I tried not to think about the fact that Grant looked like a puffed-up cockatoo and gripped my hands together. This was done in an effort to distract myself, and, as I took in the smug look on Chelsea's face, I was fearful that this conversation would not be a good one. "Yes, Grant?" I asked, dreading the outcome of this current event.

"Mr. Walker has informed me of everything that happened in advanced training this morning," Grant replied.

I desperately wanted to sit down, because then I knew that he and I would be on equal footing, but I couldn't move. My knees were threatening to turn into jelly, but I forced myself to stand up straight and not give in to weakness. "Did Mr. Walker tell you want happened on the track?" I asked, hoping that if I began with the first things first, it would be less terrible.

"He said you kept up with everyone else and didn't fall behind," my technical boss replied easily. "That's not the issue."

I kept my eyes down—there was an issue now?! I knew what the conversation was about, and it felt as if my whole sandwich would come up from my stomach and into my throat and deposit itself on the fine cherry wood table in front of me. "I'm afraid I don't understand any of this," I said softly.

"Process of elimination," Chelsea said, and I could tell from her tone that she was loving every moment of my discomfort. She stressed the last word, and fear ebbed within me once again, yet...

Without knowing what I was doing, I raised my eyes to her. "Thin ice," I hissed through my teeth. "You've seen what I can do to your son, and I'm sure you know by this time what I am capable of. I wouldn't like to think about the same thing happening to you."

"Chelsea," Grant said, turning to look at her. "Normally, I'd be chastising the new recruit, but she was acting justifiably when you've been provoking her purposefully since yesterday. Let this be a warning to you."

"Grant, really," Chelsea said, draping a perfectly manicured hand possessively onto his suit-clad arm. "I don't think that—"

"That's enough from you, Chelsea," Grant said, pulling away from her. "Excuse yourself, please."

"Grant, I really think that—"

"Leave!" Grant thundered, only allowing Chelsea to say a brief goodbye to Dunham before she slipped out the back conference room door.

Grant turned back to me, and I imagined his ruffling his great plume of yellow and gold feathers. "I was talking about your combat with Kateryn West," he said patiently, almost as if Chelsea hadn't interrupted him.

I sighed. "I knew that..."

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"If I acted out of line, I'm sorry. There's just something about Kateryn that rubbed me the wrong way. I'm only human...but, to say the least, I let my feelings get in the way of my professionalism. I apologize. I'll go find Kateryn right now and apologize to her, too." Reaching up and behind me, I took off my badge from around my neck. "I'll go to the memory screening room and make sure that I don't remember a thing about—"

Grant began thumping the table with his fist as he guffawed with a thunder of laughter. Charlotte, seated next to him, covered her face with her delicate, manicured hand and laughed quietly. Dunham sucked his lips in, thoroughly amused by what I had said.

"I don't see what's very funny," I said, tight-lipped.

"We don't have memory screening rooms!" Grant screamed, still laughing at my statement, this time resorting to slapping his open palm onto the table.

I shake my head. "All right. Then I promise never to tell anyone about any of this?"

Charlotte ceased her laughter, sighing a bit. "Sweetheart, we don't want you to leave S.L.E.U.T.H.," she said gently. "We're promoting you."

Clearly not considering that, and just as he was taking a sample of what appeared to be root beer, Dunham spat out his drink. "Uncle Grant, you're not serious!" he sputtered. "Charlotte, you can't be serious! Jenny has only known about us for less than twenty-four hours..."

"Does the name Alastair Pembroke mean anything to you, Dunham?" came Grant's stern reply.

At once, Dunham turned white. He lowered his eyes and his demeanor could only be described as cowed. As he dipped his head downwards, he seemed to demonstrate something relating to humility in the first time since I'd met him at the rehearsal dinner. Straightening a bit in his seat, he pulled a bit at his closely-cropped black hair, before turning back to his uncle, this time, in a reserved manner. "What did you have in mind?"

"The same rank as you," Grant replied, turning to me. "You will have to complete the final exam."

"That's all right," I said. "I think I'll be able to do it."

"There are three parts to the exam," Grant continued, motioning for me to sit down, and, for the first time, I felt as if I was being taken seriously by the whole organization. "The first is an extensive essay, which you will have three hours to complete. You can write it in the observation room as soon as we're done here—there isn't anyone there today anyhow."

"What will my essay be about?" I asked.

"Your life story, combined with how you believe you will make a valuable and beneficial asset to S.L.E.U.T.H.," Charlotte said gently. "You will have access to high-speed internet, and electronic dictionary, but you may not leave the room at any time during the three hours, with the exception of the mandatory break you get halfway in. The break will be fifteen minutes, during which time you may use the restroom, hydrate, or get something to eat."

I nodded. "What's the second part?"

"The second part is an interview which Charlotte, I, or one of the S.L.E.U.T.H. associates will give you," Grant explained. "The interview process can be as short as twenty minutes or as long as one hour. In the interview, we go over what you said in your essay, and we assess whether or not you were deemed to be truthful in what you wrote about yourself, and how we think you will adjust here."

"And the final part?" I asked softly.

"A combat, similar to what happened with Kateryn," Dunham replied. "In this combat, though, it is a little different. Prior to the combat, we hook you up to an electronic device which screens your mind. You are injected with a drug to make you sleep, where a top scientist will analyze your brain activity, and attempt figure out your strengths and weaknesses."

I feel myself squaring my shoulders. "And, in turn, they are used for and against me?" I ask softly.

"Exactly," Grant said, becoming enthusiastic. "We discover what is buried in your subconscious through your brain waves while sleeping—who knows what we all have buried in there? Interestingly, they used the fact that I was afraid of a baboon's backside against me..."

"The size?" Charlotte asked softly.

"The shape?" Dunham wanted to know.

"The color!" Grant cried out, covering his eyes dramatically. "I couldn't stand that god-awful pigment!"

I found myself shifting uncomfortably in my seat, wondering if this would come up later, and decided to put it out of my mind for the time being. I nodded along with the rest of them, until Charlotte got to her feet and told me that she'd take me to the observation deck. I followed her out of the room, giving a small wave to Grant and Dunham, wondering if I would pass the exams and see them again.

Charlotte and I walked along the corridor and came upon an old staircase, which we climbed. The white marble would be deadly on a rainy day, but I was thankful for the many elevators, equipped to prevent such things. I followed Charlotte up a total four sets of stairs, until we arrived by a set of double doors, which she had to put a pass code into. They opened for us and we stepped in, and I made my way over to the window, taking in the breathtaking view of the brilliant French buildings all around us.

"Come on," Charlotte said, a smile in her voice, from behind me. "I know the view is fantastic, but you've got work to do." She inputted some likely important information into the computer, and managed to get into the system almost effortlessly.

I make my way over to the computer, standing patiently next to her as she bypasses mandatory firewalls and other security measures before pulling up a Google task bar and a Microsoft Word document. Nodding in approval of the screen in front of her, she pulls out the swivel chair for me and nods for me to sit down. She explains that the room will be locked and that nobody will be able to get in—a message will be sent out to ensure that I will be left alone. She says that she will come and check on me in an hour and a half and ask if I would like a break. She goes over the essay instructions and rules, before giving me a brief hug and leaving the room, locking the doors behind her.

Shivering for a moment in my chair, I check the time and see that it is nearly one-thirty. I take a moment to pop my fingers and knuckles before waving them in the air for a moment. It was now or never, that much I knew, and I decided to begin at the beginning, where it all really began—my journey.

I began with a brief history of how everything came to be—my mother and father's initial meeting, and getting married, and other general things like that. I wondered, at the back of my mind, if such a thing would make Charlotte jealous to read. Putting it out of my mind, I felt hot tears coming down my face as I wrote about the phone call from the policeman, informing me about the car accident which had killed my mother. In the time since her death, I'd become more aware of the circumstances—a drunk driver, who really had no business being on the road in the first place, swiveled around on the slick, wet road, and ended of crashing head-on into my mother's dream car.

She loved that car. It had been her dream car ever since college, and, once my father had made it big, it had been his first present to her. He bought it for her on their first wedding anniversary, and she was so grateful that, on that evening, she became pregnant with me. I remember hearing the romantic telling of that over and over again, and wondered where the passion ended and the love began.

Wiping my tears from my eyes, I mentioned Darcy, and how such a great friendship with her had saved me from doing something potentially reckless after my mother's death. I also wrote about Georgie, who kept me grounded in my state of being, allowing me to work through my pain. I knew that I couldn't go on without writing about Dr. Maxwell, who helped me deal with my devastation about certain aspects of my life in a patient, intelligent manner.

Knowing that it would be a great segue, I began writing about why I believed that I would be a good addition to S.L.E.U.T.H., by informing the reader of what I deemed to be my good qualities. I listed patience, kindness, responsibility, good under pressure, and no permanent distractions, as I was still unmarried and had no children. I mentioned that I loved and supported my family, of course, but, with no idea what I wanted to do in the future—i.e., after high school graduation—I felt that this would be a good alternative for me. Believing in oneself, I felt, was a strong aspect of what made one a good candidate for being a part of the organization, and I knew that, despite numerous challenges in my life, that I could make this work.

Charlotte came in after an hour and a half and asked if I would like a break, to which I replied I would. I left the room and went into the restroom, splashing cold water in my face so as to help in keeping me awake. I went back out into the hallway, going towards the food machine where I told it that I'd like some chicken jerky, and I also bought a bottle of water. Water was the only thing allowed in the observation room, so I quickly wolfed down the jerky before Charlotte let me back into the room.

Rubbing my hands together before beginning again, I nibbled at my lip, wondering if my essay about it all would be appropriate. Shaking my head at my nerves becoming the better of me, I managed to crank out five or six more paragraphs, coordinating my personal experiences and my beneficial qualities for S.L.E.U.T.H. nicely. Nodding at myself in approval, I'd just finished the conclusion when the doors opened behind me and Charlotte stepped inside the room.

"How'd you do?" she asked, coming up behind me and placing a supportive hand on my shoulder.

I smiled, printing out my papers and stapling them together. "Is seven pages too much?" I asked softly.

She laughed a little and shook her head. "No. We ask that they are five to ten pages, so it's just right."

I hand over my essay to her. "What about the interview?" I ask, shuffling from one foot to the next, wondering what to do with myself.

"I just need to read this," Charlotte says patiently. She reads my essay in less than fifteen minutes and nods solemnly to herself as she looks over the words. "This is really wonderful work, Jenny—really wonderful," she says softly to me. She sits opposite me then, and nods to the chair in front of her. "We'll conduct the interview, here and now."

I sit in front of her, my muscles groaning in protest at having to contort into a sitting position once again. "All right," I reply.

"Tell me, Jenny, why do you think that you'd make a good addition as an agent for S.L.E.U.T.H.?" she asks calculatingly.

I sigh. I could merely list the adjectives to which I'd described myself with in my essay, but I knew that Charlotte wasn't looking for that kind of answer. I had to think of something fresh, yet not impressionable, because that's exactly what Dunham thought I was. I couldn't merely answer in a formulaic sort of way either, for I had to leave an impression on her, even though she was my stepmother, because my answers would be known for years to come.

"I know what's right," I reply. "I know that, even though every individual on this planet is perceived to be only human, we must dig deep to assume their next move. We cannot allow injustice to happen to anyone. We must allow ourselves to become numb to everything else, despite the assignment ahead, while on the job, because and unwarranted distraction could be deadly."

Charlotte smiled. "Perfect," she said. She had put my essay onto an old-school clipboard, along with the schedule for my final text. She'd checked off that I'd completed my essay, and I took note with pride the A grade next to it. She also placed an A next to the interview, whereupon she got to her feet and held out her hand. "Now it's time for the last test."

Shaking slightly, I got to my feet and followed her. We left the observation deck and I was taken down to the basement of the building—one floor up from the parking garage. Charlotte pressed a button and we went into a room with four cement walls, an operating table, and a bunch of high-tech equipment in the center, where a man is standing.

"Charlotte?"

My stepmother turned and looked at me, and it was almost as if she sensed my fear of the unknown. "Yes?" she asked.

"You're not giving me A's...just because I'm your stepdaughter...are you?" I asked, keeping my eyes down.

Charlotte smiled and cupped my cheek, and I found myself looking up at her kind face, and there was honesty in her eyes. "No, of course not. We're trained not to value nepotism while on the job. Even though I love you like my own child, I would never do such a thing. You've got what it takes, Jenny, really."

I nod, reassured as she leads me towards the operating table. I sit down in it and I'm strapped in, immediately thinking of executions. Shivering again at the thought, Charlotte stands back and the man from the high-tech equipment steps forward. He's of Asian descent, and smiles down at me in a friendly way.

"Hello, Jenny. I'm Daniel Ling." He pulls a bit at my uniform and chuckles to himself as he proceeds to get a very tiny needle ready. He pushes down on the plunger, a clear liquid inside the tube as he turns back to me. "I'd recognize my sister's work anywhere."

"You're Tutu's brother?" I ask.

Daniel nods, tying a thick rubber-band type thing on my arm. "Yes, I'm the oldest of her younger brothers," he explains as he swabs the area with a bit of rubbing alcohol. "We also have another brother, Christopher. He works here, too—he's an agent. You'll meet him too." He gently inserts the needle into my arm. "That's to help you sleep," he says, carefully taking another small needle—this time, it is filled with a moss-green liquid.

"That's for my dreams?" I ask softly.

"Yes," Daniel replies. "Don't worry now. You'll soon be asleep."

Just as he says that, I feel my eyelids growing heavy. I struggle to keep them open, but Charlotte and Daniel urge me to shut them and to lie still as the second needle is inserted in my arm. I find I am trembling, and I begin to thrash at the restraints, but soon sleep comes, and I cannot move at all anymore.

I am standing on what appears to be a rain-slick highway. Looking to the left and to the right, I can tell that I am in some sort of traffic jam, but the cars don't hit me, and I know that I am safe as I contemplate sifting through them all. I am soon walking easily through the cars around me, yet they do not seem to notice me, and I continue walking, almost as if I am searching for something.

Suddenly, the sound of a car screeching and doing a one-eighty fills my ears and I turn sharply, seeing a Buick attempting to steady itself. I walk closer to it, just as the driver, clearly drunk, steps on the gas, and plows at eighty miles an hour into a BMW-5 Series... It was my mother's dream car, and I knew that something about this situation didn't wash. I charged ahead, just as the Buick slammed into my mother's BMW, and, tears mingling with the rain—which was falling in a hazardous manner now—I made a grab for the car door. My mother was slumped against the steering wheel, and her head had made contact with the windshield. A spider's web of broken glass mingled with the bloody gash on her forehead, as I felt my knees going weak. Covering my mouth with my hand, I felt my knees soon buckling beneath me, and I turned my face to the rainy sky, screaming at whoever was involved in this, and why it had happened.

Turning, I walked back to the Buick, throwing open the door, and getting a good look at the drunk driver. My heart nearly stopped when I saw who it was, my mind being unable to process such a thing from happening. I let out a string of curses—at life, at my mother for coming back to town, at the driver—and just couldn't stop.

Electronic beeps stopped my screaming, and suddenly I was standing in a white void. Then, as it blinded me, I shut my eyes, and, upon opening them, felt the restraints of the operating table again, and, looking around, saw Charlotte and Daniel Ling looking down at me, sadness in their eyes. As I regained my senses, I moved to ask them what was happening, but I couldn't...

I proceeded to struggle against the restraints again, and Daniel almost immediately released me from them. I sprang up from the operating table and landed in a crouching position on the cement floor. I felt hands on me then as Charlotte took my hand and went back to the sliding doors and pulled me back to the elevator, Daniel following. I felt yet another prick of a needle as Charlotte pressed the two button with the words Combat Zone parallel to it.

Daniel stepped back, the needle still in hand, and gave me a calm, reassuring smile as the chrome doors nearly clipped his white lab coat as they shut. We travelled up two floors and soon the doors dinged open and revealed what appeared to be a battlefield from behind a door. Charlotte stepped forward and I followed, barely registering the fact that she put in yet another passcode into the system as the doors opened. She gave me a small push into the room before the doors shut behind her, and then proceeded to go up a set of stairs to where some bleacher-type things were, much like the combat arena in class.

Looking up, I saw Grant, Dunham, Chelsea, Mr. Walker, and some unnamed blonde woman sitting up there, looking down at me. Charlotte came and joined them, sitting beside Grant. Grant pulled what appeared to be a megaphone towards him and spoke into it. The sound took a while to register to my ears, but very soon, the words came to me.

"Jenny, the holograms will appear shortly. They will take on your real fears and such, and feel real and physical to the touch. Though they will say and do things that you probably won't like, you must remember that they are artificial beings and cannot do anything physically or emotionally to hurt you that you can't do back. Do you understand?"

I nod. "Yes. Let's do this," I said, popping my knuckles and my neck and gazing back into the arena.

"Good," Grant says, switching off the megaphone. He also pressed a button that clouds the specter's area in black, much like a police line-up room would. It gave me the illusion that no one was looking down at me, while they could see and track and potentially record every movement I made in this combat zone.

An electronic buzzing noise interrupted my thoughts as portions of the floor came away, and holographic shields came forth from those holes. I stood my ground as they hovered there for a moment, taking shape, and fear came to me once again as I saw the first shape the trio of shield-like things made. There, facing me threefold, was Kateryn West.

Much like their human counterpart, the three of them came charging for me, and I immediately fell to my stomach, getting them to trip over me. I flew upwards, landing on two of them, hard enough that I cracked something of vital importance to them—their spines. The two injured Kateryn's writhed in agony, fading away. Looking up, I made eye contact with the final Kateryn West.

She came for me then, but I was ready and waiting. Just as she was about to grab me, I sprang forward, leaping into her arms. I threw my arms around her neck and pulled with all my might and then, I was holding onto a limp body. Neck broken, the final Kateryn West fell to her knees and faded away.

Turning back to where the holograms originally came forth from, I saw two shields coming forth then, and waited. They morphed into an all-too familiar face—Darcy. I felt myself wanting to vomit, but this Darcy was different; the way she walked—confident, stuck-up, mean. Her eyes were cold as she glared at me, and she crossed her arms momentarily before crossing the combat zone towards me. I was about to ask these two pair of Darcy's what they wanted, when immediately, the pair of them reached out with opposite hands and slapped me simultaneously across the face. Each let out a cold-hearted laugh at precisely the same moment, and proceeded to kick me down as I stood, shell-shocked.

Anger boiling over, I kicked their legs out from under them—remembering Darcy's over-sensitivity—and their laughter stopped. The pair of them soon screamed, causing the four walls to shake, but I tuned it out, used to far worse. While they screamed, I successfully grabbed them by the hair and used them like a cheerleader would use pom-poms and threw them effortlessly into the wall. Blood caked the wall briefly before the holograms of my best friend disappeared.

Shaking at what I'd just done, I turned back to where the holograms were and hesitated, wondering what I would see next. I suspected just one to emerge, but was surprised when the one that did emerge took shape of two individuals. The pair of them were holding hands, and my stomach immediately formed knots as I took in their faces—Georgie and Dunham, happy to be in each other's company.

"No..." I said softly.

Georgie laughed childishly, tossing her hair. "You may have given me everything I could have ever needed or wanted, Jenny, but it doesn't matter to me anymore." She draped herself onto Dunham's arm, and I was almost instantly reminded of how Chelsea had done the same to Grant. "I know you saw Dunham first. That just made me want him more. We feed off of your jealousy, Jenny. It enhances the relationship, you see."

"This is where you will fail your test," Dunham said haughtily. "You couldn't bring yourself to destroy either of us—though we are merely shadows of your imagination. You couldn't bring yourself to do it. You're nothing. You don't belong here. You know it, I know it, and everyone else knows it, especially my uncle and my mother."

"Let's show her what she's missing," Georgie said, turning to Dunham.

I felt myself nearly vomit as I saw them kiss. I couldn't believe what happened next, when a third hologram unexpectedly emerged from behind them, and took the shape of Ben. I stepped backwards, not knowing what to think of next.

"Why would you want them?" the fake Ben asked. "You've got me."

I raised my eyebrows at his words. This part wasn't a physical test—it was a psychological one. Calmly, I stepped towards Ben, and took his hand, and found I was smiling up at him. "You're right," I told his shadow. "I know you're right, because I do have you, don't I? I should stop giving in to these childish fantasies of what I can't have." I kissed the shadow's cheek and smiled at him once again, knowing that it was all ridiculous. "You chose me, Ben, and I, in turn, choose you." I felt myself feeling secure in his arms, as the evil Georgie and evil Dunham screamed in outrage at being unable to get the better of me, and the pair of them vanished.

"I have to go now," Ben said softly.

"It is all right," I said. I waved to him, and he did so back, as he vanished into the hologram port.

Turning, I saw the black shield of the windows rising up, and everyone who looked down at me was applauding. Tutu and Daniel had even joined them, and it made me happy to know that I had fans. Charlotte had tears in her eyes as she blew me a kiss, and I fell onto my back, exhausted. The concrete floor was a relief to my steamed backside, and soon, I felt sleep taking over once again.

My eyes flashed open almost immediately and I sprang to my feet, the applause still going on. Shaking my head, I walked over to the sliding doors and pressed the exit button, this time turning left and going up the stairs to join them. Raising my eyebrows at them all—even Dunham who was reluctantly clapping—Grant reached into his pocket and drew out a junior agent badge.

"I knew you had it in you, kiddo," he said, shaking my hand and putting my new badge around my neck.

I blushed at the attention. "Thank you, sir," I replied.

"Grant," he replied gently but firmly.

I turned to Charlotte, who threw her arms instantly around me. "You've done it, darling!" she cried.

I smiled as she pulled back. I almost couldn't believe what I'd done. I'd successfully completed the trial period. "I couldn't have done it without you," I said, and watched as she let out a cry and threw her arms back around me in a true Hallmark moment.

Grant stepped forward, putting a hand on my shoulder. He hesitated for a moment, his face full of emotion as he considered his next words—pivotal words. "With your training complete, Jenny, it is now crucial that you and Dunham resume your investigation of S.O.J.O.U.R.N., with Charlotte's assistance. I have complete and utter faith in you," he said, taking a protesting Chelsea out on his arm, with Tutu and Daniel following.

Mr. Walker took the opportunity, now that Grant had gone, to step forward. "Well, you can call me Miles now," he said with a smile. "You and I shall be working very closely together from now on. I see great things for you, Jenny," he said, shaking my hand and departing the way Grant, Chelsea, Tutu, and Daniel had gone, through a chrome door.

Charlotte put her arm around me proudly. "Jenny, this is Morgaine Atwood, another agent. She and I will be your co-supervising-agents for your first mission for S.L.E.U.T.H.," she explained.

Morgaine smiled. She reminded me a bit of what I'd always thought Aphrodite would have looked like. She had platinum blonde hair and icy blue eyes, but, when she smiled, they turned kind. "Jenny, I've heard a lot about you from Charlotte, of course," she said warmly, taking my hand gently and shaking it. "It's so wonderful to finally meet you, and to have seen your personal method of combat," she said, nodding in approval.

"It's nice to meet you, Miss Atwood," I said graciously.

"She's so polite," Morgaine said to Charlotte before turning back to me. "Darling, please call me Morgaine. I cannot wait until we have a free moment. I want so much to take you shopping in the heart of Paris."

I smiled. "I look forward to it, Morgaine," I replied.

"Morgaine and I unfortunately have some last-minute paperwork to draw up for the impending mission we're handling abroad," Charlotte said gently. "Dunham, why don't you give Jenny a proper tour of headquarters in the meantime? Meet us in the East End Conference Room in about an hour? Then we can go get some much-deserved dinner," she said, turning her attention back to me.

I put on a smile. "Sounds wonderful," I replied. As soon as they left, I turned to Dunham. "Look, you don't like me, and I accept that. But sooner or later, you and I will have to do the mature thing and at least attempt to get along, if not for S.L.E.U.T.H.'s sake, then for Georgie's. I love my little sister, and she seems to have taken a shine to you. If this shine is permanent, then so be it. But we must find a good balance for the work environment, if we're going to be partners."

Dunham smirked at that, and such a thing infuriated me further. "How can you speak to me of getting along, when, in reality, you're jealous of your little sister? You're jealous that, despite the fact that you saw me first, she's the one who caught me."

I reached up and smacked him across the face. "Don't you dare speak to me that way!" I hissed.

"Why? Because it's the truth?" This time, when I stuck my palm up to slap him, he made a grab for my wrist, twisting it behind me back, and putting his chest against my backside. "Don't you dare hit me again. We're partners now, remember? Let us at least attempt to get along, for Georgie's sake, if not for S.L.E.U.T.H.'s," he said, a chuckle behind his words as he released me and walked towards the chrome door. "Let's go, new recruit. I have less than an hour to show you everything. Let's get a move on."