Christen woke, met by the familiar sterile gray and white surrounds of a Military Hospital, and her HUD GPS put her two hundred miles away from the training camp. At least the watch was still on her arm, meaning the personnel couldn't work the mechanism.

"Don't worry; we've got everything under control. No one suspects anything; just play along," Strickland's comforting, familiar voice sounded in her ear, and she nodded, not wanting to risk speaking out loud.

She healed rapidly despite her body aching like she'd been run over by a train.

"You're awake, good. I am Dr. Lagerveld. Commander Chekov says you should tell these gentlemen everything that happened to you," a tall, blond, Nordic-looking female with a white doctor's coat over her uniform and stethoscope said. She entered the six-bed ward with Christen as the only occupant, motioning for two MPs with black field uniforms to enter behind her.

"Tell them everything except who you are, your assignment, or details that might reveal we broke into army files. Remember, you are just a Private that got black bagged," Strickland instructed.

"Morning. I'm Commander Joseph Moore, and this is Very Special Agent Anthony Hopkins, and we don't work for any agency you'd be aware of, but our higher-ups assigned us to investigate the goings-on at the base. The Brass intended to send in an undercover operative, but you'd do just fine. Tell us everything you learned, and we will transport you back to the base by the day after tomorrow. Everyone thinks you're in some fancy hospital your sister pulled strings to get you into," Joseph Moore said, and something warned her this good guy had a ruthless streak.

"Sir, I'm scared and won't allow Seargent Driscoll to harm my sister. He didn't stutter when he told me what happens to snitches," Christen said, effortlessly convincing him of her distress.

For someone who hated lies, she was an exceptional liar, and it wasn't something she wanted to take pride in.

"These are not proper military channels since Driscoll and his people can manipulate and exploit those. That organization has been on our radar for ten years, and they are responsible for killing at least forty people."

Moore's gaze caught hers to impress the seriousness of the situation on her.

"That is exactly why I don't intend for me or my sister to be his next victim," she said resolutely, pretending to get herself unhitched from the drip as she struggled out of bed as if intending to leave.

"Calm down, and don't mess with the drip. For now, you and she are both safe. We flagged the players, but there was never proof until you came along. Private, we need you to return to the base so we can end this, and I don't mean get them a slap on the wrist or a dishonorable discharge," he hesitated, grabbing a chair and pulling it closer to be eye level with her.

It was a tactic meant to make him seem relatable and not distant and in command.

"Sir, I don't care what you need. I joined the army to show my sister that I am a responsible adult, not to get murdered by my coworkers."

"Private, if you serve this country in your heart, then understand that your fellow troops are in danger."

That was a low blow and excellent tactics on his part. He could give Anna lessons in manipulation.

"The organization I work for believes they staged suicides at the base, and although we brought in some of our people, you will be the most believable bait."

Christen took a moment to pretend to think about it, and the light of victory already shone in his gaze.

"Unfortunately, I respectfully decline, sir," she said, pulling herself upright and grabbing the IV line.

"This is an order, not a request, Private, and nothing will happen to you."

The instant shift in tactics warned her that he was done trying to get her on his side; now she would see how far he would go to strongarm her.

"When you finish this assignment, we'll get you a cushy job in someone's office, and the military will never deploy you overseas. This will not come back to bite you, and no one will mention your name."

This commander was either the best liar she'd ever met, or he meant it. His pulse remained steady; his pupils didn't contract, and his gaze remained intense.

"So, what are you going to do? Make them disappear? I don't want to risk it," she said, and his frown turned to a scowl as she pretended fear.

"The less you know, the better," he said, and something about him made her wary. The tension in his frame, the look in his eyes, and how his right hand kept opening and closing.

"These people almost killed me tonight, right in the middle of a base full of soldiers. What makes you think you can stop them, sir?" she asked, realizing she wasn't entirely staying in character.

The scent of medicine and cleaning chemicals irritated her nose.

"What makes you think they won't kill you anyway or hurt your sister, Private? You saw their faces and are not a military brat—you don't share their code of honor. Right now, you are nothing more to them than a warning for recruits to fall in line or suffer the consequences. Your death would cement that," he warned, and she frowned at him.

Why did she believe he sincerely wanted to stop these people but didn't trust that he had her best interest at heart. The commander seemed a little too invested.

"How will you ensure they don't get my sister?" she played her role, and Moore nodded solemnly.

"Bravo, little sister, even I almost bought it," Strickland spoke in her ear, and it took a lot of acting skill not to react to the sudden intrusion, but she must have flinched because Moore glanced at her oddly.

The commander pulled out his phone to record their conversation. Despite the doctor's warning and her pain and fatigue, he grilled her for hours until Lagerveld threatened him with security.

"I have what I need for now. Rest. One of us will always be near you, and you'll recognize them because they'll wear watches like the one on my arm. These are special issue. Pay attention, and make sure you are never alone. Use this little device to record any odd conversations and drop it inside the broken light at the edge of the path to the armory. Watch yourself," Commander Moore insisted, leaving her alone.

"And who are 'they?'" Christen asked quietly as she inspected the slick black little device that looked like a fancy flash drive.

~Careful, they're listening...~ Christen read on her HUD. ~Whatever military branch they work for, they probably suspect the Freedom Alliance is trying to flush out their enemy by using you...~ Strickland speculated.

~The commander never said their name.~ Christen mentally texted back on her HUD.

~Don't worry; we hacked their fancy little watches. We'll learn who they are, where they are, and what they plan and upload everything to you. The doctor works for them too, and has her watch in her pocket. I suggest you steal it at some point.~

Christen raised a brow.

This was getting complicated fast.

~Be careful. These people are well-funded but not as well as us and someone sealed their files.~

~Got it. Just don't let them hack me. Ending up all scrambled would not be fun,~ she teased.

~Don't even joke about that.~

It shocked her to realize someone could hack the chip in her head. She only needed one demonstration of its power to understand she never wanted to feel like that again.

Although Dana did it to make her understand their power over her, it was the worst thing you could imagine. Her pain sensors seemed to ignite with the current let loose inside her brain, and compared to that, being beaten up was a walk in the park.

***

Christen nodded off, succumbing to her body's needs, but she wasn't as fast asleep as she seemed, nor did the drugs in her IV affect her for long.

The doctor returned several times during the night, and when she bent over Christen to adjust the drip, she spirited the black army-type watch from the woman's pocket without her even noticing.

Strickland's people hacked it and shut it off.

***

Hours later, Doctor Claire Lagerveld tapped against her pocket and discovered the watch was missing.

Had she dropped it?

The doctor retraced her steps and eventually returned to Christen's room, but it wasn't there. Just like before, the machines said the narcotics did their job.

If she lost it, why wasn't the tracking chip responding? The commander would chew her out for misplacing it, but at least she'd never lost one.

The doctor's glance landed on Christen for a second, but the information in the private's file didn't match the skills it would take to steal from her.

Why would someone so physically athletic fare so average at basic training? Was it more a lack of motivation than ability?

Leaving the room, she returned to her office and requested Christen's file on their secure server. The private had good grades, not average, not brilliant, but her IQ wasn't average—another discrepancy. Her parents died in a car crash, and Christen got in trouble before dropping out of school.

A little sleuthing brought her to a closed juvenile file, and she called Moore.

"Get me Christen Strickland's files. Something about her is just off to me, sir," she requested.

"Anything you want, Doc."

Before dawn, she learned everything about Christen Strickland.

***

Dana watched their efforts from her command center, making sure they gleaned nothing they shouldn't and while monitoring Doctor Claire Lagerveldt as the woman called some of the numbers on Christen's file.

The major spoke to a schoolteacher and a guidance counselor, unaware that her calls were redirected to unit 23A, where agents fielded her calls.

As long as she didn't drive out to the school, she would never find out that Christen hadn't set foot in Roland Academy in almost six years and that her surname wasn't Strickland, or that she used to be everything but an average student.

They updated Christen in real-time.

"Why does this doctor seem to be vetting Christen?" Carly, one of A23′s best agents, asked, furiously typing as she monitored several screens at once. A large metal container filled with coffee was close at hand, and the scent reminded Dana that she hadn't had any dinner yet. She motioned toward the agent's perpetually full cup, and Carly grabbed one and filled it with the efficiency born of practice even as her chair rolled across the slick standard gray linoleum floor.

Her headphones, perched at a precarious angle on top of her black company issue beany, made her look like some extra on a spy series in her black fatigues and matt black boots. Her Asian-American features always seemed teasingly familiar, as if they reminded her of someone, but she could never place her finger on it. Before she took her first sip, Carly had zipped back to her workspace.

"They're either suspicious of her as a conspirator, or she fits some profile they could use. Wouldn't it be hilarious if they invited our Supergirl to some black ops unit while she's pretending to be a dunce?" Strickland said, appreciating the rich, milky brew.

Carly scowled initially before her eyes sparkled with mirth as she leaned back in her sleek black chair and stared at the wall of screens.

"Wouldn't that be a useful thing? We'd have the resources of two agencies; they would never learn the truth, and it's not like they would run a DNA test. What better test of Christen's skill sets than to throw her into the deep end?" Carly suggested.

Dana folded her hand around the cup and leaned back, considering the possibilities before her brain noticed a red light that shouldn't be on.

~Right here and not impressed. I have not even finished basic training yet. Hold your horses,~ Christen chastised as Carly realized she hadn't shut down the dictation program.

Dana smirked as she mouthed, "Oops."

"We're not in the kiddie's pool anymore, Agent Strickland," she said tongue in cheek.