in·gen·u·ous
ˌinˈjenyo͞oəs/
adjective
(of a person or action) innocent and unsuspecting

On the never ending flight with Urie, I'd learned four things. Reluctantly, but nevertheless, he told me even if he assumed I wasn't listening.

The first was the fact that he was a legitimate genius. He wasn't fibbing about designing and creating over half of the gadgets and gizmos presented in the weapons room. He'd recited Pi to just about one hundred digits and showed me his methods to aim blindly and still hit the target based on sound. I'd already had an idea as to how to do that, but he wouldn't stop talking long enough for me to break the news.

The second was his uncanny ability to quote seemingly endless movies and songs from memory. I'd only known one person that could recall the entire Independence Day movie speech delivered by President Whitmore. It was concerning, to say the least. Any C-C should have had better things to do than memorize something as pointless as that.

The third was his talent to, and I quote, "bullshit my way through any situation" when I asked what I should expect from him out on the field. Brendon recalled the time he'd gotten out of being sacrificed to Pagan gods by convincing the insane worshippers that he was one of their beloved gods, and that he'd attack their family with an endless deadly plague if they ever so much as laid a finger on him again. Of course, he'd said he used smoke bombs and firecrackers hidden up his sleeves to create the full effect, and that it was the last time he was allowed out on the field for a while. I didn't believe him.

The fourth was his not so tragic backstory, involving significantly less death and gore than I'd anticipated. We matched, at least, in that single aspect. Brendon told me all about how he was simply infatuated with James Bond and aspired to be him when he was older. I relayed the concise tale of how I just really wanted to use walkie talkies without getting yelled at by my mom to stop because it interfered with the cell service in the living room, and that the fire station down the street had asked me to stop talking to them while they were receiving calls.

Then he'd smiled and shifted in his seat, leaning closer across the aisle. "So. Tell me more about yourself."

"I'm a professional. I don't play twenty questions."

The intercom crackled overhead, Ryan's voice ringing through the cabin. "Weekes is just a Debbie Downer. He's too serious and brooding for children's games. We can barely play Go Fish together."

I marked down in my mind to give him a shock pen the first chance I got. "I am not. Twenty questions is a game for prepubescent lemurs hung up on trying to get into someone's pants."

Brendon shrugged, toying with the dials on his watch. For a second I could've sworn a bright green laser beam shot out of one of them. "Well, we can switch to a different topic then."

"Such as...?"

He paused, cheeks flushing red. "I was, uh, kinda hoping to learn more about... Animosity and Virulent?"

I thought everyone knew about them? "Hasn't word spread around about those two? Everybody knows their names."

"Actually," Ryan piped up again "I'd like to hear more about them too? I'm generally not allowed to associate with field work and all those criminals and what not like some privileged asshats that are too professional to disclose information to the rest of the agency. Cough cough, Weekes."

Diana Prince had insisted previously I don't tell Ryan all the details - not that he couldn't handle it, but he was too curious in many aspects of his personality. He'd probably want to investigate alone as his independency kicked in and get killed in the process as his unnecessary bravery shone through. There was a very specific reason as to why he was a getaway driver. The best answer usually provided was the tale as to how he'd tried to track down an amateur criminal stealing the coffee from one of the rec rooms and ended up getting arrested in the middle of a drug bust three states over.

"I'll tell you about it later, Ross-"

"Not fair-"

"Urie, I'll just send their files to you." He nodded as I pulled out my laptop, mirroring my actions and reading through the tabs on both our screens.

"Why doesn't Animosity have any information other than like eight thousand felonies?" He squinted at the screen, clicking the mouse a couple times in quick succession "...same with Virulent?"

Their files were scarce, even I wasn't afraid or ashamed to admit it. Even the only two pictures we had of both of them together were blurred, the few singles of each accidentally warped from blood stains to obscure their faces beyond recognition from any database around - even ours.

Only one person had ever come back, that we know of, that'd seem both Animosity and Virulent in the same room together without the masks. Agent Rosemary Taylor was admitted to the psych ward soon after, and her partner in not-so-crime Finn Parker had been found as a victim in the Eyes case years back, also conducted by both Animosity and Virulent.

"They've killed... a lot of people." Brendon mumbled, a shudder coursing through his body "why? All for shows? And-"

"And money," I added "their shows are well known in whatever little universe they exist in where they rule. They'll kill anyone for anything and escape the consequences unscathed."

Ryan crackled over the intercom again. "Who are they then?"

Multiple people were kept on profile in pairs. All were plausible suspects. Truth be told, it could've been anyone on record that had disappeared without a trace.

Brendon shrugged and squinted a little harder at his screen. "Well, there're only like three pairs of dead serious possibilities listed here."

The first was a group of two girls, Debby Ryan and Jenna Black. They'd gone missing years back, conveniently around the time the Eyes case began, the first impactful caper Animosity and Virulent had decided to pull off. Attention had rightfully been called to them - they were known for picking fights and sending their victims to the hospital afterwards.

Scott Cooper and Cherry Daniels were shown next. Dating at the time, three years into their relationship which would explain the loving behavior towards the other. It would've been over seven years together if the recent death of Oliver Jones really was their fault. They'd been spotted together with similar getups to Animosity and Virulent.

The final two were known as Tyler and Joshua, last names unknown as they were lost in communication. However, they were the least likely for the entire ongoing investigation, which was the main reason why their files were last and paper-clipped together. There was barely any information on either of them; high school sweethearts, sudden disappearance, no motives to enact revenge like Debby and Jenna, no sadistic mindsets like Scott and Cherry. Tyler and Josh were legitimately the least possible suspects, the only reason they'd been filed due to the fact they'd upped and left exactly one day prior to the Eyes fiasco kicking off and hadn't been seen since.

Again, Ryan interrupted the search through all six files. "We'll be landing soon, so like... prepare and stuff. I think you both know the drill by now."

I anticipated Brendon to have no idea as to what he was doing - hell, I'd hoped he wouldn't have a clue. But he followed seconds behind every action of mine, gathering my things, loading my bullets to the handgun strapped to my stomach and buckling to the seat through patches of turbulence.

He watched through the window with childlike wonder at Las Vegas quickly assuming it's actual size, much larger than it appeared on the map. The buildings grew larger and larger until we passed them entirely, much to Brendon's disappointment.

"We're landing a few miles away, right?" He pouted and fidgeted with his seatbelt. Of course we were, Clandestine Agency wasn't some careless organization that dropped of undercover agents in the middle of Las Vegas.

"You have been out on the field before, right?"

Brendon nodded quickly and shrugged. "I have, just not like this."

Immediately, his words caught my attention. People at his level wouldn't normally be allowed on the field unless the rare opportunity he'd been awarded had ambled around. "Care to elaborate, Urie?"

He smirked instead of answering, dragging two pinched fingers over pursed lips. It was evident I wouldn't be getting any reliable answers with any hint of truthfulness from him any time in the near future. Something was off about him.

The plane tousled through another rush of turbulence, earning a loud squeak from Ryan up in his own area. My heart dropped, I could feel it sink. Brendon stayed perfectly still, unaffected and unbothered. He couldn't see the glares I'd shot at him trying to understand who he was. A strange person in a creased suit with a knack for technology and an odd want to know more about two of the most wanted criminals in the world.

I couldn't help but laugh at the stoic calm in his amber eyes, focused on nothing but the gun toying with the fabric of my dress shirt. "You're not afraid of what's down there?"

He bit his lip, glancing down to the ground with a sly smile he'd tried his best to obscure until he matched my gaze with a borderline manic smile. "I know for a fact I've seen far worse than whatever is lurking down there, Weekes. To you, that may sound insane. But do trust me when I say that."

Brendon was correct in that aspect, I had begun to view him as insane. Hyperactive and absolutely crazy. "I'll ask again; care to elaborate?" 

"Oh, when the time comes, I will," he sighed contently over the heart stopping rough jostle of the plane "believe me, I'll tell you."

[next chapter, next chapter. The next one isn't horrible]