Dryoma

The CIA’s deadliest agents gather in this meeting room. These four walls seem like a prison to outsiders and insiders alike, but it’s really nothing new. The agents, they’re used to this kind of hell, in a way. One day, they’re laughing and smiling with their friends and families without a care in the world, but the next, they’re ghosts in the wind, called back into their offices with a new mission on hand.

A man, possibly in his early to mid-30’s, walks in, his black hair styled in a messy quiff, his weary but piercing blue eyes scanning the room.

As usual, he’s the last one in; he usually takes care of the others’ drink orders. Some want coffee, others want tea. He’s the one who remembers all these orders, no need to be told twice. Forget-Me-Not, they call him. Agent Forget-Me-Not walks in with seven cups—five for his team, one for his boss, and one for himself.

“Director, your coffee,” Forget-Me-Not states, his voice drained, as if his words were flowing out only out of routine and not of presence. “Double-shot black coffee, hot as you requested.”

The director, Director Hyde, a man who doesn’t look a day over thirty, but has callouses on his fingertips that speak of more than four decades of experience in the field of espionage, gives Forget-Me-Not a curt nod, grabbing the styrofoam container and setting it down gently yet firmly onto the smooth surface of the cold metal table the team was gathered around.

“Lucifer, here’s your hot Oolong.”

The devil with a diamond tongue. His ash-blonde lashes flicker as he opens his eyes after a soft yet resounding Amen, revealing his beautiful aquamarine eyes. He smiles and accepts the drink, nodding at Forget-Me-Not. “Thank you, Garret,” he coos. “Bless your heart. You’ve had it rough and you still want to do this for us.”

Forget-Me-Not—Garret—chuckles. Lucifer is always so nice, despite his callsign. He’s a devil in name but a saint in spirit; the mountains may move and the sky may tear, but his Amen never wavers. “Least I can do for my friends, really.”

“Arthur, your iced honey lemon tea.”

The king of the kill. Brown hair in twin Dutch braids. He looks like a modern, American Viking. His violet eyes flick over to Garret right as his phone buzzes. He rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue at his phone, nodding at the other man with his hand outstretched holding his drink.

“Thanks,” he softly says as the phone buzzes again, prompting him to flip the bird at it with his free hand as he raises the cup to his crimson lips. Garret can’t help but laugh heartily at this.

“Cthulhu, iced matcha latte on the house.”

The god of everything grim. Black hair with tips dyed white, a pair of sharp but innocent green eyes framed by long lashes. A god, but…he’s the littlest of the bunch, in both the literal and figurative sense.

He looks up from the green, reversible octopus plushie he’s playing with, his child-like gaze meeting Garret’s. He gives a beautiful smile and takes the drink, nodding in gratitude, “Thanks, brother.”

“And Corinth, hot mocha latte coming right up.”

The terror of the trade. He adjusts his glasses, looking up at Garret with his hazel eyes. He smiles, a radiant beam on his face.

“Saw you outside with a junior,” the raven asks his brown-haired colleague and close friend. “Who is she? A new crush of yours?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, shut up,” Corinth laughs heartily at Garret’s teasing. “She didn’t have enough money to get her coffee. I thought, because I had extra money laying around, might as well help out a colleague in need, you know.”

Garret is now left with one drink, his own hot caramel macchiato. He takes a seat and sips his beverage. The smooth, bitter taste of coffee mixed with the rich sweetness of the caramel sauce offers a calming yet energising balance of flavour, bringing a bittersweet smile to the blue-eyed raven’s lips.

The crew of six then settle down with their drinks, some chatting and laughing with each other to lighten up the mood in the otherwise intimidating and unwelcoming briefing room. Even the director himself is having small talk with Garret.

“You like your coffee black as your soul, Director?” Garret teases Hyde. “You never order anything else…”

“And you’re just like my 18-year-old daughter,” Hyde smirks as he sifts through files, taking a little break to have a sip of his coffee. “Still drinking a youngin’s version of coffee.”

Garret scoffs at the snarky remark, a hint of affection in his eyes. He’s glad his boss sees him just as lovingly as his own family. “Hey, we both have balanced taste, you have to admit. We can’t have all this bitterness in our life concentrated into one consumable substance.”

Hyde hums as he looks up from his file, smiling. “Always so witty. You slept at all last night, Garret?”

The younger man shakes his head. “Sleep is for those who don’t have clearance to half the world’s classified bullshit.”

“Try not to forget you’re still human, Forget-Me-Not,” Hyde sighs as he looks at his agent with concern.

Garret chuckles, running a finger through his hair as he finishes the last of his drink, averting his gaze, “I’m trying not to.”

As the agents wrap their conversations up and finish each of their morning beverages, a mutual silence settles upon the room. Everyone knows the moment has come. The meeting will start…

…now.

“So, gentlemen,” Hyde breathes, “here’s the deal with Russia.”

As Hyde trails on, the bunch has already started acting up. Arthur’s expression hardens, irritation creeping into his features. Logistics be damned—of all the places they had to be sent, it just had to be Russia. He furrows his brows, arms crossed tight, leaning back in his chair like a child on the verge of a tantrum. He’s already starting to get bored.

“Our contacts suspect an informant,” Hyde gestures to the files he’s laid out on the table, letting the agents sift through the information.

Cthulhu, his reversible octopus plush in one hand, grabs hold of the file with his free hand, starting to rummage through the printed intel like a hungry raccoon. One catches his eye, the intel gathered on the head of one of the most powerful families in the Russian underground. With ties to the government, the Yadislava bratva are an unstoppable force, providing weapons to the local military.

There’s a profile picture printed, and it raises the little raven’s eyebrow. The head of the family, a man. His features are sharp—too sharp—but…there’s a warmth, an intensity in his cold, piercing grey eyes, a subtle contradiction in those features. Something was wrong, but…what was? Was he overanalysing? Was he actually right to assume something was majorly off about the image?

“Is this our informant?” Cthulhu quips, holding the paper up. “What’s our play here? Capture him, grab a family member, hold ‘em at gunpoint, squeeze the truth out? That kind of mission?”

“Heh, now that’s my kind of mission,” Arthur smirks as he leans in. Cthulhu hums and gives him an enthusiastic nod, agreeing with him.

“Yes, that’s our informant, but…” Hyde responds, rubbing his temple. The stubborn pair, always rushing toward action and drama instead of thinking it out first… “No, our mission will not include murder or torture.”

Arthur huffs and slumps back, defeated. Cthulhu deflates as well.

“It will, however, include intel-trading, considering who the informant is and his position as the head of the family. We’ll need to bring diplomacy into this, and I trust that Mauricciani can handle it just fine.”

“Oh, God damn it…” Corinth puts a hand between his eyes and sighs. “Again with the suits and fake smiles, huh…?”

Though, there’s no actual disappointment or resentment in his voice, merely exasperation. He doesn’t want to do this again, that much is clear, but he doesn’t see another way out of this.

“So, how much leverage do we have on the informant?” Lucifer asks point-blank, unable to hold his question anymore.

“Not much, unfortunately,” Hyde answers, his tone tentative and unsure. “The family’s influence runs deep enough that if even one member is harmed, a death warrant could be issued before we even make it out of the country.”

“Hm, actually, what’s the main mission here?” Lucifer asks again. “Why are we being sent to intercept the Russian underground? There’s no way this family is only a normal arms dealer if we need to get involved.”

“Good question,” Hyde remarks, nodding at the blonde. “The reason why you need to get your hands dirty is because…the Russian government has plans to use nuclear weapons, and the Yadislavas are working on their blueprints. Your objective is to cut off the supply before it even reaches the government, cease production before it even begins if possible.”

“Alright, if there are no more questions, the meeting ends here,” Hyde raises his arms and announces. “Thank you gentlemen, hope this mission goes well. We leave at noon sharp for the airport; gather here by then. Blaine, stay back for a moment.”

With that, the briefing session concludes and everyone is left to process the information. One by one, the crew of five agents, except for Garret, walk out.

Once everyone else has left, their chatter echoing down the hallway, Hyde then leans in and asks Garret, “You were awfully quiet during the meeting. What’s going on in that head of yours, son?”

“Nothing much, I was just focused,” Garret smiles, reassuring Hyde.

“Alright, if you say so,” Hyde sighs and nods. “Listen, I want you to know something about this mission. Just you. According to our contacts, there are two informants. But if one of them gets hurt, the other has the power to rain hell upon you.”

“Two…?” Garret ponders, bewildered. “Um…alright, I’ll keep that in mind, thanks. But…why not tell the others this?”

“I want the others to keep their attention solely on the easier target,” Hyde conspires. “Yes, this is a high-stakes mission and of course it’ll be difficult for all of you, but this second target is even shakier. Try to secure this second target and bring him back for questioning.”

Garret’s expression turns from confused to hesitant. It’s evident he doesn’t trust himself enough with this information. What if he fails? What if he can’t handle it?

Though, as if reading his mind, the older man places a gentle hand on Garret’s shoulder and smiles. His voice is low and soothing as he says, “I know you, Garret. You’re more than just capable of handling this mission. I know you are. I trust you fully. You won’t let me down, because you’ve never let me down.”

Garret’s expression softens as a childlike smile creeps up his lips. He nods slowly as he raises his hand to hold Hyde’s arm in silent camaraderie and affection.

“I’ll be going now. Thanks, Hyde,” Garret whispers. “See you at 12.”

With that, Garret walks away, a slight bounce in his steps as he waltzes back to the others. Corinth greets Garret first as he arrives.

“What’s got you so excited? Found an office crush on your way back?” Corinth chuckles as he nudges Garret with his elbow.

“Why are you using my words against me this time, Vittorio?” Garret sighs and shakes his head. “I just got some encouragement from the director, that’s all.”

“Alright, alright,” Corinth chuckles warmly, rubbing Garret’s back. “Don’t take me too seriously, man, it’s bad for you. You’ll grow white hairs in no time if you keep this up.”

Cthulhu comes up to Garret to greet him with an octopus plush, “Oh hey, you're back! The director wanted you to stay back. What was that about?”

“Nothing much, Jaiden,” Garret reassures his octopus-loving friend. “I was just a little discouraged by the mission and Hyde wanted to cheer me up.”

“Oh, I see,” Cthulhu nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, you should keep your chin up, brother. You look a little out of it lately.”

“Aye,” Arthur then appears out of nowhere and places a hand on Garret’s head, petting it gently. “My, my…the bags under your eyes…seriously, Garret, sleep. You’re sleeping on the flight to Moscow. No questions asked. I’ll knock you out myself if your insomnia meds don’t work. Just don’t expect perfect teeth after.”

Garret laughs heartily. “Hunter! It’s not like that! I’ll sleep, okay? You can sit beside me on the plane and see for yourself.”

From a distance, Lucifer looms, watching as he silently mutters a prayer of thanks. He smiles as he holds his cross necklace, seeing his closest friends so happy together.

“Hey, Nazareth!” Garret waves Lucifer over. “Come on, join us!”

“I will, I will,” Lucifer sighs as he walks over in both relief and resignation. God has spoken, and He is smiling down on the crew.

These five men may be spies on a mission to stop the production of nuclear weapons, but nothing can change the fact that they’re friends, too. Close friends whose bonds will never be broken.