A WILTING FLOWER
Outside of Idaho City, and a touch away from Eagle, Amelia crushed the plastic cup in her left hand.
Tossing the cup into the garbage can next to her, the golden-haired agent strutted away from the break room and cut through an empty hallway leading to the FME division office. Now wearing heels, every step reverberated in the empty space.
Just before the heavy steel entrance, a familiar face waited for her. Tilting her already frustrated complexion upwards, it took a heavy amount of restraint to reel in her current distaste for life. There, James Malone stood silently, not bothering to make a sound as she approached.
She's pissed. It's best I don't interfere. Not that it would be my place anyways, the roughneck reserve sailor thought. Sparing one final glance at Amelia, it was clear that she was not going to let this moment of opportunity go.
Malone shifted his neck back, letting his shaved hair rub against his folded skin. He had a small history with the prodigal daughter, and to have a confrontation was something he was looking to avoid.
"...Malone?"
Her voice was blunt, inhospitable. It was enough to convey that she did not want to draw out this interaction, that he wasn't a threat. Letting her golden hair fall over her face, she looked up at the sailor.
There was a new scar underneath his chin.
A hollowing wind from outside the building took Amelia from staring at the man. She had only captured a glimpse of his worn-torn face.
It was a consequence of being a radioman.
Malone was no different. He has snapped away from staring at the newly minted member of the Marshalls. Though he was only a civilian contractor, they crossed paths twice when she went through indoctrination. Her sky-blue eyes still held a shield. And overall, her level of alertness had risen over her career.
Who could blame her...?
"Amelia, it isn't every day."
For a moment Amelia was pleased that the sailor had remembered her name, but then again, she wouldn't be surprised if he had chosen to forget. Though limited, she had interactions with the radioman when she was being beaten during indoctrination. He was specially pulled aside by the cadre for this exact reason.
It was unfortunate his company redesignated themselves to the northwest.
"Indeed. It isn't every day that we see our resident IT guy sitting outside of the office, alone."
"Well of course. I don't know what to tell you, they kicked me out. So, I'm stuck here for the time being."
If Malone held any suspicion on why he was removed, he didn't show it. But from his answer, he didn't intend to share why he was present.
No point in prying.
This was the shared thought between man and woman. Neither wanted to get involved with each other's duties, so the best thing that Amelia had chosen to do was end the exchange. She stepped around Malone and twisted the door handle open.
"All immediate contacts with the FBI and Homeland Security have been lost," To the closing of the metallic door, Amelia encountered a large group of Marshalls that surrounded the FME department head, Sahra Zimmerman. The gray-haired, business strict woman tilted her head to see her, her amber eyes widening. "A representative from the Office of Naval Intelligence has requested us to investigate one of the blackouts. As of now, case file Alpha-one-niner-fiver, one Master Gunnery Sergeant Kyle Silverstone is our priority. As the former advisor and Senior-NCO to the Marine 5th Experimental Weapons Company, we have reason to suspect that he was targeted by cartels or the local gangs in the district. This has happened before, if you recall California two years ago."
A single hand went up.
"Can we expect this to be a repeat of the Reclaimers incident?"
Death had encapsulated the outskirts of Pakistan. Peshawar was ground zero for an incident with a group of US Army Rangers that had went MIA for two years in 2112. The operation—carried out by Army Special Forces—had totaled to the elimination of over 1,000 men and women. It was the first time the United States had enacted a first contact protocol, but the exact specifications of what happened remained classified and kept under tight wraps even ten years later.
"The Reclaimers. Her majesty's direct-action unit."
Despite being an odd thing to say within the United States of America, Alex smiled—he, being a Marshall, and a true-blooded patriot—was proud of their existence. One that was forged by the will and choice of Rangers.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"Their experience in dealing with extraterrestrial life is something we can't rely on. This is home grown magic."
Though Zimmerman was right, it was a shame that they couldn't draw up the advice of living legends within the special operations community. One that had even gained infamy with the army intelligence corps.
"We can say for sure that the queen has authorized specialists to keep our understanding of magic up to date. However, the price of their involvement in homeland security, a Department of Justice matter, would go beyond their scope. Foreign affairs aren't my job, and even then, the authorization of foreign assets would be a gross misallocation of valuable resources."
Alex tilted his head.
"The fact that she even allowed beneath radar involvement with the world governments is crazy. They're a monarchy, something we don't take kindly with these days. You'd figure that we would try to take everything that they have to offer, yet we're here, negotiating." Deputy Marshall Oliver West commented.
"We can't sustain war-after-war. Our engagements at the home front are currently a pressing issue. The Queen's assistance is being treated nothing more than scientific aid. Any use of those advisors could lead to international conflict again, let alone more civil unrest."
"I get what you mean," West continued. "But they would've had to know that getting involved with the military, the Marines, was a crazy idea to begin with."
Alex cut in, "At the very least we can pull from some records, see if we can draw up a way to deal with magicians out in the wild."
Opening her mouth, then silencing her thoughts, the department head distracted herself by looking behind her. From where Amelia stood, the gentle glow of the computer that she stared at hid her eyes.
"Alright, you all have your assignments. If not, check your email. I want everything we can pull for this, especially since the DOD and DOJ have us by the balls."
Amelia stepped forward, with the conversation never stopping, she was supposed to be here.
"Ma'am—"
"Amelia," as the Marshalls around her dispersed, the Deputies leaving the room and the others returning to their partitions, Zimmerman provided a wry smile, "Let's get a burger.'
An order...
###
"One XL burger and stacked bacon cheeseburger!"
Like the previous week, overcast clouds took the sun from the world, and heavy snow was dumped from the heavens above. The white powder covered everything all throughout town. The cars, shops, bodegas. Amelia herself only kept warm through wearing her cousins NWU parka she had stolen years ago. The type-v digital camouflage contrasted against her mute grey suit she wore. And to the everyday person, she looked odd.
The entire office was on lunch break until 12:30. From her disposition this normally would've been ideal, yet she was taken to a small burger joint at the edge of town called Jimmy's. For anyone else this was bad news. Amelia knew personally after a few interactions with Zimmerman. The heavy weight in her stomach didn't help as she quietly sipped on her soda, waiting for the moment when she would begin raining fire.
Even if her suspicions were on target, she didn't have a choice to voice her opposition. Not when it came to the most senior case agent standing in front of her—demolishing an XL burger.
Yet, the thought was tempting...
Along the way Zimmerman had offered to invite other coworkers out, amongst them, Alex. Though Amelia could admire the deputy, this wasn't the time to enjoy the pleasure of life, not when the way she ordered her to lunch seemed like a death sentence.
"It's not everyday we have a burger in a snowstorm. Having America's finest in a veil of white. It sounds like paradise."
Amelia looked up from the destroyed portion of her burger, "A break like this isn't always bad. The office was getting a bit warm for my liking anyways."
"Then we can be glad that this break exists. Beyond that, I wouldn't imagine letting the guys now about this place. I can only trust Williams and Alex, but even then, they might try to share it with that new computer system that's been running around the office lately."
Their conversation of the weather, office politics, and the last few cases would end with bitter smiles. Naturally the last thing that was mentioned was the botched mission in the boonies.
Looking up from her frozen seat, all the silent agent could do was gleam at the glamorous and shining skyscrapers that surrounded the town. Within the confines of Nampa, the cities all around had expanded as humanity reached for things even beyond the stars. From the corner of her eye, a four-by-four passed by, filled with two women and three men from the US Army. They were all green; those that had just graduated basic military training and their follow-on training.
Compared to the likes of herself and the green soldiers escaping their instructors on leave, Zimmerman remained the classy woman she always was. She tapped her fingers over the pure black suit she had purchased for her position, and she tightened the strap of the issued cold-weather trench coat. Her peircing gaze tore through the remnants of her burger and eventually calmed, settling on Amelia.
Zimmerman's lips thinned. The edges began to contort upwards providing an eerie smile to Amelia. The golden "princess" felt the edges of her face tighten. She was lucky the falling snow concealed some of her unsettled expression.
What she held; it wasn't an innocent smile.
"We're no strangers to your family, Amelia Violet. Despite your accolades in both schooling and performance since becoming a member of the Federal Magus Enforcer, we both know that the ties to the Violet conglomerate hold you back. Never once have I seen someone so divided on their own blood—the truths you loathe, that dissuade you from ever coming to terms with the truth."
"....."
The truth...
Zimmerman's smile disappeared. She had seen enough. Though the truth, the way she presented it would give distrust.
"Even if you want to keep your secrets—we all do—know that it will affect you when you go out on patrol... If it's not addressed, you will become nothing more than someone that is attached to their past, one that will control them, eventually killing you and those you love. Surely you want to see Jackson again?"
Amelia's eyes sharpened. The ocean blue of her eyes glowed, the shimmer of light was more than enough to wash the pride away from the department head.
"Your brother called my office. He wants you to resign."
"And your answer?" Amelia snapped. She did not have time for this.
Zimmerman released a stifled chuckle, "As long as you're useful, there's no reason to look up an article for separation."