meetings, I've lost my connection with him. Therefore in my head, the memories of him: Professor Well's seminars, talks and lessons were all short clips. Archibald was the only link I could grab on when it came to my father and uncle.

Though to me: he was just a man who wanted connections too.

He made a humming sound until it turned into a strangling cough, his hands now focused on the pages he was turning on the desk. Another assignment marked I reckoned. "I called you in as your uncle has left the country in pursue of an unmarked USSR territory."

It was soft murmur as he spoke, but to my own, it was as if I was facing a speaker towards my face. USSR territory meant bunkers.

Professor Well's gulped, "Your uncle informed that he wishes to give you his inheritance. All access to his bank accounts and properties and-"

"What." I gaped, my eyebrows raised.

Neither a word or look changed from him.

"No. No, no, no..." I shook my head.

What was my uncle thinking? Going into potential danger that is stupidly dangerous and highly reckless. He ignored me for months, only getting 'okay' notes from Mark Turpin but that was it. Nothing was mentioned about the case of the Russian spy.

Pulling away the chair, I got up and felt the tapping of my footsteps hit the wooden flooring. I paced to and throw from the window, thinking of why Will had gone abroad and warned my professor.

Both uncle and father knew each other from work for MI5 and MI6. Why would my own Professor - a teacher with his own family - would let his friend's niece inform that her uncle would die? Unless Archibald Wells...

The said person stood up from his desk and placed something in front of him. He gestured down towards it, and I walked over. There, I found a folder, tattered and worn from age. And written in Russian text.

CODE RAVEN

PROJECT BEGAN 1954

UNDER SURVEILLANCE OF KGB

RECORDED NAMES OF CANDIDATES

"This was the only thing he gave to me before he left for Ukraine."

My head snapped back upwards, staring intently at Professor Wells. The things he spoke were lies.

The Raven Program was 'supposed' to be a division of the KGB for the USSR, where they produce the top most spies and assassins in the world. But after the fall of the Soviet Union, it was abandoned and was rid by several allied Services. All of the spies and assassins have been captured, changed alliances or purged.

Why would my uncle specifically go after a supposed Raven?

Prying under the cover, I opened the folder and felt the crisp paper between my fingers. It was old and stained, a paper clip held on the top right corner.

And on the front cover was a blank page, with a credit card-shaped piece clipped on. I took it out and held it onto my fingertips, lifting it towards the light of the windows. There was a slip of metal printed on the shorter side, with a triangle printed on one of the ends.

A key.

I returned the key back and turned towards the next page. This had interested me more. Several photos were placed on the page, with names, codes and numbers below them. Each photo was a depiction of a face, rather young and barely six years old.

When I gone through the last row of people, I stopped at the penultimate.

A young girl, with a tuft of red hair on her face. Her iconic smirk that was held kept me frozen in that moment. Too familiar to the woman who gave me the scar on my cheek.

However, I peeled back the pages and shut the folder once more. I guessed that Professor Wells knew who Will was after now.

Because I glanced at him and spoke darkly: "They are myths to the public and too our intelligence."

"Not to him," He replied.

____

1994 - Little Baddow

[Y/N] watched the snow fall, pressing her fingers against the window to trail the falling snow. But when she took a breath, it fogged up, allowing herself to then pull back in a fickle of frustrations. In a clever way, she studied what the cooling and melting point was, just by studying the snow falling.

After her little procrastination, she felt a hand patting on her shoulder. Once she turned around, [Y/N] found her father's eyes gazing down at her.

Her father said, "Come on, Einstein." He nudged her from the window, gesturing the room - their living room - back. "Let's open presents."

Christmas was a time where it felt almost as if the universe had bowed down to [Y/N] and actually gave her wish. Her parents were there, no awkward times where her mother was away to a concert and times were her father would be abroad. Not only that, she didn't have to go to her grandparents' this year.

Yes, she loved her family dearly: though sometimes she preferred the two most important people she cared more for.

And then this year, a new member had now been invited into her life.

"You got me a dog."

[Y/N] opened the box, which she peered into. The small furry ball of fun exploded and the puppy jumped into her arms in glee. "You trust me with an actual living organism?"

Her father raised a brow, amused. "It'll be a good way to learn about responsibility, [Y/N]."

"She has her instruments," Her mum mused. "I doubt that this was your purpose, [Y/F/N]."

After her parents stopped bickering, they had asked what the small dog wanted for as a name. She was a little sceptical at first, [Y/N], and finally got down to a name after going through her jumbled thoughts. At that moment, she was really interested in Greek Mythology and most of the gods.

She finally came to conclusion, now earning a lick from the pronounced Apollo.

As soon my eyes fluttered open, I sat straight up from my bed. Quick pants escaped from my mouth while my hand flew towards my forehead. The droplets of water trickled down my nose and tingled the back of my neck. Then, I glanced over to my bedside.

There on the table were two syringes, empty and lying under the light of the lamp.

Seeing them never bothered me, never mind the idea of using them.

Drugs didn't alarm me for some reason, or anything sharp or piercing through the skin. When I first took them, it was having a bee or a wasp sting you and sensing the after-effects in a half deranged and half sane reality.

Now, when I the thought of the dog...my dog and my family. I let the new memory flood in and the revelation. Was this why I went in that river, because it was sentimental?

Her mum mused. "I doubt that this was your purpose, [Y/F/N]."

I didn't know how it happened. Though with the sound of crashes, thumps and the rustling of fabric. I thrashed my duvet off me, grabbed the objects on the table.

Next thing I knew: the syringes disappeared in the bin and my own body - trembling in the middle of my bedroom.

It seemed that my arms looked quite interesting, as I gazed at them and quietly whispered to myself. "I need to stop. No more."

____

Out of my usual context of ramblings: I did not expect Yog Studios to appear so...bland on the outside. Well. That was what I said once Mark informed me of the location.

He said that it was going to be designed in a much more office environment towards our company usage, with more windows and personal space. And the idea of individual recording studios instead of offices would allow people outside the Yogscast to come in and record.

Mark's typical 'talk his way through everything' attitude led me to high expectations, and revealed to be exactly how I deduced

So when the moving day rolled in, I caught several faces that forced away the doubt of the layout. Everyone was dawdling about, just placing boxes and their stuff at their designated areas. But not all of the desks arrived yet, so most of us were swinging on our office chairs or using a cardboard box as stools.

I found hazel eyes staring at the back of my head, but I ignored it and shrugged at an unsure Katie who was placing down her stuff on her place.

At least we aren't in the basement anymore.

For the whole day, I helped over with Sam and began unpacking all of the cameras and wires in one of the smaller rooms.

The room had a sort of faux brick wall plastered on one half of the rooms. There was a large table that I remembered was from the Games Night room so I assumed well that this would be where majority of the live action videos would be recorded.

Sam was finishing a box of cord extensions and plugs while the sound of the door echoed. I clambered over the boxes. My foot got stuck, and I sent myself flying across the room. I would have slammed my face right onto the carpet.

But with instinct, I dived for a roll - and landed on my feet in some sort of graceful pose. Turps' fucking face as I opened the door made me burst into a stifling laugh.

Sam laughed, "Turps, did you put a curse on [Y/N] whenever you enter the room with her in it?"

I dusted my jeans and stepped the side, letting Sam and mine's boss fit through the little floor space we had. He was just checking up on the two of us; and whether or not if we could help out with the open plan office wiring.

"Jesus, Turps." I responded as I rubbed the back of my neck. "It's only the first day. And it's going to take us ages to get around with all the problems at this rate."

He butted in with reassurance. "I know, I know. You don't think this isn't stressful for me?"

Sam sheepishly said, "Yeah." I glanced at the Audio Engineer and I received a tired smile. "We know."

"Don't worry," I looked at Turps with a gentle smile. And he stared back, with a sort of gaze that shouldn't longer than it should. "You've done more than we could have anyways."

With a simple deduction, I nodded along as he bade us a good luck on continuing our work. He left the room, making sure the expression I gave him back was the correct indication. I knew he was still sorting out the others and ordering the movers where stuff should be, so it won't be another hour until he'll be free for lunch to talk to.

And as expected. Turps caught me casually lurking about the corridor, the one by the new Editor's office. Ten minutes ago, I thanked Tom Bates for helping me move George's equipment into the new office. Before that happened, we agreed to store half and half of his stuff in each other's flats.

Speaking of George, I wasn't getting any emails of calls back from him from the past week. He usually posts something on Twitter or any his growing social media accounts. Tom, being the most cool and optimistic person I've ever met, even had to reassure me that his boyfriend and my best friend was fine.

However, being a spy and agent after all includes being as paranoid and suspicious no matter what.

"I swear," Turps began as he gestured me to follow him down the hallway. "You never, and I mean ever: look so robotic as ever."

We slipped into one of the recording rooms. It was peculiarly clean and pristine, with two monitors on the floor beside a computer and several boxes piled at the back corner. Turps shut the door behind us and I quickly went to grab the boxes. Stacking them up by the door, you couldn't see from the outside who was in here.

I then plainly replied, "I'm always 'robotic' as everyone tells me I am." My nudged my chin upwards, catching Mark out of his trance of his thoughts. "You have news?"

"I do." Turps answered. "But not as what you thought it would be."

"And that is?" I folded my arms over my chest. Next, the man took out from his jean pockets, a folded letter.

Holding it towards me, the CEO of the Yogscast explained how he had recieved it. I took caution, and shortly took the letter into my fingertips and saw the writing on the envelope. 'Tall, slanted to the right. Cursive though rather sharp when making tall characters. The letter 'r' was written within the minority spectrum.' I deduced.

'No one usually wrote the letter like this; most of the time it was for calligraphy...or someone old fashioned.'

Turps called out, "One of your networks?" His tone raised in a questioning motive. "Yeah - I found it on the wipers of my car. Looks fancy, and they written in some good quality stuff."

I hummed.

There were only three words on the front of the envelope; [Y/F/N]

Uro gmae ahs eendds

cohsos yuor failns mvoe

mvoe yuor kgnhit or svae yuor qeunes

ehietr ot lvie or to ide at het pcleas to baengs

"Do you know what it is?" Turps leaned over me, glancing back at me and the letter.

Our game has ended.

Choose your final move.

Move your knight or save your queen.

Either to live or to die at the place it began.

I told him simply that it was a skip code, but even then, the writer somehow knew me from the inside. Because as I shook the envelope upside down, a bunch or red petals fell to the ground. Petals from a carnation.

They knew something about my father.

____

Few days later I was texting Sips on my phone, making sure I kept my head up as I sorted out my files of videos. The computer seemed a good obstacle, I assured myself all the time. But this time, it seemed it wasn't diverting the face that I could not stop glancing back at. Luckily Tom Clarke's desk was empty - something along the line of recording Warhammer with Ben.

[The 'Best' Guy] :- Hey, cock shot. Shit hit the fan in the Donut.

[Y/N] :- What happened.

"Ooh...I wonder what happened in Headquarters..."

Swinging on Tom's seat was Darker Me, twirling a knife in her left hand. How she got out of my head...I really didn't know.

[The 'Best' Guy] :- Got infiltrated. By someone I think. Got some files and now that manager you had? Yeah, he's dead.

Mentally, I swore to myself before glaring at the laughter Darker Me expelled out. With a glare, I watched myself glare back the same expression before I mentally told her to leave. As I turned back to my desk, I check over my monitor.

On the other side of my desk, Lewis' concentration was on his monitor - thank god.

[Y/N] :- Fuck. Contact Marino. I'm heading now. Let them know.

[The 'Best' Guy] :- Aren't you supposed to be retired?

[Y/N] :- Well I haven't signed it.

I added.

[Y/N] :- Yet

[The 'Best' Guy] :- I'll get shit sorted.

[Y/N] :- Thank you.

[The 'Best' Guy] :- Sure thing. Careful, k?

Soon as I hung up on Sips, there was a slow tick in my mind. And yet when I finished sorting out my computer, I felt myself composed. There was no possible way I could leave for months. Even if I could let Turps know there was a slight chance I could not come back, it would be under Turps's name.

"Mark, tonight." A soft mutter left my lips as I cleaned my mug in the sink.

Turps was by the fridge, grabbing his lunch that consisted of cous cous and salad leaves.

I watched him turn to me in a hesitant motion. "It's going to be hard." He told me. "Making an excuse now."

True, I said to myself. "Already done." Mark gave me a grim response, letting me sternly look back, "I know what I'm doing."

"I know," He muttered, but his glance seemed to be not to my face, but rather behind me. A figure stood behind me, and I didn't need to turn back.

Lewis Brindley looked at the two of us, one hand holding his mug.

His hair array in a mess after a day's work and constant organising. The dark circles under his eyes showed lack of sleep. Even when he tried to straighten his posture up was slightly failing to hide the fact that he hasn't been sleeping well.

Then he asked the question I hadn't needed to hear. "What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing," I replied in a simple tone, but only caused him to see a flicker of annoyance. "Nothing to concern about."

I would not call this moment of coincidence, if I wasn't silently praying that Lewis would not be pissed. But somehow the odds changed.

Lewis retorted, "If it was nothing, Turps wouldn't look so nervous."

Well, Turps did look nervous, but only a glimpse.

"Lewis, [Y/N]'s telling the truth, okay-" Mark assured, and gestured over to me. "We've been talking about her work leave."

"That's not what I heard," Lewis now glared, mostly at me. "I just head from Mark you were going to make an excuse. Excuse about what? Not going to work?"

It was my turn to stoically reply, "It was a joke."

"You never make jokes about these things, [Y/N]." When his accuse left his mouth, I was taken back.

Something in my chest cracked, and immediately, I saw the figure of Darker Me – beginning to form in the background – swirling in one of the office chairs. No one was listening to our conversation.

I sputtered, "You...y-you do not have any right to barge into my conversations." My lifted my head, trying to maintain my control of my emotions. If they saw who I could become when I wasn't in control of my emotions.

Mark tried to intervene, trying to say, "Lewis. She's right."

"What." Lewis widened his eyes, and soon as he could hide his surprise – he had hidden it in anger. "What do you mean she's right? I have a right to know what my colleagues are doing!"

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"That you don't need to get involved," I lowered my tone and stared right into Lewis' eyes. Eyes that seemed before curious, then turned into anger and now into hurt. A pang in my chest paused me to speak, but I pulled it back and reframed myself from stutter.

I didn't want this stupid argument to be heard from the others, so I pulled something from my pocket. It was the necklace – with a rectangular device chained onto in. In my palms, I took Lewis' arm – so to his protest – and placed it on his hand. He then tilted his head down, conflicted on what to say by the look on his face.

This...this could be the only time to say goodbye.

To say all those things, I wanted to say at the night I found out about Lewis. Lewis Brindley, the man who lost a best friend because of her own ignorance. And for me, the girl who realised that her life had lost too many memories.

But as I tried to say those things, to tell him that returning could be inevitable, it was too difficult. He was already in a place that he was safe, safe away from me and Matthews.

Instead I tugged the tears away and quietly said it.

"You have a right when it comes to being my friend."

Controlled, I looked back up and saw his confusion. Mark even looked torn whether to stop me or blurt it out.

But only I went closer to the raven-haired man, turning my head to his cheek.

And with a small touch, my lips touched his cheek.

It felt so quick, but enough to sense how soft and gentle it was.

My head spun, and everything blurred afterwards. There were flashes in my mind of the moments I had with him.

This man...

Once I pulled back, I was afraid to stare at the person who I had just gave my only salvation to. Because as I left that building that day, I knew I got rid of the identity I had build for years.

"I'm sorry." I whispered.

All because I fell, and I couldn't get out anymore.

____

A/N: Welcome back to 420! I am back, from my holiday, which was filled with lots of Mediterranean sun and sea and lots of food. It was pretty amazing.

Enough talk about my personal holiday, wow. This was so hard to put through despite how I knew this was going to turn out. The idea was that the character would be torn between telling Lewis truth or not. But in the end...well I can't say.

Questions: What is that necklace she gave to him?

Who was that girl in the file?

Is there a more important role that Apollo is in?

If her intentions of going to help Will out is confusing you, don't worry. It's all going to wrap up, okay Trust me...(pls). Anyways, hoped you guys enjoyed. :)

-SierraOwls