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A/N: To new readers and old, thank you for your continued support! Your comments and messages make my day and help me improve. These chapters are lengthier than the previous submission, with lots happening over a contracted span of time. I hope you enjoy them!

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Chapter 29- I.G.A.D.W.T.F.

27

th

March, 2017

7:08 p.m.

Unknown Location, Lucan, Dublin, Ireland

Aisling and I looked at each other, both of us seemingly frozen in shock.

"You really didn't know?" she asked after a pause that felt like it went on too long. "I mean, I knew your society was quite stringent with its layers of secrecy and all that, but I really did think that somebody would have at least briefed you."

"Cannon Fodder needs no briefing," Vince's slimy voice said, as he brushed past me roughly. "Just shut up and do your fucking job, Muddie."

"Hold the fuck up!" I snapped at him, grasping his shoulder and forcing him to turn around and face me. "You knew?"

"About us working with fucking Mundanes?" he asked, his voice dripping with scorn. "Or about your worthless parents being the ones to set all this up?"

"I- I don't understand," I stammered, a mix of rage at his tone and confusion at the situation taking the bite out of my response. "Why would the others keep something like this from me? I can understand them not telling me earlier, but the last four—"

"Oh, get over yourself," he scoffed, shrugging my hand off. "You seem to think that your little group is at the centre of the whole damn cosmos. Senapati Byrav decreed that aside from himself, only the Wielders stationed here would know about this facility and your parents' roles here. The same thing applies to all the other 'joint stations' around the world. Now, shut your hole and find your squad. We have work to do."

It took every ounce of self-control that I could muster to not try and yank his throat out at that moment. It'd have been so easy, especially with all his shields and other spells shut down...

"I'm sorry about that," Aisling apologized, as Vince stopped to angrily jab at a button, causing a second set of elevator doors that I hadn't noticed earlier— recessed into the walls as they were— to slide open. Without so much as a sideways glance to check whether we were following him, he stepped in, letting the doors slide closed behind himself.

"You have nothing to apologize for," I reassured her, turning to give her a weak smile. "Vince is honestly just a major dick."

"I knew I liked you," she said, with a smile. "I really was hoping that Michael and Lia's kid wouldn't be like most of the other Wielders, and I'm glad that I was right."

"Are the others a lot like him?" I asked, shivering slightly as I deactivated all my spells, suddenly noticing that the corridor was quite chilly.

I looked over at Aisling, but she was just staring back at me, transfixed.

"Aisling?"

"Sorry, sorry," she apologized again, shaking herself out of whatever trance she'd momentarily been in. "No matter how many times I see it, I'm still gobsmacked anytime I see someone using magic."

"I understand," I responded, smiling softly. "I experienced something similar when I first got to the Indian Academy."

"We really must get together and have a good sit-down," she murmured, as if speaking to herself, before raising her voice and addressing me. "To answer your questions, yes, I'm a 'Mundane', a regular human, if you will. I'm also the Human Resources representative for the Irish Government's Anti-Dark Wielder Task Force, which makes me the only non-combat person in here. Even our Mission Room staff are all trained combatants, many of them retired spies."

She motioned for us to keep walking, and I trailed behind her as she spoke, trying to wrap my head around the entire concept. She hit the button to call the second elevator, continuing as we waited.

"As I understand it, your parents, Michael and Lia, were instrumental in getting our operation up and running. Their contributions over the past eight decades will honestly never be forgotten. The sheer strides in technology alone—"

The elevator arrived with a soft ding, and as we stepped on, she hit the only button inside the car. With a light jolt and the whirring of gears, we started our second descent.

"Like I was saying," Aisling continued, looking up at me, "your parents were honestly so amazing. So many of us wanted to be there, at the funeral, but regulations simply didn't allow it. If it matters at all, you do have my sincere condolences."

"Thank you," I replied, politely, inclining my head towards her.

"Let me tell you, Chris," she said, looking away and gesturing animatedly, "your parents wouldn't have stood for any of this 'Muddie' nonsense."

"Yeah, I heard Vince call you that earlier. What does it mean?"

"It's an insult of sorts, I suppose," she huffed, looking back at me, her features pinched together in anger. "He seems to have even less respect for me than for the other Mundanes— probably because I'm not a field agent and all that— and he went from calling me 'Mundane Lady' to 'Muddie' relatively quickly. Most of the others picked that up afterwards, even some of my own colleagues.

"I tried to report it, but my superiors told me that I had to just put up with it. Such a flagrant abuse of my employment rights, I tell you. I had half a mind to just up and quit!"

"Why didn't you?" I asked, curious.

"Well," she admitted, looking down at her feet, "magic."

"That's fair," I agreed, nodding amicably.

We rode the rest of the way down in silence.

The sight that greeted me when the doors slid open was just as clichéd as I'd expected it to be. We stepped out into a busy and bustling reception area, complete with polished, marbled floors and walls. The actual reception desk was made out of polished wood and staffed by two men dressed in black suits. The logo for the task force— a thick circle with 'I.G.A.D.W.T.F.' embossed around its circumference, a harp in the center, and three waving banners, one each bearing the insignia of one of the Academies, twined around it— was set into the centre of the floor, the reception desk, and was displayed on banners that hung along the walls, every few meters. As we walked closer to the desk, I noticed that some people even had the logo stitched into the breast pockets on their blazers.

"Wave to the lads," Aisling said, waving as we walked past the reception desk. "If you want your food orders prioritized, you definitely want to be in their good graces."

"Understood," I responded, giving them a nod and a wave, as the implications of a life without magic started to set in.

I'd grown accustomed to not having to worry about things like food or having the right clothing. For the first time since I'd left the Mundane world behind, I actually had to put some forethought into the very basics.

"Aisling?" I asked, "I don't know if you know, but who do I see about getting kitted out with clothes and all that?"

"Well, you should have some in that bag of yours," she answered, pointing at the one I had slung over my shoulder, "including what you wore to get here, if protocol was followed. I certainly don't think that travelling in flimsy clothing like that will be very comfortable!

"There will be more waiting for you in your room, along with a cache of money and IDs. If you still need anything, your squad leader will be able to help."

I nodded in response, instinctively augmenting myself to keep up with her quicker pace.

"Chris!" she hissed, turning on her heel to glare at me, as a mass of groans rose up, devices blacking out as magic interfered with the electromagnetic fields surrounding us. "Did you just use magic?"

"Fuck!" I swore softly, before raising my voice to apologize. "Sorry, folks, I'm new here."

I let go of my magic, devices powering up again as the interference ceased. I hadn't thought that I'd drawn enough Power to cause them to shut down, but I guess electronic devices were even flimsier than I'd believed.

"No foul, kid," a towering woman said from beside me, with an accent that seemed somewhat Italian. "A tiny draw like that wouldn't have messed with the Mission Room... I think."

I had to tilt my head upwards to get a good look at her. She crossed the seven-foot mark with ease, was built like a wall, and had a voice that was deep enough to be mistaken for a man's. If it hadn't been for her feminine features and rather gifted bosom, I wouldn't have been able to tell that she was female.

Her dark red hair was knotted into a tight braid that brushed her waist, and for someone that looked so dangerous, she had warm, kind, honey yellow eyes and an easy-going smile. She was dressed in a full-sleeved, black t-shirt that hugged all her curves— musculature and otherwise— and cargo pants that were stuffed into black combat boots

"You must be Chris," she rumbled, her grin growing wider. "I'm Fiona, leader of 'Squad C'. I can take him from here, Aisling, if you want."

"That'd be grand, Fi," Aisling responded, smiling in kind. "You know where to find me, if you need anything."

"Roger!" Fiona saluted her sharply, before letting out a throaty laugh.

Aisling waved goodbye before turning around and strutting away, disappearing around a bend in the distance.

"So, Fiona," I said, turning back to her, "I don't think we've ever met. I'd definitely remember someone like you."

"Because how awesome my boobs are?" she asked, grinning cheekily.

"What?!" I sputtered, my face heating up as blood rushed to my cheeks. "No, not that, I meant—"

"Relax, kid," she reassured me, clapping a meaty hand onto my shoulder, "I like messing with people. If your file is accurate, we couldn't have met, since I left the Roman Academy around the time you arrived at the Indian. Should have stuck around a bit longer; Vindex would have had some great tales, I'm sure."

"You're Roman?" I asked, taken aback, remembering that the Vindex was the Roman Academy's Champion— still Mathias, last I'd checked.

"Nine hells," she swore, "nobody told you nothing, huh? Well, kid, this operation ain't exclusive to the Indians. Happens to be you're the only Indian we have on our squad. It's you, three Greeks, five Romans. Nine all."

"This should be interesting," I mused. "I've never actually worked beside someone from a different Academy, before."

"Don't be a racist culus like Vince and you'll be fine!" she exclaimed, literally turning me around, and pushing me to get me walking. "Hustle, we have shit to do."

While I did have a lot more questions, including what a "culus" was— though I could imagine what it meant, in context— Fiona's loping strides led to a pace that had me jogging to keep up with. We passed numerous offices and meeting rooms, before turning the corner and walking through a short, well-lit tunnel, at the end of which, I got my first look at the Mission Room.

The walls and ground were unaltered, rocky, and jagged, and darkness hugged portions of the space, the mounted lights not strong enough to adequately illuminate all the walls. The ground fell away into a circular pit, a few meters ahead. Two sets of stairs led into the pit from each of the three tunnels that opened up into the Mission Room, one of which we'd just emerged from, and the two that were on the opposite side of the pit.

Inside the pit sat fifty or so people, all focused intently on their computers. A few others roved around the pit, picking reports off the desks, before sorting them by priority. The reports were then relayed to a supervisor, who, in turn, relayed them to other operatives.

We stopped on a gantry of sorts, which formed a walkway from one edge of the pit to another, just so I could get a closer look at what was happening. I'd imagine that from above, it looked like a circle divided by a diameter. There had always been a dull din about the place, but right there, it was like being in a busy market, a dozen different sounds just surrounding us.

I looked up, and saw that the pit was at the bottom of a circular shaft that seemed to stretch up into the blackness. If I had to guess, I'd assume that it went all the way to the top.

"Decommissioned missile silo?" I asked, turning to see Fiona studying me intently.

"

Unused

missile silo," she corrected me, breaking into a grin. "You're more perceptive than I was told. Yes, this was supposed to house a nuclear missile, but Agrayodhin Michael made the case that it would function better as our base of operations."

"Huh, I can see that," I commented, turning around to look down at the people in the pit. "Are they all Mundanes? Do they all know about magic?"

"They are, and they do," Fiona answered, as she turned to walk to the other side of the pit, motioning for me to follow her. "And if I'm anticipating your next question right, yes, they were all shellshocked when they were told of our world. Bonus? Turnover ain't as high as you'd think."

I nodded along, as we stepped off the gantry, turning towards the tunnel on our right. A signpost there clearly marked it as the entrance to the "Living Spaces", and my curiosity was piqued. It was about the same length as the previous tunnel, and just as well-lit, but this one opened up into a mess hall that was large enough to set over a hundred people, easy, at circular tables, each of which had five seats attached to them. The walls and floor of the room were natural stone, with the floor having been smoothened out, while the walls were left jagged.

A man dressed in regular clothing, save for an apron and hairnet, emerged from a set of double-doors on our left, nodding to Fiona as he wheeled a serving trolley to a buffet table, set against the far wall. We headed towards the rectangular opening on our right, which led us into another tunnel, this one shorter than the other two.

We walked out onto the ground floor of the living spaces, which, for lack of a better comparison, resembled a prison. Rows of doors lined the walls on each floor; thirty doors per floor, rising up ten storeys. The ground and walls were smoothened stone, and the doors were just burnished iron, each marked with an embossed number.

"Fourth floor," Fiona grunted, pointing towards a flight of stairs on our right.

There were four flights of stairs in all, each one going all the way to the top. The steps themselves were unadorned, industrial steel, with plain railings. After the grandiose of the lobby, I must admit, I was quite disappointed.

"401 to 409 are our squad," Fiona explained, as we reached the fourth floor. "I'm in 401, knock if you need anything. You're in 409, 410 is our Gather Room."

"Gather room?" I asked.

"Yeah, we gather there for briefings and celebrations," she explained, simply, as we came to a stop in front of what would be my home for the foreseeable future.

Pushing open the door, she pointed at a set of keys that were hanging on a peg beside the door. From outside, I could see that the walls and floors of the room were the same smoothened stone, and walking in, I saw that it was really just big enough for one person.

The entrance was narrow, forming something of a passageway into the house, a door on the right opening up into a tiny bathroom with a sink, mirrored cabinet, toilet, and tiny shower. There was an extractor fan above the shower, and Fiona pointed out the switches I had to hit.

Past the passageway, the room was a little bigger, with a desk and chair against the left wall, a single bed against the right, and a set of storage cubbies set into the back wall— carved out of the wall itself, of course. The bed, desk, and chair were similarly unadorned, carved out of brown wood. There were some clothes in one of the cubbies, and a black briefcase rested on the desk. A single recessed light in the ceiling lit up the room, and another similar one, the bathroom. I also noticed something I hadn't seen in a while; two power sockets.

"Laundry runs are every Sunday," Fiona explained, as I set my bag down. "Just put whatever needs cleaning into one of the cloth bags on your shelf, and leave it outside your door. The briefcase should have everything you need for the next few days, along with a phone and laptop, and you'll receive a cash stipend every week.

"You're free to come and go as you please, but keep your phone charged and with you at all times. If we're ever deployed while you're out, we'll tell you where to meet up with us. If you have any questions or problems, you know where to find me. My number is also stored on the phone."

I nodded somberly at her, just looking around and missing my Abode back home. Saying that I was feeling "boxed-in" wouldn't have been inaccurate.

"Chin up, kid," Fiona said, clapping me on the shoulder, an understanding and somewhat motherly tone coloring her voice. "I know it isn't much, but honestly, most of us just come here to sleep. We're actually meeting in the Gather Room in 20, to figure out what we wanna do today. Why don't you come along, meet the team, make some friends?"

"Sounds good," I affirmed, looking up at her. "Thanks, Fiona."

"One last thing, Chris," she said, fixing me with an intense gaze as her face slipped into a fearsome expression that booked no argument. "Regardless of what happens off-mission, when we're deployed, you

will

obey the chain of command. My job isn't just to issue commands, it's also to make sure that all of us get home at the end of the day. As such, word is law out there, and you will refer to me by my title of 'Centurion'. Insubordination will be taken seriously, and adequate punishment will be administered. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Centurion," I responded, saluting her sharply.

"Good," she said, relaxing and smiling warmly at me, again. "Get settled in, and I'll see you in a bit!"

I nodded, seeing her to the door, before turning around to study my room, again. Heaving a forlorn sigh, I wondered whether Rayka would fare any better on her deployment.

Walking over to the desk, I dragged the chair out and took a seat. Snapping the clasps on the briefcase open, I lifted the lid all the way back, studying what was inside. A clear pouch holding some cards, a brown envelope, and a smartphone rested atop a laptop, with some wires and thumb drives held in a meshed pouch which was sewn into the lid.

Going for the phone first, I booted it up, amazed to see that in the years that I'd been away, manufacturers had managed to do away with most of the bezels surrounding the screen. This particular one had a front camera that popped out of the top when activated, and three lenses in a column on the back made for a pretty powerful back camera, too.

The phone also had a strong signal, even though we were pretty deep underground. The network wasn't one that I'd ever heard of before, but I assumed that they were a government-specific network. After exploring it a little and getting a better handle on how it operated, I put the phone aside, reaching for the brown envelope, next.

The envelope held one-thousand-and-two-hundred Euros in various denominations, which was more money than I'd ever held in one place, back when I used to live in the Mundane world. If my weekly stipend was the same amount, I supposed I'd be able to buy whatever I needed. My first purchase, though, would definitely have to be a wallet!

I opened up the clear pouch next, seeing that the cards were all different forms of ID. They all had my picture, the address of the house that I'd arrived at earlier, and the name "Chris Michaelson" on them. The one that really took me by surprise was in a leather case, along with a badge, and identified me as an agent with Interpol.

It was at that moment that I first felt like a spy.

Seeing that it had been about fifteen minutes since Fiona had left, I decided to forego exploring the laptop for the moment, deciding instead to change up and meet the others. Grabbing the IDs, phone, and cash, I stuffed them into my pockets, walking out of my room in a black t-shirt, blue jeans, and patterned sneakers. After going back in to get my keys and lock the door behind me— a practice that I'd completely lost over the last four years— I walked over to the next room and knocked on the door.