Undercover - Tumblr Posts
the one thing i wish is that Ladybug and Chat Noir had reasons to go "undercover" places. as civilians. where they are both staking out the same location but don't know each other's identities so it's always a disaster. they either get distracted because adrien and marinette bump into each other in strange places and end up having long awkward conversations instead of working, or, in adrienette-never-met sort of AUs, somehow end up suspecting each other every time. one time adrien disguises himself as a woman because he can't risk being seen as Adrien Agreste™ and marinette thinks she's met The Most Beautiful Woman in the World and has a bi panic until she finds out it was Chat fucking Noir and she's fucking pissed
DECEPTIVE ALLURE | 01.
Synopsis— You and Jungkook can’t seem to stand each other ever since you both met; being undercover agents in the same agency has its downsides. Having to work together on a mission was already bad, but having to fake a relationship to recover stolen microchips was not on both of your agendas.
Pairing: undercover spy! jjk x undercover spy! oc
Genre: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, fake dating!
a/n: hai!! I’ve been thinking about this for sooo long, but I’ve never got the time to actually write it and actually put the thought behind how this could actually work but I finally got it!! 🤍🤍 (UNEDITED)
#THE MICROCHIP DILEMMA!
The cold gun barrel digs into your cheek as he smirks at you, his deep dimple taunting you more as the raven-haired boy makes a soft tsk sound, making you bite your lip.
“Long time no see, brat,” he taunts softly, using the nickname he had settled on you a long time ago, his gun moving from your cheek to your jaw to your chin slowly. “Geek,” you spit back.
He cocks the gun barrel under your chin up for you to stare directly into his eyes. His eyes bore into yours, and as unsuitable as the situation may seem, this is not the worst you both have done. Pointing each other with guns is at the bottom of the food chain. You don’t even know how you both ended up in this position; one minute you were entering the door, next thing you know there’s a gun pointed to your cheekbone.
Jeon Jungkook, known as JK, his code name. He was recruited into the world of CipherForce due to his outstanding skills in hacking. Growing up with a gift for computers, Jungkook became a hacker at an early age. His talent in cyberspace was what got the eye of the agency. He’s highly known for his charismatic persona as well. JK can put on a captivating show, seamlessly adopting various roles to deceive and manipulate, whether in the virtual realm or the physical world. As much as you hated him, he was damn good at his job.
You don’t even remember how the rivalry between you two came to be, but you both couldn’t stand each other. You couldn’t stand his childish behavior, and he couldn’t stand your ability to not know when to shut up. Everything about him just sets you off; Jungkook couldn’t explain it either, just watching you walk in with your short mini dresses has him wanting to make you mad in any way possible.
For you, it’s his cocky expression that always sends you over the edge; how he would wink at you or throw you a kiss just to make you mad, as well as the stupid nickname he gave you when he first met you. It was just something about him that had your insides bubbling up just waiting to explode.
“Do you want a kiss or what?” You tease, pouting your lips outwards as he stares down at you with a mischievous smile on his face. “I think I’ll pass..” Jungkook taps his gun on your red lips.
“Am I interrupting something?” A sarcastic voice speaks from the door; the once gun on your lips is now pointed to the petite girl standing beside the opened door, Jungkook quickly sliding the safety notch off.
“Well, good morning to you too!” Dione, your boss, walks in from the door. “Didn’t think I would start my morning with a gun pointed at me, but you never know these days,” she shrugs.
“Sorry, that was my fault.” Jungkook bows beside you before clicking the safety back on and tucking the gun between his belt and pants, the back of his gun poking out.
Your boss only dismisses him with a nod, before handing you both the thick folders that she was just holding on to. “You may be wondering why I called you both in this morning… I have a job for the both of you,” she says nonchalantly, making you feel slightly wary about the whole thing.
“Two microchips were stolen last week from our New York’s warehouse; we know the microchips left New York and right now are located in Las Vegas.” Dione points to the screen behind her, a big map is displayed on the screen.
“The microchips were stolen from these two, Draven Voss and Adeline Krasnov. Voss was a former top-tier scientist who used to work for us. Disillusioned with the lack of appreciation for his work, he formed a clandestine organization to steal the microchips and sell them to Viktor Volkov.” Dione continues as we look through the files.
“What about Krasnov?” You ask looking up from the picture of her thats in your portfolio, her beautiful striking red hair being the main focus of the picture. “Oh, she’s just stupidly in love with Voss that she does anything he tells her to do,” Dione shrugs before continuing.
“Viktor Volkov, Volkov is an international arms dealer. From what we accumulated from his latest illegal activities is that we think he might want to use the microchip’s abilities to control security systems, manipulate intelligence, and gain an upper hand with his illicit operations.” She explains, as a whole slideshow appears on the screen behind your boss. It shows from Volkov’s height to his whereabouts the past few months.
“We know that each microchip was concealed with nanotechnology into gemstones. Which became two necklaces.” Pictures of the two necklaces show up on the screen, one red and one bright purple, both beautifully done. You couldn’t even tell the chips could be in there.
“How’d you get those photos?” Jungkook points out.
“That’s where I was going, we found these on the website for Saturdays Las Vegas biggest auctions of all time. ‘The Opulent Nexus Gala.’ Posted by no other than our Draven Voss.” Dione makes a winking sound as if she just hit the jackpot.
“May I ask why they are auctioning it instead of just directly selling it to Viktor Volkov?” You ask, your brain running in circles trying to connect the dots on how this could make sense.
“Auctioning the necklaces provides a facade of legitimacy and cover for the illegal transaction. Also, the event already attracts high-profile buyers, making it easier to conceal the true nature of the exchange.” Dione explains once again making the dots connect in your head.
“That makes sense,” Jungkook sighs, nodding his head as he examines the portfolios.
“The mission is to retrieve the set of necklaces containing the dangerous microchips without causing a ruckus.” Dione finishes with a big smile on her face.
“And how would we do that?” You ask another question for the hundredth time. Pointing between you and Jungkook who is just as confused as you.
“I need you to fake being a married couple,” Dione shrugs, nervously smiling back at both of you who stand in utter complete silence. Jungkook’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion as you gasp dramatically beside him.
“Um huh? What?“ you ask, shooting out whatever words your brain could make up, as shivers run down your back at just the thought of you ever being married to the man standing beside you.
“What does being married have anything to do with the mission and why us?” Jungkook dramatically side eyes you with a scowl on his face as if you were the one who suggested the idea of getting married.
“Because one, I need you both there. Two, you’re both new to the agency and I won’t risk Voss recognizing any other of my agents. Three, I need you both to step into the roles of Alexander and Isabella Sterling, a wealthy married couple who had been regular attendees on the guest list for several consecutive years. With a history of last-minute cancellations, the couple was renowned for the event this Saturday again,” Dione explains the reasoning perfectly.
“And how do you know they are not attending this year?” You ask through gritted teeth, your head slightly tilting to your left.
“Oh, I have no clue, that’s your job to make sure they don’t show.” Dione claps her hands, causing you and Jungkook to jump up from the sudden outburst. Dione chuckles before turning off the enormous screen and collecting some papers she left on the table.
“But one thing is for sure, do whatever you have to do for them not to show up. If they do, the whole plan is fucked.” Dione smiles, making her way to you with both her hands extended with two identification cards in her hand. “Isabella Sterling.” She hands you the small ID with a picture of you that she must have taken from your profile, your government name nowhere to be found but ‘Isabella Sterling’ reads instead.
You take the card and just nod.
“Alexander Sterling,” Dione hands Jungkook his corresponding ID card which he accepts with his tattooed hand.
“Good luck!” She pipes before walking out the door.
You let out a big breath you didn’t even notice you were holding in, you softly rub your temple and smoothing out your hair. “So..” Jungkook starts, “don’t talk to me.” You interrupt, “not in the mood to deal with you right now.” you walk out of the room with your heels clicking behind you, leaving an annoyed man dressed in all black behind.
“They’re ugly as fuck, Dione expects us to pass as them?” Jungkook whispers through your earpiece, causing you to roll your eyes. “I mean maybe you could pass as her..” he shrugs with a mocking tone as he watches the couple sleep through the cameras.
“Shut the fuck up and deactivate them!” You whisper-shout back.
“The attitude your mother gave birth to..” Jungkook mumbles under his breath.
You and Jungkook didn’t waste time localizing the couple; you had no clue how Jungkook took out his laptop, typed away, and found their address in a matter of seconds.
So here you both were, in the middle of the night about to hit three am, outside the married couple’s house in Seattle. Jungkook in your car is trying to hack into the security camera system, but apparently, he can’t do his job without keeping his mouth shut. The more he talked, the more you wanted to abandon position and shoot him instead.
“Hurry up; I think something poked my ass,” you shift your weight to your other foot from your kneeling position.
“Didn’t see you as taking it up the ass kinda gir—“
“I will kill you.” You say through gritted teeth. This is what you mean when you say childish behavior, and as much as you want to be the bigger person in all of this, you find yourself going along with his behavior.
“Looking forward to it, but you can go in now.” Jungkook chuckles under his breath as you internally roll your eyes. You make your way to the side entrance door; your gloves turn the knob of the door for it not to budge.
“It’s locked.” You whisper, “use a bobby pin.” Jeon explains to you.
You reach into your hair for a bobby pin, “insert the pin into the lock and try getting the tumblers. When you have it, turn right..” he explains carefully to you. While you only hum in agreement, the quiet tension filled the air as the lock finally yielded from your countless wiggles.
“There,” you smile, slowly opening the door, trying your best to not make any sound. “Good girl.” He says in a mocking tone.
“Trust when I see you—“ you get interrupted by a small noise.
“What was that?” Jungkook asks from outside. “Check the cameras. That’s your job.” You whisper, clearly irritated from this whole situation. Only for a small fluffy cat to walk past you like nothing. “It was a cat.” You explain.
While you make your way to the kitchen, a stack of unopened mail sits on the kitchen counter. You reach for the stack, rummaging through them. When you see the invitation,
Dear Mr. and Ms. Sterling,
We extend our most cordial invitation to you for “The Opulent Nexus Gala,” a prestigious event that promises an evening of elegance, sophistication, and unparalleled opulence. The gala is set to take place on Saturday 13th at Starlight Pavilion.
Your distinguished presence has been a hallmark of our previous galas, and your absence in recent years has been deeply felt. As we prepare for an exquisite evening of indulgence, we would be honored to welcome you back to the grandeur of “The Opulent Nexus Gala.”
“Psh! They haven’t opened the invitation. Does this mean they don’t know they got invited?” You whisper into your earpiece. “I’m checking their email right now, and they haven’t gotten an invitation here as well so yeah.” Jungkook says as he clicks and types away into his computer.
“Does this mean I can just steal the invitation, not drug them and kidnap them?” You question as you grab the invitation and make your way to the side door you just walked in from but not before caressing the kitty on the couch on your way out.
“It felt illegal..” you shrug, locking the door from the inside and closing it behind you as you walk into your car, shoving the invitation into Jungkook’s hands. “That is illegal.” He states, giving you a confused look. “Oh well, at least we know they won’t go” you turn on your car and switch your gear to drive before pressing on the accelerator.
Taglist!🎀 @coralmusicblaze @slut4jeon @xumyboo @haruharu-egypt @hansoojinx @m9ntreal @sp1derk0ok @ohsweetmimosa @frankoceansjunho @yoongicta @jeonjungkook097 @withthefairyhandinhand (idk why some won’t show up☹️)
Chris didn’t know people came in size perfect either. Slightly nervous at the prospect the man with the camera may not be who he said he was, Chris juggled his balls.
Agent Lewis. pt 1
Agent Lewis awoke with a start, his senses jolting awake as he found himself in a state of disorientation. His eyes fluttered open to a dimly lit room, his body feeling unnaturally heavy, every breath a laborious effort. Panic surged through him as he attempted to move, only to find himself confined by an unfamiliar weight pressing down upon him.
As he struggled to sit up, his hands groped for purchase on the surface beneath him, finding only the cool touch of bare skin. It was then that he realized he was completely naked, a wave of vulnerability washing over him. Frantically, his hands roamed across his body, encountering short, pudgy fingers where once there had been slender digits.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he glanced downward, only to be met with the sight of a massive belly protruding from his abdomen. It heaved with each labored breath, making it difficult for him to draw in air. His heart pounded in his chest as he grappled with the reality of his transformation.
Gone was the lean, tall, agile frame of Agent Lewis. In its place stood a short, stout figure, the reflection of which stared back at him from the window. Male pattern baldness had claimed his once-full head of hair, leaving only a sparse ring of graying strands around the edges. But atop his upper lip, a thick, graying mustache now adorned his face, adding to the weight of his new identity.
He felt dwarfed by his own body, the once-familiar contours now alien and unfamiliar. This was not what he had expected. The magnitude of the transformation hit him like a ton of bricks, leaving him reeling with disbelief. He had known that assuming a new identity would come with its challenges, but nothing could have prepared him for this. The weight of his new form bore down on him, both physically and mentally, threatening to crush his resolve.
And yet, amidst the turmoil, a new sensation stirred within him. A craving, deep and insistent, tugged at the corners of his consciousness, yet unsure and not recognizable. The thought of it filled him with a strange sense of comfort, a reminder of the role he was now meant to inhabit.
But as he sat up in the recovery room bed, his vision still blurry from the aftermath of his transformation, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease when his gaze fell upon the familiar yet indistinct figure staring back at him through the window. Who was this person? Try as he might, he couldn't quite grasp the identity of the individual beyond the glass. It was a disconcerting mystery that added another layer of complexity to an already overwhelming situation.
Still, Agent Lewis was not one to succumb to despair. With a deep breath to steady himself, he pushed aside his doubts and focused on the task at hand. He may have been transformed into someone unrecognizable, but his determination remained unshaken. This was his most deep cover mission yet, and he was determined to see it through to the end, no matter the cost.
As Agent Lewis continued to explore his new body, he couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief at the extent of the transformation. Gone were the familiar contours of his 25-year-old physique, replaced by a rounder, thicker form that seemed almost foreign to him. He was 18 inches shorter. His once-toned back and long, lean legs were now a distant memory, obscured by the bulk of his swollen stomach and the presence of prominent man boobs. He attempted in vain to locate his penis amidst the folds of flesh, only to find it obscured by his burgeoning belly.
Running his hands over his newly acquired features, Agent Lewis felt the stubble of his thickening mustache and the smoothness of his bald scalp. He couldn't help but miss the cascade of hair that used to adorn his head, now lost to him in the transformation. Despite his initial shock and discomfort, a sense of awe crept over him as he marveled at the skill of the doctors and the precision of the procedures that had brought about his drastic metamorphosis.
Embracing his new identity as an Italian mobster, Agent Lewis found himself craving the trappings of power and luxury that came with his new persona. He yearned for the feel of fine silk suits against his skin, the heady aroma of thick cigars wafting through the air, and the sense of authority that came with being a respected member of the criminal underworld.
As Agent Lewis continued to explore his new body, he couldn't help but notice the peculiar sensation of his mustache brushing against his lips with each breath. It had grown so long that it moved rhythmically with his respiration, causing an unusual tickling sensation that he found oddly satisfying. No longer able to breathe through his nose as easily as before, he had become a mouth breather by necessity, the mustache serving as a constant reminder of his altered physiology.
At first, the sensation was disconcerting. The feeling of his own facial hair tickling his lips was foreign and somewhat intrusive. But as he adjusted to this new way of breathing, Agent Lewis began to appreciate the sensation in a different light. It was a reminder of the meticulous attention to detail that had gone into his transformation, from the length of his mustache to the shape of his belly. It was these subtle nuances that would help him blend seamlessly into the world of the Italian mob.
Running his fingers through the length of his mustache, Agent Lewis couldn't help but marvel at its density and texture. It was a far cry from the smooth, clean-shaven look he had been accustomed to, but there was a ruggedness to it that he found appealing. As he experimented with different styles and shapes, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in his newfound appearance. He was no longer just Agent Lewis; he was Vinny Capone, a formidable figure in the criminal underworld.
However, amidst the discovery of his new identity, Agent Lewis noticed another sensation stirring within him—a craving for cigars. This was entirely new to him. The thought of the thick, pungent smoke curling around him filled him with an inexplicable desire. It was a craving that seemed to emanate from deep within, urging him to indulge in the vice of his new persona.
Suddenly, the door opened, and his handler, disguised as a mobster, entered the room. "Welcome back, Agent Lewis, or shall I say Vinny Capone," his handler greeted him with a wry smile. "What do you think of your transformation? Let's get you a robe, your glasses, and a mirror. It's time to fully embrace your new persona." With a nod of agreement, Agent Lewis rose from the bed, ready to take on the challenges that lay ahead with his newfound identity as Vinny Capone, and perhaps, a thick cigar in hand.
As Agent Lewis, or rather the persona he was being molded into, Vinny Capone, greeted his handler, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. "Did he just call me Vinny Capone?" he thought, a tinge of disbelief coloring his thoughts. "No, I can't be Vinny. I would never have agreed to this."
His handler, sensing his confusion, handed him a robe and explained the situation. "You are Vinny Capone now," his handler said firmly, meeting his gaze with a steady look. "I didn't tell you before because I knew Agent Lewis would never agree to this. But Vinny Capone is a necessary disguise for this mission. You have to become him, live as him, if we're going to take down the mob from the inside."
The weight of his new identity settled heavily on Agent Lewis's shoulders as he processed the revelation. He was being thrust into a role he had never anticipated, a role that went against everything he stood for. But as he looked into his handler's eyes, he knew there was no turning back.
With a silent nod of acceptance, Agent Lewis donned the robe and followed his handler out of the room, his mind racing with the challenges that lay ahead. He may have been unwillingly transformed into Vinny Capone, but he was determined to use this new identity to dismantle the criminal empire from within, even if it meant sacrificing a part of himself in the process.
As Agent Lewis stood up, feeling the weight of his new body pressing down on him, he realized the enormity of the task ahead. Walking when 18 inches shorter, 40 years older, and carrying this much weight was a challenge unlike any he had faced before. But if he was going to live convincingly as Vinny Capone, he knew he had to start studying his movements and mannerisms.
Steadying himself against a nearby surface, Agent Lewis took a moment to accept his new reality. He may have been unwillingly thrust into this role, but he was determined to make the most of it. Unable to speak as his vocal cords continued to heal from the transformation process, he knew that actions would speak louder than words in his new life as Vinny.
As he began to move around the room, he couldn't help but notice the familiarity in his movements. Despite the drastic physical changes, there was a certain fluidity to his motions that felt oddly natural. It was as if his body already knew how to inhabit this new persona, as if Vinny Capone's essence was already coursing through his veins.
With each step, Agent Lewis felt himself growing more accustomed to the weight of his new body. He may have been shorter, older, and heavier than before, but he was determined to make it work. If he was going to convincingly infiltrate the world of organized crime as Vinny Capone, he knew he would have to become him in every sense of the word. And so, with a silent resolve, he set out to master the art of living as someone else, all while plotting to bring down the very man he was now masquerading as.
As Agent Lewis prepared for the next phase of his transformation – memory conversion – he knew that he had to make the most of the time he had left before the procedure. It would take a couple more days before he could undergo the process, and in the meantime, he was determined to master his new body. But he had a growing and increasing craving which he was unable to shake.
Agent Lewis was Spending his days reading everything he could get his hands on about the Italian mob and studying Vinny Capone's mannerisms, Agent Lewis also spent a significant amount of time staring at himself in the mirror. Despite the initial shock, he had grown somewhat accustomed to his short stature, the sensation of his mustache itching his lip (which he oddly loved), and the constant reminder of his large belly.
However, as the days passed, a new sensation began to gnaw at him – the craving for a cigar. It started as a subtle longing, but with each passing hour, it intensified, until his head began to pound with the desire for a smoke. It was a craving that he couldn't ignore, a physical manifestation of the transformation he had undergone and the persona he was now inhabiting.
As he stared at his reflection in the mirror, Agent Lewis knew that he would have to find a way to quell the craving before it consumed him entirely. But for now, he pushed aside his discomfort and focused on the task at hand, determined to master his new body and prepare himself for the challenges that lay ahead in his mission to infiltrate the world of organized crime as Vinny Capone.
Yet, with each passing day, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was becoming more like Vinny. His movements seemed more natural, his thoughts aligning with the mindset of a mob boss. It was as if his body was adapting to the persona he was meant to portray, merging seamlessly with the knowledge he had gained from his research.
Though initially unsettling, Agent Lewis allowed himself to embrace this transformation. He reasoned that it was a combination of his body adjusting to its new form and the extensive preparation he had undertaken. Whatever the reason, he knew that becoming more like Vinny would only serve to further his mission. And so, with a sense of determination and acceptance, he continued to immerse himself in the role, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
As the day of the first memory transfer and brain alteration from Agent Lewis to Vinny approached, Agent Lewis couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and apprehension. What would he sound like once the procedure was complete? Would he adopt the accent and diction of Vinny Capone, further solidifying his new identity? These questions swirled in his mind as he prepared himself mentally for the transformation that awaited him.
Meanwhile, a tailor arrived to create custom suits for him, along with hats and walking sticks. Vinny even had custom boxers, a detail that seemed strangely intimate yet necessary for his new persona. As Agent Lewis watched the tailor take measurements and discuss fabric options, he couldn't help but marvel at the attention to detail that went into crafting Vinny's wardrobe. It was another reminder of the immersive nature of his new identity and the lengths to which he was willing to go to maintain his cover.
As the tailor finished his measurements and left to begin work on the suits, Agent Lewis felt a sudden surge of longing for a cigar. It had been building within him for days, a relentless craving that he could no longer ignore. With a sense of urgency, he signaled for a cigar, unable to bear the wait any longer.
When the cigar arrived, it was long, thick, an 8x80. Not sure how Agent Lewis knew that, as he had never smoked a cigar before. Nevertheless, he was given a humidor, with a smile - this was a sign the transition was successful - and lighter. Agent Lewis was not sure how to smoke the cigar; however, his body seemed to know. He surrendered to the body's memory and desire. With practiced ease, he prepared and lit the cigar as if he had smoked them for decades.
His handler, who had been observing the proceedings with keen interest, was thrilled by this development. To him, Agent Lewis signaling for a cigar was a sign of progress, a tangible indication that the transformation was taking hold. It was a sign that the doctors needed to see, proof that their procedures were having the desired effect.
As Agent Lewis accepted the cigar and took the first satisfying puff, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction mingled with trepidation. The road ahead was still fraught with uncertainty, but in this moment, he allowed himself to savor the taste of victory, however fleeting it may be. With each puff of the cigar, he felt himself inching closer to becoming the man he was meant to portray – Vinny Capone, Italian mobster extraordinaire.
The day of the brain and memory alterations had finally arrived. As Agent Lewis prepared himself for the procedure, he steeled his resolve, knowing that this would be the final step in his transformation into Vinny Capone. He would receive memories of and from Vinny, allowing him to survive deep undercover, to live, to become him. He was ready.
When he woke from the memory transfer, there was a newfound confidence coursing through him. He felt as though he had lived a lifetime as Vinny, experiencing his triumphs and hardships firsthand. Memories flooded his mind: the warmth of a close Italian family, the ruthless path of becoming a mob boss, the deep-seated hatred for law enforcement, the indulgence in cigars and women, the love for fine clothes, and the allure of money.
But amidst these memories, Agent Lewis still retained a sense of self. He was still inside, a silent observer amidst the torrent of experiences that now defined him as Vinny Capone. It was a conflicting sensation, the clash of two identities vying for dominance within his mind. Yet, he knew that in time, the two sets of memories would merge and coalesce, creating a seamless tapestry of his new identity.
As he spoke for the first time since his transformation, Agent Lewis marveled at the sound of his own voice. It carried the accent and diction of Vinny, a testament to the success of the memory transfer. There was a shock in hearing himself speak in this new voice, yet there was also a strange comfort in it, as if he had always been meant to sound this way. Vinny had a unique diction and lisp, and Agent Lewis found himself replicating it flawlessly. "How did they do this?" he wondered, astounded by the precision of the alterations made to his mind and voice.
Moreover, he noticed that he was beginning to think in Italian. Vinny's language and mannerisms were becoming second nature to him, blending seamlessly with his own thoughts. It was as if he was truly becoming Vinny Capone in every sense of the word. With a mixture of awe and trepidation, Agent Lewis embraced his new identity, ready to embark on the mission that awaited him as the Italian mob boss, Vinny Capone.
As Agent Lewis awaited the final memory transfer that would complete his transformation into Vinny Capone, he found himself surrounded by the trappings of his new identity. His new suits had arrived, along with a motherlode box of cigars. He had already indulged in all of the previous cigars, despite never having smoked one before. Yet, it felt strangely natural for him, as if the act of smoking a cigar was encoded in his very being.
Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/bodyswappertransforming/747596031827623936/agent-lewis-part-3-vinny-capone
Spy?
(Inspired by the song “Spy?” by WHOKILLEDXIX)
Hero stood in a rough circle surrounded by the group of villains. Their voices were overlapping, all arguing over the fresh mission failure.
“It was Lookout’s job to make sure we weren’t followed,” one voice—Blueprint—argued.
“We weren’t! I’m positive,” Lookout defended.
“It was probably the panic alert from the front desk,” Hero accused, looking pointedly at Guardsman.
“I got that guard before he even got close to that button, there’s no way that’s how the cops knew we were there.”
Pulling out a phone, one accomplice walked to the edge of the room, pressing the device to his ear.
Hero engaged passionately with the quarreling criminals, trying desperately to salvage their mission and keep their cover intact. Hero was deep undercover as a security expert in a large heist led by Villain, and the takedown they had orchestrated had not quite gone according to plan. The hero did their best to stoke the flames of anger and disappointment between the crew. The more they were at each other’s throats, the less they were thinking rationally about what really went wrong.
“If everyone had just stuck to the plan-“
“It was YOU who-“
“Ok, let’s be logical about this-“
“And then you didn’t-“
“It’s a miracle we all got away-“
The man on the phone returned to the group, face made of stone. He raised a hand, and the bickering quieted.
“My inside guy says they were there within a minute of us going in.”
“So the cops were tipped,” Locksmith concluded.
“Alright, so who knew?” Lookout asked from the left.
“The driver,” Blueprint chimed in on Hero’s right.
“He didn’t know the location, and I only hired him today. We picked up the vehicles 30 minutes before and it never left my sight,” explained Mover, the one who had been delegated to arrange transportation.
“No one else was told, it was all in-house.”
Silence dawned in the room as realization hit the criminals one by one.
“The location was need-to-know. Villain didn’t even tell half of us,” Locksmith pointed out.
“Actually, I only told one of you,” he corrected nonchalantly.
Shit.
“So that means-“
“My, my,” He turned slowly with the words, locking eyes with Hero, “I think we have a spy.”
They were made.
Two seconds and they were out the door, heart and feet pounding as fast as they could. Hero burst into the stairwell and was faced with a split second decision: up? Or down?
The backup spot at which they had met up after the disaster was located in the heart of the city, and Hero hoped the mid-day masses would be enough to help them get away. First though, they had to make it out of this building.
Temporarily closed for some upper level renovations, the office was five stories high and packed closely with the surrounding businesses.
Passing the large painted number three in a flash, Hero headed for the top.
They didn’t risk a glance back, but they heard several people slam open the door behind them. A chorus of footsteps echoed through the stairwell. Hero climbed, breathing heavily and mind racing to trace an escape route. A painted number five marked the top of the stairwell and Hero turned away from the roof access. If they remembered correctly from their recon, the East side of the building should back right up to an apartment complex with an outdoor fire escape.
They threw the door open and were met with a bare-bones floor. The entire level was sectioned by plastic sheeting, making it difficult to locate the windows and any potential dangers. Hero’s feet danced over stray boards and around forgotten construction equipment. Shouts alerted them that their pursuers were not far behind, but their figure was already blurred behind several layers of sheeting.
Most of the yelling was unintelligible, but one voice rose about the rest.
“I hope you’re ready to learn what happens to little rats!”
Hero made the mistake of turning towards the voices, taking their eyes off the floor and the bucket that they were about to crash into. They tumbled to the floor with a yelp, taking a clear sheet of plastic with them. They flailed, scrambling to their feet and shaking their limbs frantically to unravel themselves. They caught a glimpse of a set of boots several feet away before they pushed off the floor and continued heading for the wall.
Pushing past a final divider, they saw unfiltered light spilling in through a missing piece of wall. They threw themselves through the gap, standing on the narrow window frame still intact on the exterior side of the building.
Just as they had remembered, a metal staircase laid just a few feet ahead.
They didn’t mean to hesitate, but stopping their momentum had apparently allowed a singular assailant enough time to catch up. A hand gripped the back of Hero’s shirt, preventing them from making the leap.
Damn they were fast.
Hero threw back an elbow, connecting with a set of ribs. The grip on their shirt loosened and they turned, their fist connecting to a jaw and then a cheekbone.
Speedy’s head snapped to the side and Hero was released. They pushed off the side of the building before they could fall, catching the railing with both hands and hauling themselves up and over it.
They landed on the fire escape with a clang. Hoping to throw off the group closing in, Hero scaled a level before ducking in a conveniently-open window into an apartment. Hero used the time it took them to cross the kitchen area towards the door to make an unwitting accomplice of the person that startled on the couch.
“Do the inside stairs have roof access?” They asked breathlessly.
The stunned resident simply nodded their head.
Hero barely waited for the response, already halfway across the hall by the time the person shouted after them.
They turned a corner and caught the shine of an elevator door sliding closed a few feet away.
“Hold it!” They called, and a man pushing a large trash can put a hand in the doorway, leaving Hero enough time to slip in just before it closed.
“In a hurry, today, aren’t we?”
Hero chuckled breathlessly.
“You have no idea.”
The man gestured towards the buttons on his side of the small elevator.
“Floor?”
“The lobby, please.”
Hero clasped their arms awkwardly in front of them, trying not to breathe too loudly as they watched the numbers tick down slowly on the electronic screen. When they finally reached the bottom, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open to a fairly-active lobby. The door to the staircase was still closed, and Hero breathed a silent sigh of relief.
“After you,” the service worker waved, and Hero voiced their thanks before crossing the carpeted floor and passing through the revolving door.
Out of immediate danger, they slowed to an even pace, sliding off their beanie and slipping off their jacket to tie around their waist. They tossed the hat as soon as they could without getting ticketed for littering and entered the second shop they saw after turning down a different road.
They needed to get off the street, and fast. By now, word would be out about their betrayal.
Unfortunately, things had gone so off script that Hero found themselves on the opposite side of the city than their usual safe houses. They couldn’t risk getting near any police stations, and since this wasn’t the typical residential side of town, staying on the street after another hour or so would be incredibly suspicious. Those who worked went home soon, and those who lived here locked their doors.
Weighing those thoughts, Hero’s best option seemed to be to cross the city while they still could.
One change of clothes later, and Hero was back on a crosswalk, moving with a crowd dressed in mostly business-causal attire. Two more rights and they spotted a station, and graciously they had enough cash left to cover the fare for a ride all the way to South side.
The covered bench at which they waited was warm, but they couldn’t get comfortable. Their head was whipping in every direction, trying to identify if they were being followed. Paranoia creeped in and their neck muscles began to protest the strain of repeated movements. By the time they could board the Greyhound, the other citizens were eyeing Hero wearily.
Unconcerned with how erratic they appeared, Hero hopped on the bus, settling into a window seat in the middle. They relaxed as it started to move, shifting their gaze to the window.
Buildings upon buildings passed by, all slowly emptying as the minutes crept closer to the end of the business day. Idle chatter filled the bus.
The more blocks that passed, the more optimistic Hero became.
More commuters entered on the next stop. Exhausted, Hero paid no mind to the blue collar workers filling up the seats around them.
Some people must have pushed past the ones trying to exit the bus, because an older man in front of Hero made a comment about everybody being in a rush nowadays. Several people mumbled their agreement as someone settled into the seat beside Hero, holding a newspaper that crinkled as they sat.
“Trying to outrun the stressors of life, I suppose,” a woman replied from across the aisle.
Something tapped Hero’s shoe, and they leaned down to grab a water bottle that had rolled from the seat in front of them.
“You know what my dad always said about that?” The man beside Hero asked, setting down his newspaper.
Hero raised their arm to tap on the shoulder of the bottle’s probable owner.
Behind them, another person shifted, then answered lightly, “You can run, but you can’t hide.”
If Hero was anyone else, they would not have recognized the danger in Villain’s tone.
Before they could react, cold metal pressed to the side of their neck. In the reflection of the window, Hero could make out a hand holding a knife behind them. They flicked their eyes to the side, finally catching the bruising coming up on their seatmate’s cheekbone and jaw. In front, Blueprint turned and grabbed the bottle from their outstretched hand.
They were surrounded.
Part Two: You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid
Spy?
(Inspired by the song “Spy?” by WHOKILLEDXIX)
Hero stood in a rough circle surrounded by the group of villains. Their voices were overlapping, all arguing over the fresh mission failure.
“It was Lookout’s job to make sure we weren’t followed,” one voice—Blueprint—argued.
“We weren’t! I’m positive,” Lookout defended.
“It was probably the panic alert from the front desk,” Hero accused, looking pointedly at Guardsman.
“I got that guard before he even got close to that button, there’s no way that’s how the cops knew we were there.”
Pulling out a phone, one accomplice walked to the edge of the room, pressing the device to his ear.
Hero engaged passionately with the quarreling criminals, trying desperately to salvage their mission and keep their cover intact. Hero was deep undercover as a security expert in a large heist led by Villain, and the takedown they had orchestrated had not quite gone according to plan. The hero did their best to stoke the flames of anger and disappointment between the crew. The more they were at each other’s throats, the less they were thinking rationally about what really went wrong.
“If everyone had just stuck to the plan-“
“It was YOU who-“
“Ok, let’s be logical about this-“
“And then you didn’t-“
“It’s a miracle we all got away-“
The man on the phone returned to the group, face made of stone. He raised a hand, and the bickering quieted.
“My inside guy says they were there within a minute of us going in.”
“So the cops were tipped,” Locksmith concluded.
“Alright, so who knew?” Lookout asked from the left.
“The driver,” Blueprint chimed in on Hero’s right.
“He didn’t know the location, and I only hired him today. We picked up the vehicles 30 minutes before and it never left my sight,” explained Mover, the one who had been delegated to arrange transportation.
“No one else was told, it was all in-house.”
Silence dawned in the room as realization hit the criminals one by one.
“The location was need-to-know. Villain didn’t even tell half of us,” Locksmith pointed out.
“Actually, I only told one of you,” he corrected nonchalantly.
Shit.
“So that means-“
“My, my,” He turned slowly with the words, locking eyes with Hero, “I think we have a spy.”
They were made.
Two seconds and they were out the door, heart and feet pounding as fast as they could. Hero burst into the stairwell and was faced with a split second decision: up? Or down?
The backup spot at which they had met up after the disaster was located in the heart of the city, and Hero hoped the mid-day masses would be enough to help them get away. First though, they had to make it out of this building.
Temporarily closed for some upper level renovations, the office was five stories high and packed closely with the surrounding businesses.
Passing the large painted number three in a flash, Hero headed for the top.
They didn’t risk a glance back, but they heard several people slam open the door behind them. A chorus of footsteps echoed through the stairwell. Hero climbed, breathing heavily and mind racing to trace an escape route. A painted number five marked the top of the stairwell and Hero turned away from the roof access. If they remembered correctly from their recon, the East side of the building should back right up to an apartment complex with an outdoor fire escape.
They threw the door open and were met with a bare-bones floor. The entire level was sectioned by plastic sheeting, making it difficult to locate the windows and any potential dangers. Hero’s feet danced over stray boards and around forgotten construction equipment. Shouts alerted them that their pursuers were not far behind, but their figure was already blurred behind several layers of sheeting.
Most of the yelling was unintelligible, but one voice rose about the rest.
“I hope you’re ready to learn what happens to little rats!”
Hero made the mistake of turning towards the voices, taking their eyes off the floor and the bucket that they were about to crash into. They tumbled to the floor with a yelp, taking a clear sheet of plastic with them. They flailed, scrambling to their feet and shaking their limbs frantically to unravel themselves. They caught a glimpse of a set of boots several feet away before they pushed off the floor and continued heading for the wall.
Pushing past a final divider, they saw unfiltered light spilling in through a missing piece of wall. They threw themselves through the gap, standing on the narrow window frame still intact on the exterior side of the building.
Just as they had remembered, a metal staircase laid just a few feet ahead.
They didn’t mean to hesitate, but stopping their momentum had apparently allowed a singular assailant enough time to catch up. A hand gripped the back of Hero’s shirt, preventing them from making the leap.
Damn they were fast.
Hero threw back an elbow, connecting with a set of ribs. The grip on their shirt loosened and they turned, their fist connecting to a jaw and then a cheekbone.
Speedy’s head snapped to the side and Hero was released. They pushed off the side of the building before they could fall, catching the railing with both hands and hauling themselves up and over it.
They landed on the fire escape with a clang. Hoping to throw off the group closing in, Hero scaled a level before ducking in a conveniently-open window into an apartment. Hero used the time it took them to cross the kitchen area towards the door to make an unwitting accomplice of the person that startled on the couch.
“Do the inside stairs have roof access?” They asked breathlessly.
The stunned resident simply nodded their head.
Hero barely waited for the response, already halfway across the hall by the time the person shouted after them.
They turned a corner and caught the shine of an elevator door sliding closed a few feet away.
“Hold it!” They called, and a man pushing a large trash can put a hand in the doorway, leaving Hero enough time to slip in just before it closed.
“In a hurry, today, aren’t we?”
Hero chuckled breathlessly.
“You have no idea.”
The man gestured towards the buttons on his side of the small elevator.
“Floor?”
“The lobby, please.”
Hero clasped their arms awkwardly in front of them, trying not to breathe too loudly as they watched the numbers tick down slowly on the electronic screen. When they finally reached the bottom, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open to a fairly-active lobby. The door to the staircase was still closed, and Hero breathed a silent sigh of relief.
“After you,” the service worker waved, and Hero voiced their thanks before crossing the carpeted floor and passing through the revolving door.
Out of immediate danger, they slowed to an even pace, sliding off their beanie and slipping off their jacket to tie around their waist. They tossed the hat as soon as they could without getting ticketed for littering and entered the second shop they saw after turning down a different road.
They needed to get off the street, and fast. By now, word would be out about their betrayal.
Unfortunately, things had gone so off script that Hero found themselves on the opposite side of the city than their usual safe houses. They couldn’t risk getting near any police stations, and since this wasn’t the typical residential side of town, staying on the street after another hour or so would be incredibly suspicious. Those who worked went home soon, and those who lived here locked their doors.
Weighing those thoughts, Hero’s best option seemed to be to cross the city while they still could.
One change of clothes later, and Hero was back on a crosswalk, moving with a crowd dressed in mostly business-causal attire. Two more rights and they spotted a station, and graciously they had enough cash left to cover the fare for a ride all the way to South side.
The covered bench at which they waited was warm, but they couldn’t get comfortable. Their head was whipping in every direction, trying to identify if they were being followed. Paranoia creeped in and their neck muscles began to protest the strain of repeated movements. By the time they could board the Greyhound, the other citizens were eyeing Hero wearily.
Unconcerned with how erratic they appeared, Hero hopped on the bus, settling into a window seat in the middle. They relaxed as it started to move, shifting their gaze to the window.
Buildings upon buildings passed by, all slowly emptying as the minutes crept closer to the end of the business day. Idle chatter filled the bus.
The more blocks that passed, the more optimistic Hero became.
More commuters entered on the next stop. Exhausted, Hero paid no mind to the blue collar workers filling up the seats around them.
Some people must have pushed past the ones trying to exit the bus, because an older man in front of Hero made a comment about everybody being in a rush nowadays. Several people mumbled their agreement as someone settled into the seat beside Hero, holding a newspaper that crinkled as they sat.
“Trying to outrun the stressors of life, I suppose,” a woman replied from across the aisle.
Something tapped Hero’s shoe, and they leaned down to grab a water bottle that had rolled from the seat in front of them.
“You know what my dad always said about that?” The man beside Hero asked, setting down his newspaper.
Hero raised their arm to tap on the shoulder of the bottle’s probable owner.
Behind them, another person shifted, then answered lightly, “You can run, but you can’t hide.”
If Hero was anyone else, they would not have recognized the danger in Villain’s tone.
Before they could react, cold metal pressed to the side of their neck. In the reflection of the window, Hero could make out a hand holding a knife behind them. They flicked their eyes to the side, finally catching the bruising coming up on their seatmate’s cheekbone and jaw. In front, Blueprint turned and grabbed the bottle from their outstretched hand.
They were surrounded.
Part Two: You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid
