ad·um·brate
ˈadəmˌbrāt,əˈdəmˌbrāt/
report or represent in outline; indicate faintly; foreshadow or symbolize

For the night we'd rented a dusty motel room on the outskirts of Las Vegas. It was a decent room, two queen sized beds, a large bathroom, and a small kitchen connected to a small dining table. There was even a coffee table in front of a staticky television the same size as the tiny freezer atop the refrigerator stacked with lukewarm water bottles.

Brendon slept behind me, snoring loudly every so often at the right time to startle me to exit out of a tab or two. Not that I was doing anything too risky - one tab was for the photos I'd downloaded from his watch and had yet to view, another was the agency's website, which took a solid hour to find and log in to. Not that I hadn't done it before, but the website hadn't been previously linked to my laptop for field missions, and I had to manually install it which was a hassle all on its own let alone bypassing the security.

Every file I clicked on only amplified the guilt pounding in my chest, resonating improbable situations where Brendon tossed my dead body in a dumpster after finding out what I discovered about him that must've been something he wanted to keep under wraps.

I didn't even trust my own temporary partner. Sure, he was a little strange, but to be searching for his file on the agency's website made me feel horrible, like I had no faith in him whatsoever. For gods sake, he'd contributed to the weaponry at headquarters, his rank was bumped because of the things he'd done, surely I could trust him. I just... needed proof.

I barely found any.

Brendon B. Urie

D.O.B: --

Origin: [flagged under suspicious behavior and inconsistency - changes answer from Denver, Colorado to Honolulu, Hawaii]

Joined: seven months ago, moved up ranks two months ago

Proficient with tech, hand to hand combat, acrobatics, *firearms

*Do not trust around firearms (**)

**Do not leave unsupervised/unattended if in possession of firearms (***)

***Disable all acquired firearms unless instructed otherwise

Notes: possible split personality (indications, no clear evidence), insanity.* Refusal to reveal past experiences/childhood/upbringing - claims to have no knowledge.

*very dangerous if provoked. Do NOT provoke under ANY circumstances.

Background check led to > [*]

The star where his background check was supposed to be had been colored a bright blue - a link to a website instead of the report written out there instead.

The sheets behind me rustled and I closed out of Brendon's file just in time. He slid off the bed and left no space between us, reading over my shoulder at the laptop screen.

"Can I help you?"

The sickly glow from the screen illuminated the slight smile and innocence in his eyes. Again, it was almost as if I were looking at a totally different person. "I just wanted to see what you were looking at. Did the photos download properly?"

"Yes, they finished a couple minutes ago." I said and clicked into the photos I'd uploaded well over an hour ago. Brendon didn't need to know that, though.

The first picture was a blurry shot of his shoes, a test I assumed and hoped. My assumption proved to be correct based on the next few, actually of the crime scene instead of his outfit. Even though it was just of police tape and security guards, it was obvious the scene was much more gruesome than the media and file report had entailed. A group of people in biohazard suits were photographed walking past, white blobs in an otherwise clear frame of the entrance.

"Be careful with the rest of the photos," Brendon warned as I turned to the next, a cluster of guys in suits crouching over something hidden from view, "it gets pretty gross."

He wasn't lying. Everyone I'd talked to about the event had vexatiously answered with the same thing, pointing me to a dead end with the single guard that'd been gassed and left half dead. I'd thought it was fishy, a museum with countless priceless artifacts surely needed more than one guard to keep watch and order over everything in the facility.

I was correct, there was other security present, they were just spread over the walls like a child's finger painting scene. The high definition of the guts hanging from the Anubis statue only made it worse.

A shudder ran down my spine. "Are they all like this?"

Brendon nodded, resting his forearm on my shoulder and leaning against it. "They were everywhere, at least four guys torn apart throughout the room. The average length of a small intestine is about twenty feet, so it's kinda hard to scrape all of it off the ceiling after it dries, and-"

"Okay, Urie, that's more than enough information."

"Sorry." He whispered.

The rest of the photos were less disturbing, spare the handful Brendon claimed he needed to photograph because there was no media coverage on the other killings. That was far too obvious, considering the Eyes case a while back had shocked people half to death and kept over a quarter of the population in large cities to relocate.

The third to last picture was of six outlines on the floor, in the shape of bodies. "I thought you said there were only four guys that were killed. I know one survived, but this would make-"

"Ten, yes I'm aware," Brendon huffed "I said four guys were strewn throughout the room. The six on the floor were all shot and gutted, more eloquently phrased in the police reports I skimmed. Then there was the guy that had been gassed, old unimportant news. Anyways, wanna take a guess on who it was?"

It took a moment for the dots to connect. Virulent's doing was most definitely the guard still in the hospital, and the insides covering the room seemed eerily similar to the Eyes case, Animosity was very well known with ties to expensive and deadly firearms.

"No way. You can't be serious - they've been off the grid for months, surely this is someone else's mess!"

Brendon shrugged, pressing his lips to a one sided smile unfit for the situation at hand. "Remember that time during the Eyes case when they broadcasted across the news stations regarding their unpredictability?"

After they'd sent the message, signed by them of course, random patterns popped up relating to murders and break ins, disappearances and their famous signatures all over the place. Nobody knew what they would do next. "That doesn't mean it's them. Everything about them has been radio silent, news hasn't spread about a show, these things are completely random! Unrelated!"

"I think you're forgetting the whole purpose of Animosity and Virulent-"

"I am not! I'm unqualified to deal with those... those jerks and both of us damn well know it!" The last time I'd even begun to tangle with them, I'd almost gotten my throat cut by one of their murderous employees. With an untrustworthy madman as my partner, I'd one hundred percent die the next time around. It didn't even matter if it would be a literal death or not - everyone knew about Rosemary Taylor  and Finn Parker. I didn't want to end up like them.

"Aw, c'mon, Weekes," Brendon growled playfully and nudged my side, softly landing punches on my upper arm, "I've tangoed with them before, they're not so bad!"

"Not so bad?! Do you know how many people they've killed? Are you seeing these pictures? Do you have any idea as to what they're capable of?" I'd heard stories, I was kept up to date with the news and the seemingly endless murder sprees, every little clue and message passed through my ears at some point from another source. I didn't care to hear them directly.

Brendon sat up straight, biting his bottom lip and staring at the screen frozen on one of the goriest scenes I'd ever seen. It was almost as if it hadn't even fazed him. "I know what you're capable of."

The only sound in the room was the hum of the refrigerator desperately trying to maintain a cool temperature, and the static of the television next door. Other than that, I could've heard a pin drop to the carpet.

"What?"

"You're one of the best agents in the field," he muttered, voice eerily calm and steady, "but somehow, you have yet to experience death occur right in front of you, Prince speaks very highly of you, she trusts you, everyone trusts you. And you have issues with hand to hand combat because your coordination sucks. You're timorous, to say the least, and-"

"Fuck off." I shoved him away and slammed my laptop shut, watching the light indicator for the power button flicker dim as I rolled under the covers of my own bed.

It took a minute for Brendon to get to his feet after that, running a hand through his mussed hair and climbing back under his blankets and pulling the chain on the lamp between us so the room fell dark for the night.

His breaths evened out and for a moment I debated crawling out and reopening his file to search through the link for an explanation to what he'd just said, how he'd just acted.

But god, I wished I'd gathered the courage to do it.

[i don't,,, feel like this story is intriguing enough. Y'all seemed to like Bad Luck better ]