per·ni·cious
pərˈniSHəs/
adjective
having a harmful effect, especially in a gradual or subtle way

I'd met someone, a long time ago when I'd barely begun to work out in the field. We were close friends, he had been the one to introduce me to Clandestine and set me on my feet.

That was until Animosity and Virulent discovered he knew something that they didn't want anybody to find out. We found out later my friend had uncovered their true identities, and in a matter of hours, he was found over a hundred miles away with the frontal lobe of his brain completely fucked.

So the next time I saw Marley 'Ace' Jackson, it was almost as if I was talking to a different person. He was still in the same body - a few inches shorter than I was, dark hair and gloomy eyes; but it was like meeting someone for the first time.

Brendon frowned when I told him who we were visiting. "Marley Jackson? That name sounds really familiar. Who is he?"

"He was an agent for us a couple years back until he found out some information Animosity and Virulent didn't want leaked. Now he's in a mental hospital after severe damage to the frontal lobe of his brain, and is currently under special care by Clandestine's orders."

It took him a few seconds to shrug off the tale and continue screwing with the fraying seams of the passenger seat of the car we'd stolen previously. "Yeah. He sounds familiar."

"Why is that?" Word hadn't spread very far about him. In fact, the agency prohibited the story being told for unknown and unquestioned reasons.

He shrugged with his one good shoulder, biting his bottom lip. "I dunno. Stop asking me all these questions."

⋘⋙

"I'm concerned," Brendon whispered to me as we walked behind a security guard to one of the lower floors of the Equivocal Mental Hospital, fingers gracing my arm while we walked, "I feel like I'm about to be murdered in cold blood and left to die down here."

I could understand where he was coming from. So far we'd passed by only six doors, three on each side of the hall, all spaced over thirty feet apart. The walls were painted an ominous white, and the lights flickering out didn't help. Not even a million dollars could convince me to walk to the single door at the end of the hall, alone.

"So, uh, how'd you meet Marley?" He mumbled quietly while the guard rushed ahead to unlock the door.

"He introduced me to, y'know," I waved my hand in the air like a gesture to... everything, "all this. My current occupation. We were best friends. We lived in the same neighborhood, our moms were like best friends."

"Were?"

The door hissed and swung open slowly. The guard said that was as far as he would take us - apparently Marley freaked him out due to rumors purposely spread throughout the staff to keep people away in case the secret slipped regarding Clandestine and its line of work. Few knew about the agency, including the owner of Equivocal Mental Hospital and a handful of nurses.

"Were. I talked to him a year or two back. I don't even think he could form completed sentences, let alone tell us things we can understand like he did. He'd made a lot of progress, last time I'd heard. I'm being hopeful."

I could hear the anger and frustration in Brendon's tone. "Well then why are we wasting our time visiting him? We only have a few days left before Animosity and Virulent kick off another show!"

"He can still speak."

Brendon grumbled a few more times about how stupid it was, crossing his arms and scuffing his feet along the cold floor. He didn't seem to be as upset as before when we peered through the small window to Marley's room.

I'd done some research soon after they'd found him all those years ago. The frontal lobe of the brain was responsible for memory, motor skills, language, behavior, problem solving, spontaneity, even impulses and controlling them. I assumed that was why they'd screwed up that part - no memory would leave him unable to reveal what he'd found, and on the off chance he did remember he wouldn't be able to communicate it. His handwriting would've rendered useless, likewise with his speech for the most part. The real dilemma was his lack of ability to form complete sentences.

Scans and tests that had been run showed the left was mainly intact and the right section of the lobe had been tampered with the most. They assumed whoever had carried out the mission had gotten their directions skewed and hadn't executed the job correctly. The right portion dealt more with motor skills whereas the left was commonly associated with memory and social skills.

"Hey, Marley," I said through the slit in the door, shoving Brendon out of the way so he could see me, "it's me. Do you remember me?"

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, hugging his arms across his chest. "Maybe."

Brendon shuddered and stepped back on his own will. "Well goddammit, I ain't going in there. This is the scene in the horror movie where the softie of a main character gets stabbed and bleeds out while his attractive sidekick continues the story as a lone wolf and gets the girl and gets shot at a couple times while saving the day-"

"And which one is the attractive si-"

"Me."

"Marley isn't going to hurt either of us!" The door unlocked with another low hiss, and before Brendon could run I grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him in with me.

The white walls were covered in atrocious black lettering, corner to corner, ceiling to floor. They'd moved him to a new institution since the las time I had seen him, so I didn't get to see what he could fully remember. It was enough, though. Every square inch was plastered with the phrase 'Animosity and Virulent', offset question marks, and a list of names all starting with J and D. At least, I assumed that was what the words and letters were. His handwriting wasn't legible.

Again, Brendon shuddered. "This is creepy as hell, Dallon, I don't-"

"Weekes-"

"Goddamn, stop being such a stick in the mud."

"Goddamn," Marley repeated softly to himself, "goddamn, goddamn, goddamn."

Brendon shut up after that. He stood close to the door with his arms folded over his chest, one hand trailing up to his bad shoulder to cradle the healing injury. He whined in protest while I sat down on the bed next to my friend.

"Dallon," he muttered quietly, "friend. Friend."

"Friend." I affirmed and a smile split across his previously solemn face. "How are you?"

"Well. Sleepy, and well."

"That's good, that's good." Marley nodded along to my words, still proudly grinning at the walls. He pointed and turned to me for approval. "You did a good job. All by yourself?"

"By self. All by self," he gestured with a shaking hand to the corner of the room furthest away from the door, where he'd signed his name in kindergartner handwriting, "all Marley."

Brendon was glancing down the hall when I looked up. His foot was tapping incessantly against the floor, drawing attention in the pause we'd taken. He didn't look happy, and it didn't appear like he cared either.

Marley pointed to him. "Who?"

Brendon's head shot to the bed, glaring. I had to give a good run down of the asshole he was. "This is my other friend, Urie. We're on a mission together, and we came to you for help."

Marley's spirits lifted instantly. "My help?"

I nodded and his smile grew wider. "Yes, we need your help. Do you remember Animosity and Virulent?"

The grin fell, twisting into a confused frown. His eyes were transfixed on the floor, darting to the wall every now and then where the names of the Mercenary Lovers were written. Marley nodded once.

"Do you know who they are? Can you tell us?"

"J and D."

Brendon pushed off the wall, apprehensively making his way across the room to stand a couple feet in front of us. His expression had also turned to confusion. "J and D?"

Marley hummed approval. "J and D. Don't tell." He held a quivering finger to his lips, taking a second to navigate to the correct spot.

I held out my hand to Brendon, who took the faux oath in a different direction and hooked his pinky finger with mine. "Pinky swear we won't tell," he whispered and flashed a fake smile, "nobody will ever know but us."

"Good. Don't want them back."

"Don't want who back? Who would come back?" Brendon seemed more comfortable after my extensive demonstration regarding the passiveness of my friend.

Marley shrugged to the floor. "J and D."

⋘⋙

Brendon insisted on getting a cup of coffee after we left the mental hospital. We hadn't coaxed anything else from Marley, so we called the interrogation quits for the day and asked him questions unrelated to Animosity and Virulent. It was fun, really. Like taking a break for once.

"He's a nice guy, okay," Brendon huffed and rubbed his hands together while his cup was sat down in front of him, "but he creeps me out. That insane dude in a horror movie that warns everyone of the impending doom of the ouija board? That's Marley, hundred percent. No doubt about it."

I had to admit it, his behavior was slightly unsettling, but it definitely wasn't out of the ordinary. It was to be expected after the trauma to the frontal lobe. "I'm more concerned with who J and D are. Not the creep factor of my friend, who can't do anything about his actions and social behavior, you two inch dick."

He scoffed and held a hand to his chest. "Well, excuse me, Jerkface Von Shithead-"

"Damn it, Urie, we are professionals!"

"With a face like yours we aren't-"

In a single motion, I grabbed his cup of coffee and dropped it on to the passing tray of a waitress swooping past the edge of the table. She didn't even stumble with the added weight, which didn't make much of a difference anyways considering she was already taking back an arm full of dishes. "Take out your laptop. Pull up the list of Animosity and Virulent's possible identities. Narrow down the options."

He scowled at me and folded his hands on the table. "There're only two possible options, idiot. While you were tracking down a place to eat, I'd gone through a mental list of the suspects."

"Hit me, Urie."

"Jenna and Debby are the most likely suspects in my opinion. I have a whole folder of reasons in my head. They also match up with the J and D. The other possibility is Tyler and Josh, but I am negative two percent sure it's them. They don't have any motives, and someone reported seeing them all the way across the globe the day Oliver Jones's body was found. They couldn't have taken part in that. The other two possibilities washed up dead the other day - poisoned."

"So... we know who the Mercenary Lovers are?" I asked quietly as a waiter walked by, and a smug smile spread across Brendon's face.

"I believe so."

[would u believe me if I said this book is almost over]