Problems of the Gifted

Finding out what's wrong

(Samael Creed pov.)

[Present day, TOL secret compound:]

While sitting at my table, I plan what to do next.
Dever ran away about an hour ago, but that doesn't mean that she's gone. After all, there is no place for her to go, so she'll turn up sooner or later.

I was sure that she would've agreed... that means we'll have to take the longer path.
Damn it, I should've known it would go this way.

"You're riled up."

I look up at Snyder sitting on the couch, going through some files.
Snyder is my most trusted agent. Not only is she a good doctor because of her ability, but also a crucial asset to the organization in general.
Most of the time she's seen wearing her white lab coat, which adds to her white hair, the skin a dark tone.
Due to her ability, her eyes have a golden yellow color which never cease to make her look somewhat insane, as some younger agents would say.
Though she thinks of it as a compliment.

"I have good reasons."

"Dever won't be a problem. But those politicians might be. They're still not responding, even after your announcement. Looks like they've planned something."

I respond while rubbing my eyes:
"TOL can't wait for long. We're running out of time."

Everything has been leading up to this moment, I cannot let it fall apart.
Since I've started this organization, my goal was to control the Ordinary folk.
I need to go through with this, my family paid that price. They knew what it's like to suffer as Gifted. And now it's time for me to finish what I've started.
With a thought out decision, I stand up from the table.

"Alright. Snyder, I have a task for you. Inform everyone that we're moving out at dawn.
Give the drones a command to find Dever, alive.
If anyone asks why the sudden change of plans, put them in their place. We have no time for questions or conferences."

"That's more than one task." She comments and stands up, walking towards the door. "I'm a doctor, not a secretary."

"You're more than a doctor, and at least somewhat reliable.
And by the way, *she looks back* send Carmine out first, he must've returned by now. I don't need him to ask questions about his apprentice or get informed about it in the first place.
No one should, understood?"

"Yeah, don't you worry about that. But just to make it clear, I will get some action in the fight, right?"

I nod:
"I did promise you your fun."

She smirks:
"Then I have work to do."

As soon as she leaves the room, I turn around and walk towards the window, surveying the view.

Almost there.
Just like I promised myself all those years ago.

(Sasha Dalton pov.)

I'm in the training hall with Wade, Andrew and Emilia. My brother is showing us some defense moves. We were instructed on some extra training since the disaster on New Years.

"I already know this, why do we have to repeat what we've learned like- years ago?"

"Andrew, just because your attacks are good, doesn't mean your defense is."

"I don't think his attacks are good either." I shrug, sitting on the ground.

"Says the one who almost got us killed on our last mission."

I clench my hand into a fist.
The mission has been a total failure.
I intended to put Dever out of my way and ended up in a worse condition than before.  Eventually, Mother got word of it- she was furious.

Wade interrupts my thoughts:
"Hey, you have to stop arguing about that. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Fine." Sasha grumble, still annoyed with Andrew.

"Want to have a cookie?" Emilia asks while extending one towards me.

Sometimes she gets so quiet it's impossible to notice her.

"Since when do they have cookies in the cafeteria?" I wonder, trying to hide my surprise.

"They don't. I stole it from my mentor. Want one?"

"Yea- eh- no. No, I bet they're not even that good."

In fact, I would be delighted to have one right now.

"Hey, why don't I get one?" Andrew scoffs.

"Because you're training." Emilia answers with a shrug and eats the cookie.

I roll my eyes and someone says from behind us:
"You four enjoying yourselves?"

We turn around and see Snyder, immediately standing up and Wade questions:
"Ah- Doctor Snyder. Is something wrong?"

She stops short and Emilia doesn't meet her gaze while standing behind me.

"No. I just need everyone to know that we're moving out at dawn."

"Wait, you mean for the executing mission? I thought we decided to-"

"Yes, we did. There has been a change of plans and we need to make sure every agent is prepared. So, now you're informed."

"But why? Why suddenly change it?" Andrew questions.

"Oh, then why don't you ask Headmaster Creed personally?" She taunts him, Andrew backs down.

So I add:
"Even though we're not part of the council, we still have a right to know about the mission."

"The mission hasn't changed a bit. We just need to act now. Didn't your mother teach you to mind your own business?"

She did, and not once.

Yet you're unable to keep your emotions on a leash, idiot. Why would you question her? You're an agent.
They give you an order and you comply without hesitation. It's like you don't even know who you're talking to.

I drop my gaze and remain quiet.

Though Wade decides to talk, stepping between me and the doctor:
"She is not wrong. We do have a right to know."

Snyder steps closer to Wade, having to look up due to his tall figure, but she is the one with the intimidating aura:
"You seem to forget your own place here, Dalton. You wouldn't want to take it up with me, would you?"

Wade's eyes narrow:
"Of course not."

"Exactly." Snyder walks away and reminds us. "Don't forget, moving out at dawn!"

After she leaves, I continue to stare at Wade.

He sighs:
"What? Don't give me that look."

"Pathetic. You are way too soft."

"How does helping you make me soft in-"

His phone rings, indicating that he's received some kind of message.
I notice that as he reads it, his face turn serious, almost like he's seen a ghost.

"What is it?" I try to take a look at it.

Wade stares at his phone and doesn't say a thing.

"Wade?"

"Is he spaced out?" Andrew asks.

"I often space out." Emilia says.

"Yeah, we know." Andrew rolls his eyes and Wade turns to us:

"Something's not right here."