ADA

EVEN BEFORE MY best friend tried to kill me, I was having a pretty rotten day.

I awoke to having my eardrums cursed by my teenage neighbour's heavy metal music- and that wasn't even the rotten part.

Unfortunately, he had reached the circle of hell even Dante couldn't dream up of known as puberty. He was convinced his life was some sort of epic novel and felt the need to 'rebel'. I had tried, many times, to talk to his parents about how it was not socially acceptable for their son to blast music at four in the morning but they brushed me off, saying it was 'just a phase'.

What kind of phase goes on for six years?

Somehow, I managed to escape my dilapidated apartment with my senses intact, but then I was immediately accosted by my landlady- Mrs. Wallaby- who honestly should've retired years ago.

"Hello dearie!" Wallaby warbled, revealing two rows of incomplete and jagged teeth.

"Hey Mrs. Wallaby." I laughed nervously, pressing my back against the door as my nose was assaulted with the stench of week-old cabbage and cheap, musty perfume. "Look, I'd love to chat but I have to go!–"

"But dearie–!" Wallaby stretched out a gnarled hand, eyes glinting with greed.

I didn't wait for her to finish, pushing past the old hag and sprinting down the stairs, and adjusting the strap of my blue backpack over my shoulder. I risked a glance backwards and saw her wobbling towards me at a frightening speed, determination splayed across her vulture-like features.

"Dearie! I just want to talk!"

"Sorry, Wallaby!" I shouted back, jumping down the last four steps and shouldering open the door to the building. "I'm late for work!"

The car was on the other side of the parking space. There was no time to get it. I glanced at the bike shed with its corrugated roof and flimsy door that looked as if one strong cough would blow it over.

I picked the lock and grabbed the most sturdy-looking bike, just as Wallaby appeared in front of the property. Her beady eyes reminded me of how the cheetah looked at the gazelle seconds before striking the final blow in the David Attenbourgh documentary I watched last night. I started pedalling furiously, whizzing through the empty car park.

"See you later, Wallaby!" I called, laughing when I heard a frustrated scream in reply.

I cycled through the busy roads of London, a tiny smile lifting my lips as the warm sun caressed my face with its gentle fingers. Passing the closely packed grey buildings, a wave of nostalgia hit me as I became submerged in many memories.

"Watch out!"

What the–?

I swerved just in time to avoid a motorcycle and toppled off my bike with a volley of curses directed at the rider.

My head struck a long pole and black butterflies exploded in my vision. They crashed and clashed against each other, temporarily blinding me and sound blended into the background as if someone was holding me underwater.

A searing agony jolted through my body and I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to ease the piercing pain that erupted in my skull. Tiny pieces of gravel were embedded in my palms and I focused on the dull ache, using it as an anchor to guide my way back to reality.

"–Wilson? Wilson, are you alright? Hey, come on, talk to me! Chief Wright will kill me if anything happens to you–"

"Carter," I grounded out. "Shut the hell up."

Gently, I pried off my helmet and massaged my scalp, relieved when I found no serious injuries. And that, kids, is why you should always wear a helmet.

"Where is the driver?" I looked up to meet the blue-eyed gaze of my nemesis.

"What driver?" He stood up and stretched out a hand to help me. I swatted it away and got to my feet, gripping the pole to steady myself.

"The one who nearly hit me. Did you see him?"

"Ah..." He chuckled, scratching the back of his head, his gaze not meeting mine. "That was- erm- that was me."

I stared at his sheepish expression, feeling the sudden urge to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze the life out of him. My fingers twitched and I curled them into fists to subdue the temptation. "You... what?"

"I-"

"What the actual hell Carter?" I screeched. "What the hell? Did you not see me or something?–"

"Wilson I'm sorry," he said. "I'm really sorry! But hey, at least I warned you, right?"

"Oh well, that makes it alright then, I guess!" I yelled, sarcasm oozing out of each syllable.

"Look, Wilson, let me make it up to you. You can ride with me to work!"

I laughed humourlessly. "And why would I want to do that? Especially after being on the end of your terrible driving!"

"Well you can't go on that!" He gestured to the broken, bedraggled bicycle. "Come on, we can chain it here and I'll get someone to drop by later and take it to the repair shop."

As much as it pained me to admit it, he was right. There was no time to get the bus, and I certainly was not going to hitchhike.

I gave a curt nod and he grinned, lifting the seat of his bike to reveal a compartment. I chained my recently stolen, yet beloved, cycle to the pole, silently mourning its loss.

Carter handed me the spare helmet and I snatched it away, fitting it on my head and making sure it was securely fastened, before climbing on behind him. Gripping his shoulders tightly, I sent a silent prayer. If there is anyone up there, when I die from this idiot's driving skills, please allow me to come back and haunt him for the rest of his pathetic life. Amen.

**

I staggered off the certified death trap, feeling like my insides were trying to become my outsides. I yanked off the helmet and pressed my fingers to my lips, trying to quell the nausea that was growing inside of me.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Carter snickered and I wanted to shoot him.

Throughout the ride, he was purposefully making sharp turns and approaching large signs at terrifying speeds and narrowly avoiding them.

He seemed to take sadistic joy in my terrified screams.

"Someday, Jay Carter, you will go far," I panted, my heart slowly returning to its normal rhythm, "and I hope you stay there."

I turned my gaze to the dull grey building in front of us. It towered over its neighbours like a proud giant with colourful graffiti scrawled on its sides and obstructing the beautiful London view. A sign that was supposed to read 'DANGER- DEMOLITION IN PROGRESS' hung skewered on the door, but its letters were so faded it read 'DA G R DE O I I ON IN PR G R SS'.

Dust gathered in huge clumps on the 'Welcome Home!' mat, erupting in huge clouds when I stepped on it. Tinted cracked windows were sprawled up the side of the structure, completing the perfect facade of an abandoned building.

"Behold," Carter remarked drily. "Our glorious Agency."

I pushed the dingy door, gritting my teeth as the hinges wailed like a dying banshee. I allowed it to slam shut in Carter's face, feeling a childish jubilation at his bemused expression.

The ground floor of the Agency wasn't much better than the outside. Large wooden beams were half-heartedly nailed to the wall- reasons for which were beyond even my intelligence. Pieces of plaster were crushed and sprinkled over the floor and I noticed that someone had spray-painted Satan's symbol on the far-right wall. Probably one of the newbies. I thought, shaking my head slightly. Ah, to be that young again.

I strode confidently to the dented elevators that were next to a flight of broken stairs and pressed the button, watching it illuminate a faint orange glow. Grime tickled my nostrils, making my eyes water and forcing me to breathe through my mouth, despite the particles clogging at the back of my throat when I did so.

The lift doors creaked open, a sound that made my eardrums curl up and beg to die. I stepped over the small gap and stood on the far left of the small compartment. Carter stood on the far right, a Berlin Wall of hateful emotions separating us.

"ID please." A monotonous voice crackled over the intercom.

"Analyst Ada Wilson and Special Agent Jay Carter," I answered, cutting in before Carter.

"Did I hear that right?" A different and more familiar voice cried out. "Carter and Wilson are in the same room as each other? Someone call security!... And maybe a clean-up crew."

Carter's eyebrows furrowed. "We're not going to strangle each other, Emma!"

"That's what you said last time."

"She has a point." I shrugged.

"Oh so now you're taking her side?"

"This isn't about sides Carter! It's the truth. Last time, you annoyed me so much–"

"–Oh, I annoyed you? Are you suffering from amnesia?"

"–So I had to strangle you to get you to shut up! You could've been the bigger person and not try to punch me, but nooo!–"

"–Well forgive me for not dying!–"

"You are not forgiven." I stuck my tongue out and turned so my back was facing him and sighed exasperatedly.

"Oh yeah just breathe louder, why don't you?"

"Carter, the only reason I haven't killed you right now is because there's no Netflix in prison. But I am starting to care less about that fact, so why don't you just shut up?"

"You shut up!" He yelled, glaring beams of hatred right into my soul.

"I promise, Carter, I'm gonna kill you one day!"

"Oh I'd like to see you try!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

A heavy silence suffocated the room as the lift juddered upwards, pierced only by fervent questions from Emma repeatedly asking if one of us was dead yet. When we stayed silent, she panicked further.

The door screeched open and an entourage greeted us. Nervous Agents and Analysts craned to the elevator, shoulders sagging as they saw us. Money was exchanged. Grumbles of disappointment undulated through the crowd. Security and the cleaning crew were sent away. In the middle of the hubbub was its organiser- Analyst Emma Keen.

The third floor of the Agency was very different from downstairs. It resembled a typical, cluttered office- messy papers strewn about everywhere. Cacophonous shouting about missions hollered in the halls. An Analyst desperately tried to dab coffee off a report, newbies swaggered about with the short-term arrogance they all possessed. For some reason, November was always a particularly busy month- it was like all the criminals decided that was when they would try to take over the world. It was exhausting.

Within the Agency, Emma and I had a sort of friendly rivalry. We used to have competitions to see who could solve the most missions in a set amount of time. But outside of work, we were incredibly close friends.

"Hey would ya look at that?" Emma grinned. "My two besties made it out alive!"

"See I told you so," Carter rolled his eyes.

"You know, many people placed bets on who would survive." Emma shrugged, running a hand through her messy, curly brown hair. "Most of the bets were placed in Ada's favour."

I gleefully turned to Carter, mentally snapping a picture of his flabbergasted expression to store in the archives of my brain.

"B-but I'm the Special Agent!" He spluttered indignantly.

"But she's way scarier." Emma patted his shoulder in mock sympathy. "Sorry buddy, maybe next time. Also, Ada, here- I got you coffee."

I took the cup and nearly sobbed with relief. "Thanks E, where would I be without you?"

"Probably not a coffee addict," she joked. "Also, Chief Wright wants to meet you both in her office."

Carter and I exchanged confused looks.

"Both of us?" I raised an eyebrow. "Okay then. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah... hey, I heard that a new Japanese restaurant opened up in town. It's supposed to be really good. Should we go there after work?"

"Sure." I shrugged. "Catch you later."

I dropped my bag in my office and Carter and I walked down the corridor of thick wooden doors. I spotted fellow Analysts darting from computer to computer, scanning lines of code that, to any other person, would seem like complete gibberish. I smiled at a few colleagues and stepped to the right, narrowly avoiding a poor man who tripped over his untied shoelaces and spilled his drink–

Right on Carter.

I pursed my lips and swallowed back a laugh as the unfortunate man apologised profusely, wilting like an aged flower under Carter's enraged gaze.

"It's alright." I stepped in when it became clear the Analyst was not going to stop the spew of 'sorry' and 'let me pay for a new shirt!'. "You can go now- I'll deal with this."

The poor guy stammered out a weak 'thanks' and scampered away. I turned to Carter and snorted at his vain attempt to absorb the coffee from his shirt with a small napkin.

I grabbed his arm and pulled. "Come on, you can deal with that later. Right now we gotta meet Chief Wright."

Carter looked absolutely horrified. "I can't meet the Chief looking like this!"

"You'll have bigger problems to worry about if you are late to the meeting," I murmured, throwing my half-empty cup in the bin and letting go of his arm as we stopped in front of the wooden door.

I knocked and waited, pushing it open upon hearing a crisp 'come in!'.

*****

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