Darian & the CIA – The Agent Swap
----------------------------------------
THE REASSIGNMENT
Agent Hendricks and Agent Mills sat in their car, parked across from a coffee shop where Darian was casually sipping an espresso like he hadn’t punched a vampire through a brick wall last week.
The two seasoned agents had been shadowing him for years. And now?
They were getting reassigned.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Hendricks muttered, flipping through the official reassignment papers.
“We should be celebrating,” Mills said, rubbing his temples. “We’re getting out. We survived.”
“But at what cost?” Hendricks said darkly.
They both stared at Darian, who was now petting a cat that had wandered onto his table. The cat was purring with unholy intensity, almost vibrating out of existence.
“Do you remember when we tried to record his movements, and all our surveillance footage came back with glitching, unexplainable static?” Mills asked.
Hendricks shuddered. “Or the time he disappeared from a locked room, and all we heard over comms was faint laughter?”
Mills nodded grimly. “And let’s not forget the time he fought an eldritch horror in the middle of downtown, and when the director asked if we had proof, all our cameras had somehow recorded him feeding pigeons.”
They both sighed. Then, from the rearview mirror, they saw two new agents approaching.
Two young, fresh-faced recruits.
They were smiling.
Mills exhaled slowly. “They have no idea.”
Hendricks rolled down the window. “Hey. Agents Monroe and Stevens, right?”
The new recruits nodded enthusiastically.
Monroe, a woman with optimism in her eyes, grinned. “Yes, sir! We’re here for the Darian tail. Heard he’s a high-risk target?”
Stevens, a tall man who still thought the government had control over things, added, “Yeah, what’s his deal? Black ops? Mercenary? Foreign asset?”
Hendricks and Mills just stared.
Then, in unison, they handed over a file labeled:
DARIAN – EXTREME ANOMALY – DO NOT ENGAGE
Then they got in their car and drove away. Fast.
Monroe frowned. “Huh. That’s weird.”
Stevens smirked. “How bad could he be?”
----------------------------------------
REALITY HITS (VERY QUICKLY)
INCIDENT #1: THE VANISHING ACT
Monroe adjusted her earpiece. “Alright, we have a visual on the target. He’s entering the bookstore.”
Stevens, watching from the surveillance van, nodded. “Good. Just keep eyes on him—”
Static.
Monroe blinked. “Wait. What?”
She turned. Darian was gone.
Stevens scrambled to check the cameras. “He was literally there five seconds ago.”
Monroe stepped inside, looking around. No Darian. Only a confused cashier.
She walked up. “Excuse me, did you see a man—”
The cashier pointed up.
Monroe looked.
Darian was on the second-floor balcony, reading a book.
He looked down at her.
And winked.
“What the—how did—”
Stevens’ voice crackled in her earpiece. “How the hell did he do that?”
Monroe just stared.
They were not prepared.
INCIDENT #2: THE ‘MILD’ ALTERCATION
That night, the agents followed Darian to a diner.
They watched from across the street as he sat at the counter, casually eating a burger.
Stevens sighed. “See? This is easy. He’s just a guy.”
Then, suddenly, the diner window exploded.
A six-armed demon crashed through it, sending tables flying.
Darian, still holding his burger, looked up at the creature like it was a mild inconvenience.
“Do we—do we step in?!” Monroe asked, panicked.
Then Darian casually put his burger down, stood up, and punched the demon so hard it flew out the back wall.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
Silence.
Darian picked up his burger and kept eating.
Stevens and Monroe just stared in open horror.
“…Nope,” Monroe whispered.
They did not step in.
INCIDENT #3: THE BIRD SITUATION
The next morning, Monroe and Stevens were in the surveillance van, exhausted.
“Okay,” Monroe said, sipping coffee. “New plan. We observe, but we don’t get involved.”
“Agreed,” Stevens muttered.
Then they saw Darian walking through the park, followed by a suspiciously large number of crows.
Stevens frowned. “Is that… normal?”
Monroe squinted. “I don’t think so.”
Suddenly, Darian whistled, and all the crows cawed in response.
Then, one by one, they started dropping shiny objects in his hands—coins, rings, a set of car keys, even a Rolex.
Monroe’s eye twitched. “Is he… is he running a crow-based crime ring?”
Stevens, horrified, whispered, “He’s a bird king.”
Darian, now wearing sunglasses one of the crows had gifted him, grinned in their direction.
They immediately closed the blinds of the van.
----------------------------------------
THE BREAKING POINT: THE SUPERNATURAL ‘CHAT’
That evening, the two agents sat in the van, re-evaluating their entire existence.
“We need to request a transfer,” Monroe whispered.
“I don’t think they’ll let us,” Stevens muttered.
“Then we fake our own deaths.”
Before they could finalize their escape plan, there was a knock on the van door.
They froze.
Slowly, Monroe opened it.
Darian was standing there, holding a coffee.
“For you,” he said, handing it to her. “You looked like you needed it.”
Monroe accepted it out of sheer fear.
Stevens cleared his throat. “Uh. How did you… find us?”
Darian chuckled. “Oh, I’ve known you were there since this morning.”
Monroe blinked. “But… we were in a surveillance van.”
Darian smiled. “It was a good effort.”
Silence.
Then, he leaned in slightly.
“Here’s the thing,” he said, voice eerily calm. “You can keep following me. Watching me. Taking notes.”
Monroe and Stevens nodded rapidly.
“But let’s be honest.” His golden eyes glowed slightly. “You’re not really the ones observing me.”
Stevens gulped. “We’re not?”
Darian sipped his coffee.
Then, somewhere behind them, they heard a whisper.
Not from Darian.
Not from each other.
But from something else.
Something that had been listening.
Watching.
Stevens and Monroe sprinted out of the van.
----------------------------------------
THE AFTERMATH
Two weeks later, Hendricks and Mills—fully retired from the Darian Assignment—got a text.
It was from Monroe.
It read:
“WE NEED TO TALK.”
Hendricks sent a single reply.
“Told you.”
----------------------------------------
Arias vs. The Modeling Industry
The Sudden Discovery
It started innocently enough.
Arias was just walking down the street, looking effortlessly perfect as usual—sharp suit, golden eyes, hair that should not be that flawless without divine intervention. A light breeze seemed to follow him, just enough to make his coat billow dramatically. Birds chirped in perfect harmony as he passed. It was, frankly, unfair.
And then, suddenly—
“EXCUSE ME! YOU! YES, YOU!”
A young woman in oversized sunglasses and an overwhelming sense of urgency sprinted toward him, nearly tripping over her own feet as she clutched a clipboard like it was a sacred artifact.
Arias blinked. “Yes?”
She skidded to a stop, dramatically removing her sunglasses as though revealing her eyes would somehow make her words more important.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “You’re perfect.”
Arias smirked. “I know.”
She grabbed his wrist with the kind of strength reserved for people who ran on sheer determination and three espressos. “You have to model.”
Arias hesitated. “I don’t—”
“NO TIME FOR QUESTIONS.”
And just like that, he was dragged into the world of high fashion.
----------------------------------------
The Photoshoot from Chaos
Arias found himself standing in a massive studio, surrounded by flashing lights, frantic assistants, and a man in a scarf yelling, “ART IS HAPPENING!” every five minutes. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, hairspray, and pure, unfiltered stress.
The lead photographer, a small but incredibly powerful woman named Valentina, sized him up with a practiced eye.
“He’s ridiculously handsome,” she declared.
The assistants nodded in solemn agreement. One dabbed at their eyes as though overcome by sheer beauty.
She clapped her hands. “Someone oil his chest!”
Arias blinked. “Wait, what?”
Too late.
An enthusiastic intern was already advancing with a bottle of body oil and the gleam of someone who had been waiting their entire life for this moment.
Arias sighed. “Fine. But make it quick.”
He did not realize what he had just unleashed.
----------------------------------------
The Consequences of Being Too Beautiful
The campaign was a massive success.
Billboards. Magazines. Social media.
"WHO IS THIS MYSTERIOUS GOD-LIKE MODEL?" one headline read.
"THE NEW FACE OF PERFECTION," another declared.
A fan account dedicated solely to his jawline gained 500,000 followers overnight. Another, dedicated to his smirk, trended worldwide.
Arias, casually reading the news while drinking coffee in his apartment, chuckled. “Well, that escalated quickly.”
Then his phone started buzzing.
Unknown numbers. Hundreds of messages.
And then—a knock on his door.
He opened it.
Four different people immediately tried to propose to him.
One was holding a legally binding contract.
Arias sighed. *So this is my life now.*
----------------------------------------
The Escape Attempts
Day Three of Being a Supermodel.
Arias had to actively dodge admirers in public places.
A group of business executives tried to recruit him for "Luxury Fragrance Modeling."
A celebrity slid into his DMs with “hey, u up? 😘”
Security at his apartment complex started charging extra just for keeping paparazzi away.
Even his grocery runs were no longer safe.
“Hey,” the cashier whispered, eyes wide, “you’re the guy from the billboard outside.”
Arias glanced outside.
Indeed, his own face was staring back at him, shirt unbuttoned, under the caption:
"PERFECTION EXISTS."
The sheer existential exhaustion in his soul could not be put into words.
He sighed. I just want to buy eggs.
The Breaking Point
By Week Two, Arias had seen enough.
The modeling industry was too dangerous.
Not because of the pressure, the demanding schedules, or even the ruthless competition.
No.
Because he was too powerful.
The world was simply not ready for him.
So, he called Valentina.
“I quit.”
She gasped. “Impossible.”
“I have to do this—for humanity’s sake.”
She whispered, “You were the chosen one…”
And just like that, he disappeared from the modeling world.
The Aftermath
Months later, a journalist released an article:
"THE MYSTERIOUS MODEL WHO VANISHED—WHERE IS HE NOW?"
Arias, reading from the comfort of a quiet café, smirked.
The barista approached, wide-eyed. “Hey, you look like that guy—”
Arias put on sunglasses.
“You must be mistaken.”
Behind him, the café door opened.
A group of tourists walked in, one wearing a T-shirt with *his own* face on it.
Arias stared. The universe, it seemed, had a sense of humor.
Sighing, he stood up, flipped up his coat collar, and walked into the sunset.
Never to model again.
Probably.